by K.N. Lee
6
Time lost its meaning as I measured the obstacle placed in my way. I remember distinctly telling her multiple times how hard it was for me to even look at that table let alone touch it. I could only imagine that this was her attempt at teaching me a lesson. I refused to believe my grandmother had done this intentionally just to pay me back for the pain that I had caused her the day before. She couldn’t be so spiteful! That same inexplicable rage began to fill my insides. This time it was intensified by the idea of her betrayal, it grew faster than before. I needed to focus on staying calm, but it seemed stronger than before.
I walked over to the table and screamed at the box in the center of it. A powerful shriek that ripped from me so loudly that it shook my entire body, strangled my torso, and left no air in my lungs. The room was starting to spin. “Pull it together, Alexa!” I yelled at myself as I raged an internal battle of will, my own will against this unknown entity inside of me.
It seemed the more I tried to calm myself, the more the fury grew inside of me; completely counterproductive. It flared out like the tentacles of a wild flower, if I believed in magic; I would use those flames to destroy the box. Entertaining that thought only made my problem worse, adding more fuel to the fire.
My breath grew heavier with each passing moment, each pull of air felt weighed down as if it were mixed with dirt and sand. My skin burned and every muscle in my body tightened, threatening to lock up. I screamed again, this time the sound was louder and more strained. What the hell was happening to me? How could I let a table mess with my head so much? It was an inanimate object after all, I had to break whatever this hold, or more like repulsion, was that it had on me.
Somewhere buried inside of me had to be enough strength and courage to grab the box and read the card. I refused to be so weak that I would let an irrational fear stand between me and a message from my grandmother. She could have needed my help and had left me some sort of clue of where to find her. The unlikely thought of her needing my help was all it took to crush the fear. Remember me, the broken-down Wonder Woman.
I moved towards the table, blocking out images of shared meals and memories of my parents. With one swift move I snatched the box off the table quickly. I managed to barely touch the table; just the tip of my finger grazed the carving in the surface as I grabbed the box. Even that tiny second of contact shot a stinging pain straight up my arm. I ignored the feeling and opened the box first. Inside, was an odd little glass vial filled with a blue liquid, thick and shimmering, like molten crystal.
The bottle was shaped like two hearts; molded like an hourglass and twisted together in the middle. The stopper looked like a flame frozen in time. The metallic paint made it look almost real. There were three symbols etched in the glass; top, middle and bottom. I flipped the bottle over and over in my hand and tried to recognize the symbols, they felt familiar, but I had no idea what they were.
They looked like something ancient, but they just reminded me of Nana. She had little things like this all over her house, but this one; I had never seen before. It reminded me of how I found her yesterday; this could have been the glass she was looking for. I gave up trying to pull the symbols from the recesses of my mind and quickly grabbed the card off the table, this time avoiding all contact with the wooden surface.
Inside the card, written in the same shaky script of my grandmother’s, was a note:
My dearest Alexa,
How I wish I could stay with you, but I am afraid my time here is up. I wish I could explain, but I cannot. Please take this gift from me. I know that you may not want it, but it is all I have to offer you. If you ever decide to accept your destiny and get past this aversion to my way of life, drink it and it will heal your body and give you the life you deserve. The life you were always meant to have.
Love always,
Nana
I thought the note, her words, would calm it; but no, they did the exact opposite. I felt myself losing control again. Her last words to me, and she uses them to press the issue of magic on me. She was leaving me alone with nothing and still had the nerve to continue with her agenda. I felt betrayed; stabbed in the back by my own grandmother. Didn’t she care?! Didn’t she know that without her I would be totally alone? There was no one else in my life. Just her, and she was tossing me aside as if I didn’t matter at all. To think that I was going to apologize to her, to try and find a way to make it work where we could both be happy; it made me sick to my stomach.
I slammed the box back on the table, not thinking of my old fear of it. Once the box was out of my hand, the rage simmered, and the tears poured out with accompanying sobs. It was official. I was completely alone. What was the point of it all? There was no reason to be afraid of the table, or anything else in my life. Even if it came to life and tore me to shreds for having the nerve to lay a hand on it; at this point, I felt like it would be for the best. It would be a sweet release from my broken world.
I spent the next few days in my bed. I neglected to take my medication and barely made the effort to roll from side to side. What was the point? I kept asking myself this question every time I came anywhere near getting out of bed. I could just waste away to nothing. It wasn’t as if I had anyone or anything here for me. There was no need for me to stay alive. No one would miss me. No one would truly care. I didn’t need to be told it was self-pity. I knew it and accepted it.
The windows were completely blocked out by the thick black drapes that my mother had installed for the times that I needed to sleep during the day. I wanted to be disconnected from the world. Not to mention the sun piercing through the windows was blindingly bright and made my head spin. The darkness that my mother’s gift provided made it easier to lay in my bed counting my woes while surrounded by nothingness.
My cell phone rang, well vibrated, after what felt like the hundredth call I switched it to vibrate. Yes, I know I could have turned the ringer off entirely, but it appeared that some part of me was holding on to the need for my existence to matter. Each time the phone vibrated, it told me that someone knew and cared that I was there. No, just because I wanted people to care doesn’t mean I wanted to actually talk to them. That would interfere with my self-loathing. I thought by now the battery would have died. Whoever was calling was being persistent. I grunted and threw in the towel; it was obvious they were not going to give up. I picked up the phone and flipped it open. Yes my phone, much like everything else in my life, was outdated. It was Jazz. Maybe I could talk to her one last time. This would give me the chance to leave her with a better impression of me before my lifeless corpse was found decaying in my bed.
“Hello?” My voice sounded dry. I hadn’t spoken a word since the screaming that left my throat bruised and my voice strained. The sound barely made it past my lips.
“Finally! I have been calling you for days,” there was a mixture of panic and relief in her voice.
“What’s up Jazz?” It felt good to hear her voice. It was refreshing. I tried to make my voice sound more alive, but I failed.
“Did you forget my b-day bash? You know I have it every year, and now that I got my new place, you have to be here! I gave you a pass last year, but that’s not going to happen this time around,” all sound of panic was gone. All it ever took was the mentioning of a party and Jazz would be unable to concentrate on anything else.
“Oh…I don’t know Jazz; I’m not really feeling up to doing anything. It’s been a rough few days,” the thought of being jammed up against drunken strangers made my voice crack even more.
“Oh, no you don’t, you listen girl; you have been missing in action for far too long now. I was being easy on you because,” she stopped the words from coming out, ‘’well, you know why, but I want my best friend back now.”
“I don’t know….” I started to whine, but she cut me off.
“Alexa, we miss you and we want you back. It’s not just me, it’s all of us. I know you are going through a lot right now, and I heard your grandmot
her up and left. My mom told me, you know she been keeping tabs on you. You need us and we need you. Just let me be here for you, Lex,” her words were full of sincerity. It sounded like she was holding back tears, but knowing Jazz, there would be no evidence of that on her face.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” I tried to comfort her. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. I’ve been dealing with this for a long time on my own, I can handle it.” I was not as strong as her; hearing her concern for me had initiated the waterworks. I was sure my voice painted the picture of my tear stained face.
“Oh, spare me the speech, drop the front, Lex,” I could hear the aggravation in her voice. “Say you’re coming and I’ll stop nagging you. If you don’t, I promise I will show up at your house, banging and screaming at your door, and physically drag you to the party. So, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way, but either way, your little butt will be at my party.”
There was nothing more I could say, I knew she meant it. She had done it before. Freshman year in high school, I didn’t have a date to the spring fling; she refused to let me sit around the house all sad and alone. She dumped her date and we went together, against my will.
“Okay, okay,” I said overwhelmed. “When and where?” I couldn’t believe I was giving in so fast. Maybe, I wasn’t as ready to drop out of life as I tried to make myself believe. Perhaps I had been waiting for her to call all along.
7
She told me the time and gave me her new address, and reiterated that she would make sure I showed up one way or another, which apparently meant the possibility of her friend, ‘Jay’ coming to pull me from my bed by force. She made extra sure that I understood that Jay was a stocky guy who would have no trouble tossing me over his shoulder, fireman style. She made me repeat back the information twice before she would let me get off the phone.
The party was the next night at her new condo, just can’t beat that advanced notice. Her dad promised her that he would get it for her after she graduated high school, and successfully made it through her first year of college. It took an entire year of looking to find a place, not because of him, but because Jazz was so picky. Yes, it was her dad’s way of keeping tabs on her obviously, but there was no way she was turning down her own condo, or settling for something less than perfect.
Recuperation was out of the question, there just was not enough time. My muscles ached, over used, abused, and without medication I would be suffering. Each nerve stepped up to voice their outrage resulting in a succession of spasms. I promised my friend that I would be there and I would. I didn’t, however, promise to stay for any extended length of time. I would go and show my face, linger for five or ten minutes, and then escape out the door whenever she was distracted.
I ended the call, tossed the outdated phone to the other side of the bed, and pulled the covers over my head. What had I gotten myself into? I didn’t feel like being around people, especially knowing that they would all be exuding obvious pity for me. Everyone already knew my situation; there was no way to avoid that embarrassment.
I was almost surprised about Jazz’s mom knowing that Nana left, but it wasn’t all that shocking. Jazz was nosy but her mom, well she had the biggest nose of them all, I’m talking top quality snoop. No matter where you were or what you were doing, she could sniff you out. Maybe, she was the reason my mother always knew when I would sneak away to my grandmother’s house. She was a hound and apparently, a snitch.
My intention was to go back to sleep, but instead, I was compiling a to-do list. I became nauseous debating what I would wear, how to style my hair and the crowd of faces that would be staring at me and sizing me up. Would I remember all of their names? What if they didn’t remember me? My mind went on rambling, until I had reached a level of certain paranoia.
Stress and anxiety started to form into a thick lump in my throat. It had been so long since I had been anywhere that required me to put any additional thought into my attire. Not to mention my hair, I hadn’t done anything to that monster in months besides my messy ponytail. I touched my head feeling through the tangles and cringed at the idea of combing through them, that alone would leave me in need of a serious painkiller.
The decision was to lie in bed for the rest of the day, but I tried and failed to ignore the questions and worries that rattled around in my head. My inability to block out the noise, of course started me down the road to formulate an acceptable excuse for my sudden inability to attend. Surely, I could come up with something that would convince Jazz that my appearance at her party would be a bad idea. Unfortunately, I sucked at lying and each sad justification I concocted sounded flimsier than the last. It was pointless anyway, even if I had been able to create a sound reason, Jazz had no intention of letting me off the hook.
The night went by slowly as I drifted in and out of a state very close to, but not quite sleep. Every time I opened my eyes, I groaned at the clock that sat on my nightstand. Big bold red numbers told me the time. It felt as if it was counting down to doomsday. I reached out and flipped the face of the clock away from me.
Hours later, moments before the sun illuminated the sky, I decided to get up. I would to take as much time as possible to get ready. Hell, I would need as much time as possible to manage to look even mildly presentable. First thing I wanted to tackle was wardrobe. It was a surprise to find out how many options I had; too many options, which only made me feel worse. My closet was stocked with clothes that hadn’t been worn in years, and the excess of options only added to my dilemma. How was it possible that I had such a massive heap of clothing waiting to be washed and yet there were still a hundred clean options for me to choose from? I didn’t need anything else to stress me out, so I chose an outfit that I always felt confident in. I could use every bit of help I could get, when it was my turn to step up and face the firing squad. The fact that the outfit was comfortable was a plus.
I laid the faded denim pants and maroon strapless shirt on the bed, took a deep breath and moved on to shoes. Another overwhelming factor, I looked at the rows of pumps on the floor. Remembering how, despite my Tomboy nature, I loved to wear heels. I justified this contradiction by saying it was a good workout for the thighs and core, and it helped me with balance! Yes, I omitted the fact that I liked the way my legs looked and how guys noticed them as I walked by. It was a reaction you just couldn’t get while wearing a pair of sneakers.
Jazz was the only one of our friends who knew the extent of my secret obsession, hell she’s the one who started it. Freshman year, black chunky heels, she called them ‘stacks’. She dared me to do a sprint in them. It was love at first kick off! There was a different shoe for almost every outfit. It was the only ‘girly’ thing I did in excess. My parents hadn’t minded supporting my habit if I kept my grades up. I frowned at my favorite pair, a dark red pump that would look great with the outfit lying on my bed.
My ankles screamed at me, protesting in advance, the thought of attempting to balance in them for even a second. Giving up on that idea, I grabbed a pair of black flats and tossed them on the floor in front of the bed; I pulled out a strapless bra from the drawer to wear under my shirt, and threw it on top of the selection.
I glanced at the clock; 7:33. I had nearly 12 hours to kill before it would be time to leave. Too anxious to return to my bed, I decided I would distract myself. My body ached, but I needed to find something to do to stop myself from worrying about things that were out of my control. I wanted to pop a few pills, little tablets of relief, to block out the recurring spasms, headache and overall soreness, but if I were to take any medication now, it would have me knocked out in minutes and would unquestionably result in me breaking my promise to Jazz.
Looking around my room, I gave in to the urge to clean. It just had to be done. The clothing that was thrown on the floor, was picked up and tossed it into the wicker hamper, and pulled it out into the hall before moving on to tackle the large desk that sat in the corner opposite my bed. It had been
so long since I turned on my laptop there were surely cobwebs on the keys. The desk was littered with papers and unopened junk mail. It took me nearly an hour to sort through the mess. In the end, I had a large shopping bag filled with what I decided was trash, and a desk I could see.
After organizing the items on my dresser, entertainment center, and vanity mirror, the one that my mom insisted every girl should have. It was not really my taste. She was mortified when she found out that I had covered the ivory finish in a coat of black paint with the Brahma Bull (yes, I love The Rock) on the tabletop. This was an act of rebellion that I regretted after about three months. The paint was stripped away, and my mom was only too eager to have it refinished.
I grabbed the bag of trash and headed downstairs. It was nearly one o’clock now and I still had so much time to kill. Content with continuing my cleaning spree, I went to the pantry and pulled out every dusting and disinfecting supply I could find. It was about time I utilized all the knowledge I had gained from hours of watching the DIY Network.
I went through the house. Scrubbing and polishing everything in my path, it was unnerving how much there was to do; talk about a slob, I had been living in filth and I hadn’t even noticed it. By the time I was done, I had three Hefty bags filled with trash, used paper towels, and dead plants. I wasn’t anywhere near done with everything, but it made me feel better that I had accomplished anything at all.
I sat in the front room of the house, the one room I had managed to get completely clean, while I waited for the kettle of tea on the stove to sound off. The sunlight glared through the window, and I could see my mom and dad again. They were sitting on the couch, across from the loveseat. They were together, holding hands and smiling at me. I felt comforted by the idea that they were proud of me. I was getting back into life, or at least attempting to. I would be sure to replace the plants to restore some life to the room.