To the side stood a fourth easel with a blank canvas on it. Waiting.
Bonnie smiled at me and wiped her hands on her artist’s apron.
“Wanna have a go at it, gorgeous?” She asked.
I set my bags down on the countertop and raised my eyebrows.
“Me? Paint?”
She removed her apron and before I knew it, she had it on me and was tying it at the back.
“Paint whatever you feel,” she said, and placed a palette full of color into my hands.
I had never painted anything in my life except for my nails, and I knew from that alone I was not an artist. But Bonnie’s face looked so eager for me to try that I soon found myself swirling an indigo color onto the canvas.
I had no idea what I was doing, only that Bonnie had said to paint what I was feeling and so that's what I did. It seemed like minutes had passed but in reality I stood at the easel for two hours, losing myself in the experience. I never knew something so basic as art could be so satisfying.
When I was done, I had a rather cool looking “abstract,” as Bonnie called it. It was all shades of blue, black, and purple, and looked to me like a wound, like a giant bruise with bursts of color seeping through the pain.
Bonnie said it looked like an evening sky not long after the sun went down. Mitch said it reminded him of his favorite blueberry smoothie. Vincent said it looked like the time when Bonnie washed white towels and didn't realize her black and blue dress was in the load. She laughed. Amelia didn't say a word. She just looked at it, quite seriously, and nodded. Then she did the most unexpected thing.
She reached for my hand.
In that instant, I knew she saw it for what it really was. Not a night sky, or a liquid dessert, or a laundry mishap. It was me, the Inner Roz who had never known joy within a family was possible. It was the me who had come from a home which was dead and broken, filled with drugs and hate. It was the me who had been neglected for years and tormented by her mother's boyfriend.
It was the me who was now nothing more than a deep, painful bruise.
The warmth of this child’s hand slowly seeped from my skin, up into my heart, and I allowed it. She gave a slight squeeze, and I looked down at her in wonder. She gave me one swift nod, and released my hand before leaving the kitchen.
And with that tiny gesture, I knew the bruise I had become would eventually heal.
***
As I lie in bed that night, Jimmy’s chill reached me once again. I sighed. I was afraid to sleep, afraid to take the pills, afraid of beginning my first day at a new school. But even though I couldn't see him, his cold air soothed me enough to calm my nerves down.
“I know you're here,” I whispered to the empty space beside me. “I can't see you, but I feel you.”
Cold air sliced through the space and wrapped itself around my hand. Once more, as I had felt before, it crept up my arm to my shoulder before flowing through my hair. A sigh escaped me and I smiled softly.
“I'm afraid to fall asleep, Jimmy.” I admitted to the air around me. “Bonnie asked if I took those pills and I lied. I said yes. The truth is, I'm afraid to take the pills, as much as I'm afraid to sleep. I don't want to be an addict like Jill.”
The tingle of cold air pressed into my forehead. I wondered if he was pressing his head to mine, or kissing it. I wished I could see him to know for sure, but either way it didn't matter. He was here.
My eyes grew heavier and heavier by the moment as I lay beside his invisible form and basked in his coldness.
“If I have another nightmare tonight, will you wake me up?” I dared to ask.
A large mass of the cool air moved beside me so that I could feel it against my cheek. It moved up, then down.
A nod.
I raised my eyes upward, trying to see him as I knew he must have been right above me, but all I saw was my ceiling fan.
“Thank you, Jimmy.”
Moments later, cocooned within his cold air, I fell asleep.
And woke right up to the sounds of a party.
Jill and Derek were shooting up in the living room, and they had “friends,” over. The living room was littered with trash, baggies, needles, lighters, beer cans, bongs, spoons, and pieces of tin foil. The voices of the partygoers were muffled behind loud rock music. Except for one.
“There she is, there's my princess,” my mother said. “Come here, my angel. Sit on momma’s lap.”
I shook my head no, and tried to back out of the living room, but Derek was there with his big, meaty hands, urging me forward, pushing me towards my mother who removed a giant rubber band from her upper arm and looked at me with glassy eyes.
The tracks on her arms glistened as she reached for me.
“Such a pretty girl,” she mumbled. “Come here, come here,” she insisted.
I did as requested, even as the fear shot through my limbs and caused me to shake all over.
I looked down at my body. I was wearing the old SpongeBob nightgown I'd worn when I was ten. Derek sat beside Jill on the couch. A couple across from us sat on the loveseat, leering at me, at my thin, childish nightgown. Their eyes were blood red. The woman was small and abnormally pale while the man was large and dark. They made such an odd couple, but they stared at me until the man raised his hand to the woman’s head and forced it down into his lap.
I looked away, embarrassment flooding me as I realized the man’s zipper was down. How nice that his wife was going to fix that for him, my ten year old self thought innocently.
Derek muttered an expletive as he watched the pale woman’s head move up and down before him and the dark man grinned at me. I felt a hand soon begin to play with my hair.
Derek.
I looked to my mother, feeling bewildered and scared, but she grinned at the couple on the loveseat and it looked like all her teeth had fallen out, exposing bloody roots and gums. I jumped backwards, landing into Derek.
“You scared our little angel, Jill,” he admonished. “I'll fix it,” he whispered into my ear.
He picked me up and carried me to my bedroom. He set me down gently on the bed, his breath hot and rank in my face. He pulled away and began to take off his pants. Only then, did I see I was wearing my black tank top and purple pajama bottoms. The ones I always wore. The ones I wore now. The ones I wore as a teenager. The ones I wore when he reached for my breast and forced his tongue on my mouth--
“I'm here! I'm here! Can you hear me? Roz! I'm here! Wake up!”
I sat up with a shout.
Jimmy sat beside me on the bed, his arms wrapped around me, his hands stroking my hair.
“Shh,” he whispered as I shook from head to toe. The clock on the wall read 11:30. I'd only been asleep for an hour.
My bedroom door opened and Bonnie peeked in.
“I thought I heard a shout. Are you ok?”
I glanced at Jimmy, and knew she couldn't see him.
“I'm fine, sorry,” I stammered. “I'm… I thought I saw a bug in the light.”
“In the bathroom?” She asked.
I nodded. She came inside and went to the bathroom.
“I don't see anything,” she said as she looked. Then she turned to me, inspecting my face. “Are you taking your pills, Roz? The ones for sleep?”
I lied. Again.
“Yes.”
She nodded and smiled. “Okay hun.” She put her hand on the side of my face, right next to Jimmy, and kissed the top of my head.
“Goodnight,” she said softly, and left.
I looked at Jimmy. He didn't say a word, he just wrapped his cold arms around me tighter and nestled me against his form.
Sheltered within his spirit, I slept.
CHAPTER TEN
It's odd, how the mind works sometimes. One moment, I'm dreaming of a druggie party at my old house and the next, I've completely forgotten my dream and am feeling excited about attending my new school.
Seriously, deeply, emotionally, excited.
That was a first
for me.
I felt the twinge of guilt as well, believing that I should somehow be mourning the loss of my parents. Well, my mother, anyway. She was my mother, and not all the memories I had of her were dismal. I still had a few fleeting pictures in my mind of her laughing with me, saying she loved me, holding me. I didn't know if the images were real or wishful thinking, but I had to believe at one time in her life, she'd wanted me.
Regardless, I found it difficult to feel even an ounce of grief for her death.
As usual, Jimmy was gone when I woke up. No. Not gone. Just, not visible. I knew he was there because I stepped through a cold spot of air on my way to the bathroom, and stopped in my tracks.
“No peeking while I'm in the shower, mister, or so help me I'll destroy you!” I exclaimed jokingly. The air around me rippled and I knew he was laughing.
He wouldn't peek. He would never peek. Don't ask me how I knew. I just did.
I quickly got ready for my first official day of school. I dressed in my regular style (i.e., hiding my chest), laced up my worn-out Chucks, and rushed to the kitchen.
I couldn't tell if I was in a hurry to begin my new life, or afraid of being late for Mitch, my ride. Either way, I was hustling.
The kids were eating oatmeal covered in walnuts, berries, and brown sugar when I stepped into the kitchen. I had never been an oatmeal lover, but it looked pretty good and I again marveled at Bonnie’s cooking skills. How she could make something as boring as oatmeal look like a gourmet feast, I’d never know.
I looked in the cupboard and grabbed a box of cereal. I didn't expect Bonnie to cook my breakfast like she had for the kids, so I did what I knew. Cereal.
I stood at the counter, eating my breakfast and making a cup of coffee when Mitch and Bonnie sauntered in.
“Good morning gorgeous!” Bonnie declared, looking especially cheerful today.
I smiled (I think), and said good morning.
“Cereal? Really?” She admonished, and shook her head.
I shrugged and continued eating.
“I'll have you eating better than that in no time, just watch,” she winked.
Mitch poured a cup of coffee and stood next to me, watching the others as they finished eating and Bonnie got the little ones’ backpacks ready.
“So goth, eh?” Mitch nudged me, and looked at my outfit.
I looked down at what I was wearing. Black skinny jeans, purple flannel beneath a black hoodie, and my purple, holy Chucks. I couldn’t help it. I chuckled.
“Not even close,” I said. “Why would you think I'm goth? Do you know what goths look like?”
He tilted his head and grinned. “They wear black. You wear black. I did the math.”
I shook my head. “You're unbelievable,” I smirked.
He laughed, “Whatever you say, goth.”
Bonnie sent Amelia to grab something from the hallway, and turned to look at me.
“She's not goth, Mitch. She's hipster. Hipster goth. Yeah! Hipster goth, I like it!”
I threw my head back, stared at the ceiling, and let my mouth fall open. Hipster goth? It sounded so ridiculous and did not describe me at all, and the next thing I knew I had an actual laugh. Not a chuckle. Not a giggle. A real, live, honest-to-goodness, laugh.
I never knew before that moment- there is freedom in laughter.
Amelia stepped back into the kitchen carrying a black and white gift bag almost as big as her. She crossed the kitchen and handed it to Bonnie, smiling shyly at me.
I smiled back at her.
“Okay, gorgeous, have a seat!” Bonnie said to me happily.
I looked at her. “Aren't I supposed to be leaving?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes. But not before you open this.” She juggled the bag in front of me.
I looked at the bag and looked back at Bonnie. I looked at Mitch. He smiled and shrugged.
“Better have a seat,” he suggested, “or you'll be here all day.”
Bewildered, I sat at the table and faced Bonnie.
With a flourish, she set the bag on the table before me.
“A gift, for your first day at your new school,” she announced.
I heard her words but they didn't register. I stared at the bag wondering what I was supposed to do with it.
“Open it!” Vincent yelled, rolling his eyes. “What, you never had a gift before?”
I looked across the table at the little guy. Slowly, I shook my head. No. I never had a gift before. At least, not one I remembered.
Bonnie made a noise in her throat. Her eyes filled with tears and I could tell she wanted to hug me or something, but held herself back.
“Happy first day of school, Roz,” she whispered. “It's from all of us.”
Amelia came up beside me, grabbed my hand, and placed it on the bag. Holding my gaze she nodded.
I had never been at such a loss for words. Maybe this little girl had the right idea, in deciding to not speak. Sometimes, words were completely unnecessary, and at the same time, they were not enough.
I gingerly opened the bag and peered inside. Nestled deep beneath layers of colorful tissue paper was a brand new pair of purple and black high top Chucks. The soles weren't coming apart. The colors weren't faded. The canvas wasn't riddled with holes. The tongues weren’t shredded beyond repair. They were perfect. Totally perfect.
I swallowed hard and lifted them from the bag. I checked the tongue on one, and saw they were exactly my size.
“I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of looking at your current pair so I knew what size you wore.”
I nodded at Bonnie.
“S’okay,” I whispered.
“They didn't have any that were completely purple, like what you came here with, but I thought the purple and black might work just as good.”
I looked at her, at this amazing, wonderful hippie woman who wore cat glasses and was covered in beads and bangles before she even changed out of her pajamas, and felt the bruise that was me shift in color and grow lighter.
Another tiny step toward healing.
With all the appreciation and gratitude I could muster, I said very simply, “Thank you.” Because sometimes, words were unnecessary. And other times, they weren't enough.
“Try ‘em on! Try ‘em on!” Vincent called out.
I looked at him and gave a watery smiled, “Okay.”
I knelt down, and removed the old pair that I'd purchased from a thrift store two years ago with babysitting money. They'd been worn and old when I'd bought them, but I'd loved them completely. They were dear, old friends, and I gave them a slight caress of farewell as I placed them to the side.
I tried on the new ones. They fit like a glove.
I stared in awe at my feet.Bonnie bent down and kissed the top of my head.
“Have a great first day, gorgeous,” she said.
***
I did. I had a great first day. I had decent teachers and decent classes (including sophomore art as my elective, and wondered briefly if Bonnie had something to do with that). And to top it all off, I even made a friend. Me, the girl who never had a real friend before. At least, not a living, breathing one.
Go figure.
My Inner Roz was bursting with pride.
When I entered my art class, I was immediately filled with awe. The class was divided into halves. To the left stood about seven or eight easels, to the right were pottery wheels and work tables. Artwork in various mediums was sprawled all over the place and lined the walls in hundreds of colors, shapes, and styles. Music played (not too loud), from an ancient boom box, and it sat upon a five-foot-tall neon pink column in the corner which looked like it had once held a bust. The students milled around, conversing quietly as they began to work, some with coffee cups in their hands. Each one wore an apron or smock to protect their clothing.
Glancing around as I entered, I saw a separate room to the side, the door of which had the words Firing Room painted across it. I found out later the room held three kilns f
or firing clay and ceramics, and was filled with even more art supplies.
The whole place had such a cool vibe. I was both intrigued and impressed.
Mr. Harken (the art teacher), introduced me to the class and asked a girl to his left to show me where to find everything I'd need to “create art.”
I eyed her as she approached. She sort of dressed like me except for the Chucks. Her shoe of choice was a pair of green Doc Martens that went to mid-calf. I applauded that. Her hair was shaved around one ear (which showed off tons of silver piercings), with the rest left long, stick straight, and dyed a bright, unnatural red. Again, another fashion choice I approved of. She wore heavy black eyeliner that rimmed her crystal-clear grey eyes exotically, and thick, dark eyebrows that almost mirrored my own. She wore two silver rings- one through her nose, and another through her eyebrow- and dark, blood red polish on her nails. She had all sorts of words and symbols written in green marker on both hands and I didn't know if they were notes for her to cheat on tests with, or just random things she felt like writing on her skin.
“I dig your Chucks,” she said as she thrust her hand out. I shook it timidly, unsure of myself. Did teenagers actually shake hands with one another?
“Name’s Odie,” she said as she led me to the supply closet. It was in the back corner next to a Keurig with various flavored coffees and creamers.
Flavored coffees? Oh, I was going to love this class.
“Thanks,” I said softly, “I like your Docs.”
She grinned at me, and opened the closet, pointing out paints, acrylics, brushes, and other paraphernalia as she continued to introduce herself.
“Actually, it's Odessa. Odessa Ophelia Finkler. Yes, I know,” she said with a nod, “my initials spell out OOF. I'm one big OOF. Like… the sound someone makes when they get punched in the gut. Oof!” She demonstrated, as she clenched her stomach and bent over at the waist. I giggled. “Or… like goof,” she continued, “but without the G.” She raised her eyebrows and nodded vigorously, and I had to laugh.
Rest in Peace Roz: The R.I.P. Series Book 1 Page 6