by Nicole Wells
“It just doesn’t feel right. It's too soon. And I’m not into that scene anyways. The popularity contest? The drinking? The public dancing?” I shiver in mock horror and laugh at my own joke. I missed the beginning of what he said last time, but not this time.
“We —. Nevermind. If you change your mind, you know Yasmin will steer you clear of any parties with underage drinking. For what it's worth, I think you should go. You’d have fun. It's okay to let loose once every few years. But I get it, I do. And I respect that.”
"And that's why you're my second best bestie. Thanks for not trying to make me feel better. Mourning just goes at its own pace. But I'll be sure to take pictures when that rare centennial event happens of me letting go. Actually, no, I'm sure I won't want pictures." Laughing again at my joke, I give him a friendly clip on his arm as I pass. I used to walk home, even though I had the option of driving if I could. It was just cheaper this way, which was important after dad died, and it also gave me alone time to clear my head. It was a rough time for me.
But this time, I don’t head to my home. I follow Jacob to his. I see him enter through the front door, despondent.
“Jacob?” his mother calls. His mother was a nurse, and worked odd shifts, sometimes home during the day, sometimes working at night. Jacob glumly hangs his jacket up and finds his mom in the living room sorting laundry. The tv is on and she takes a look at him and mutes it.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Jacob, what's the matter?”
"Nothing." His response seems to fold in on itself, its very own definition. He collapses into the armchair and extends his legs out over the ottoman.
He’s reaching for the remote as his mom says, “Enya?” He pauses for a moment, then resumes his takeover of the remote, now rapidly flipping through unmuted channels.
“I’m sorry, sweetie”
“Mom, don’t call me that,” he says automatically. She puts down a folded towel and comes around beside him.
“She doesn’t deserve you” I can tell she’s doing her best to impart a mom’s perspective to bolster him, but he explodes instead.
“Don’t say that!” He swats away her arm, standing up as if to leave.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
"Then did she say yes?" He halts from his departure and fiddles with a pillowcase instead. Then he folds it and adds it to a stack. He grabs more laundry to fold.
“Jacob?”
“She doesn’t have to say yes. She just needs to not say no.” His mom looks confused, and he keeps folding.
The vision fades but I still hear his mom, and I agree. I don’t deserve him.
chapter 23
IT TAKES ME ABOUT A WEEK to figure out Fee fancies herself a matchmaker. Specifically, me and Joshua. Fee’s been inviting him over to our apartment. Fortunately, he’s fun to hang out with. I'll admit he’s cute, with foppish hair that matches his personality. He’ll make a wonderful boyfriend one day — to someone else.
I step over their legs, which are sprawled between the couch and the gaming console, eyes glued to the smallish flat screen on the wall. Protests erupt as I temporarily block their view, interrupting their Call of Duty game, on my way to the armchair. I sit criss-cross applesauce, an acupuncture text in my lap.
"Sorry," I tell Joshua, shrugging my shoulders as Fee cheerily says "Thanks". He pauses the game and looks my way. "No use playing if someone's cheating" he then glares at Fee. Her bright orange hair seems to glare back. "Sorry," I say again and explain, "I have to live with her" while Fee sing-songs, "All's fair in love and war." The agreement is I block the screen when it's key for Joshua's shot and Fee will cook for all three of us. It's a win-win for me since I don't like the violent video game, anyway. I could go to my room, but in our small apartment it gets kinda claustrophobic.
Abandoning the game, Joshua comes over to me while Fee heads to the kitchen.
“Hey, if you ever want to practice on me, I'm game.” He gestures to my book. I roll my eyes.
“I told you, I'm not an acupuncture student.”
“But you're studying acupuncture.”
Sometimes I can't tell if he's goading me or if he's serious.
I cant my head, studying him. I wonder if Jackie would call him predominantly fire or wood?
He cants his head back at me, and with a lazy smile does a slow wink.
Fire, definitely fire.
“Hey, Enya, did you pick up the Adobo spice blend from the store? I don't see it anywhere.”
“Oh yeah sorry, the bag's on the console by the front door.” Which is where I left it when I got distracted talking to mom on the phone. She had said there's more mail from Jacob waiting for me. She probably wonders why I won't tell him my new address, but I imagine since it brings me back home she's not complaining.
Joshua has moved on and is pestering Fee now in the kitchen, sampling her sauce mix while she bats his hands away.
I chew on the end of my pen, trying to read about the Officials and ignore my growling belly.
“Why don't you put him to good use, like set the table or something?" I advise Fee, as I turn the page. The Gallbladder is the commander of the armed forces. I think of Joshua and Call of Duty. Maybe he's Wood.
“Ok Joshua, it would really help me if you would go ask Enya to go to the movies with you tomorrow. I'd really like the place to myself when Tate gets in.”
Tate is Fee's boyfriend, and he’s often out of town for work.
"Trying too hard, Fee! And, yes, all you have to do is ask. You can have the place all to yourself. I've gotta head to my mom's house anyway to pick up my mail. I'll spend the night. She'll love that."
Joshua saunters over, sitting at my feet and catching my hand. "Enya, will you please go out to the movies with me?"
“Josh, I'm sorry, no —”
“You said all I have to do is ask?” He says playfully.
Sometimes I can't tell if his flirting is just to flirt or if he really means it. He doesn't seem to get my rejections. Maybe it is just all a game to him. Maybe he is Wood.
Fee announces dinner and we sit down to eat. Joshua says a prayer and I wait to dig in. Fee is a fabulous cook. Today she's made adobo chicken with leftover rice and green beans on the side.
After a satisfying meal — Fee’s cooking definitely outweighs her eccentricities — Joshua and I share dish duty. Fee is talking on the phone with Tate. I'm not even sure why she invites Joshua over here so often when she doesn't even hang out with him. Actually, yes, I do know.
My hands plunge into the soapy dishwater. If I allow myself to forget I'm washing dishes, it's kinda fun. Like bubble bath time as a kid.
I rinse off a plate and pass it to Joshua to dry, still lost in my own world.
"I'm serious about tomorrow night. You need to get out of the house, anyway. You can go to your mom's after."
I look at him and he's lost his fake puppy dog eyes. He looks sincere. He deserves a sincere answer. Maybe then he'll understand.
I look at the glass in my hands. I gingerly hand it to him and wait for him to finish. When I have his full attention, I confess.
"I don't know a better way to say it, so I'm just gonna say it. I'm broken"
I can tell it's not what he's expecting.
"I don't want to get into the details. Just know that I'm not in a position to be dating. I don't plan on ever marrying or having a family. I'm just trying to live my life day by day and enjoy it.
“Fee doesn’t know the whole story. I know she means well. But now you know.”
“I.. that.. doesn't make sense.” He stares at me. "But I can tell you're sincere. You really believe you can't date.” He shakes his head. “How about I respect that because I respect you, but we agree to disagree?”
Agreed, I nod and offer him a soapy hand to shake.
He leaves me hanging and instead leans on the counter, back to his usual self, “But we could still catch a movie” he winks slyly.
Fire,
definitely fire.
——— ———
I RETREAT TO MY ROOM afterward. I have established this as my sanctuary. I still meditate at least five times a day. I am working on keeping my body and spirit strong like Jacob had said, having that fortitude to withstand the pull of everyday thoughts and tendencies. I generally persevere but without him and that love keeping me buoyant, it's harder. I recognize my meditations as the lifeline they are, especially outside of that bubble we had created on our trip. Out in the actual world with everyday people and real-world needs and dramas, it's even more important I maintain that sacred space in myself.
I light a candle as part of my ritual and sit on a pillow on the floor. I don't always get premonitions or flashbacks, in fact I usually don't, but I always get peace and often get answers.
I meditate on the thought of being broken. I thought I'd made my peace with my diagnosis, but like so many of my edges, I find I revisit the same issues. My spiritual journey is more of a spiral than a straight ladder, where I revisit the same issues, reaching new levels each time.
I try to appreciate that our break-up, my diagnosis and my life on hold — it is all bringing me deeper spiritually. Not broken, but breaking into something real and beautiful. I have a thought of old, wavy glass, like the kind that’s hundreds of years old. I imagine it breaking, all that stuckness, and revealing clarity. I picture the shattering causing unparalleled prismatic beauty. I try to hold onto that thought, that image. But meditation isn’t about holding on, and eventually I let it go.
As I settle, my leg itches. The itch grows in intensity, almost frantic in its need to be scratched. I recognize my body's ploys to keep me grounded in the body. I don't fight it, but I also don't move. I send it a mental kiss, like a child that just needs reassurance from a parent. The intensity of the itch fades, but a few seconds or minutes later my arm wants to move. I continue my deep breathing, breathing love into my arm, not denying it but also not succumbing back to being moored in the body.
An indefinite time later, my mind ramps up in gear. A volley of self-important vital thoughts tries to mire me back to my mind. Guilt, shame, unbidden dark, charged thoughts, and even simple thoughts of things I might forget and things I need to do try to keep me grounded in my mind, but I let them go.
In the space that follows, the sparks come. Sometimes, I imagine them like little friendly fireflies. Creatures of a different make, that I can’t quite relate to, but we share something universal. They light up for me and remind me of light and love. They float and coax me forward, to a beautiful, holy place.
When I reach that space, I bask in the love, the forgiveness. What I told Joshua was wrong. Here I feel complete. It's like sipping the richest nectar. I've been building up the amount of time I can spend here, because it's almost too much, the love I feel.
I take it all in, at this moment feeling full completeness. My future doesn't matter right now. My past doesn't matter.
Maybe next time, if Joshua persists, I'll try to explain better. I'm not looking for love right now. I don't need to tell him I've already found it. I'll just explain I don't see it in what we have. He's religious. I'm not. He thinks of the future with me — dating, a relationship. I do not. I'm not figuring my future right now. I'm avoiding all entanglements. Maybe once I'm settled, going to school or something, I can get back on a more normal track. Right now life is not normal. And I'm finally making my peace with that.
chapter 24
I GO TO PICK UP my mail from my mom’s house. She’s come around since my visions started coming true, and Dr. Andrews couldn’t find anything wrong. And I’ve come around, reconnecting with my spirituality. It’s like a spiral, revisiting the things I still need to work on, and going deeper. It’s part of the healing process, and becoming a healer. Forgiving her, not because she’s my mom, but because she’s a person, and everyone makes mistakes and is worthy of love.
"Hello?" I call into the house.
"Over here," my mom replies from her bedroom. She got a new haircut several months ago and it's given her a new, even youthful, look. She's had a spring in her step since spring, and I'm happy she's doing so well. It's like we've both found a new level of peace despite of, or maybe because of, our trials.
It also helps that I've been out of the house and she can get on with her life now. I don't think my mom has had too much empty nest syndrome, especially since I still have a bedroom here and visit every week.
I peek my head into her room, my hands gripping the door jamb. She's seated at a vanity mirror in front of her dresser. She's been taking more care with her clothes and makeup lately. I think her outside more approximates her inside glow when she's in clothes that show her confidence.
Today she's wearing a royal blue boat neck top with a modest draping neckline, emphasizing a gorgeous teardrop pendant of moonstone. Skinny jeans taper to black ankle boots. Frosted pink dusts her eyelids and lips.
"You look great, Mom!"
She gets up and hugs me.
"I'm so glad you stopped by!"
"Yeah, I was thinking of spending the night tonight. Fee wants the apartment to herself."
"Oh good, I've been wanting to talk with you." Normally those words would cause alarm, but she sounds so chipper. “Just let me send a quick text. We can make a girls' night of it.”
"Oh, Mom, I don't mean to interrupt your plans. I'm fine, I've got stuff to do. Don't mind me, I'll just pick up my mail and read and watch TV or something. I get more work done here than at the apartment lately, so I'll probably just study a bit.”
My mom's voice comes out a little distracted as she sends off a text.
“No, no. I want to spend some time with you. Have you already eaten?"
I follow her to the kitchen and sit on a barstool at the counter
“Yeah, thanks” I answer, wondering what she has for dinner.
She pulls out the stir fry, looks at my face, and gets another plate. "Just in case you change your mind."
I come around and help raid the fridge.
“Water?” I ask, pulling out the cold pitcher of filtered water with cucumbers floating at the top.
"Thanks, sweetie."
We set up our meal, replete with salad, in companionable silence, mom's been trying to eat healthier too.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" I spear a sliver of beef.
She seems to hesitate, and I get the feeling what she's about to say is not what is really on her mind.
"Uncle Joe and your cousin Cheryl have contacted me. They didn't want to bother you, but they thought it would be nice to have a family get together, so they asked me how you might feel about it."
I nod and keep eating the teriyaki sesame sweetness, knowing there's more to the story.
"They heard about what you did. And they're wondering if you might have any visions for them."
“Umm, Sure I guess. I mean, you have to explain to them it's not something I do, not something I control…"
“Yeah, they just thought it might be interesting to try. Lana wants to study abroad for the summer. Her parents are worried she needs to focus on her SAT. And Cheryl has been dating this guy, I think she's thinking about marriage."
I try to think about it and my mind skirts over the drama. I just don't feel that into other people's problems. Is that selfish or being in the moment?
My mom continues, "I was thinking, maybe this would be good practice, like refining a skill. Every skill needs to be honed. And I think you have a talent, something people would pay good money for. Maybe this is your calling on life. You could charge —"
"Whoa. I really don't feel comfortable charging. I'm not even comfortable doing it when people don’t have expectations."
“I didn't mean to charge family. Just get practice. You do need to think about the future at some point."
Seeing the rebuttal forming on my lips she holds up her hands to stop me, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just being a mom.” She pats my hand. "If you're not comfo
rtable, let's table it for now."
Agreeing to move onto another subject, I bring up my latest vision, “I had a flashback with dad in it. It was the day I was born.”
“I seem to remember that day,” she jokes.
“Do you know if dad whispered ‘You're perfect' in my ear?’”
“I don't, but it seems like something he would do. He fell in love with you the moment he saw you and held you in his arms.”
I try not to tear up, just nodding at my mom's words.
I go on to describe the whole vision.
When I’m done my mom says, “Well, I think all of that could have happened. My memory’s certainly not perfect these days."
I push a snap pea around on my plate, bulldozing noodles, bell peppers, and julienne carrots.
“What do you think it means?” I ask.
“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say right now you are not very accepting of yourself, are you? I mean, you've come to terms with the Huntington's. But that was more a challenge. You've always risen to the challenge. This is a gift. Can you accept the gift? Because you are deserving. Because you don’t need to feel guilty about anything, you don’t need to feel ashamed about your gifts or try to demean them to make them more acceptable. You never need to feel less than to make others feel better. Because you are perfect as you are, Enya. Can you accept that? Really take that in?”
I stare at a dented pea, seeing but not seeing. Perfect? Maybe I can take that in. I feel it when I meditate, but it didn't last outside of meditation. I try to imagine myself as perfect. I can't keep my thoughts from someone else who thought I was perfect.
Just then, singing bells erupt from my phone, a programmed reminder that it's time to meditate again.
——— ———
SPARKS GREET ME as I settle into my meditative trance in my old room.
I see a young version of my mom with my dad. I think I recognize this place from their stories. It must be Alexandria, Virginia where they lived before they got married. I think they're at Waterfront Park, a place they frequented. They're on a picnic blanket, sprawled under the shade of a big tree, young kids running around on the grass in the background. Dad is looking intently at mom, who is looking off at the Potomac River.