Willow

by Donna Lynn Hope

  I pushed a strand of dark hair behind my ear and closed my eyes. I hadn’t even attempted to open the door to my house when I slid to the ground and buried my face in my knees. My throat ached and tears flowed. Silent sobs gave way to ones that seemed to have no end. I lifted my tear-streaked face to the sky and looked at the doorway to the house I might never be able to sleep in again. I cried out in agony and cared not if some distant neighbors heard my cries. How I wanted back in the house that was now dark with no signs of life inside. The only stirring was that of the bushes nearby.

  What I wanted was for that dark and depressing house to be warmly lit from within – from the kitchen where my dad cooked oatmeal, pot pies and biscuits, to the living room where we would sit in front of the fireplace and read or play games like scrabble and UNO. Now there was nobody, nothing, not even light.

  I cried until I was too weak to cry any longer. I slowly got up and made my way down the steps of the porch to my old, white Jeep wrangler. Once inside I backed out of the gravel driveway and took one last look. In just one day it went from a happy home filled with a family to a dark and empty structure void of life.

  My life was changed forever and at that moment I didn’t think I would ever be happy again. The darkness was all around me and I was sad. Death had locked me out from the comfort of presence and familiarity. Not only had I lost him but I was losing my home and moving several hours away to live with an Aunt I had met only a handful of times.

  Chapter 4

  “You’ll love it here, really.” Anne was trying to be helpful. She was hanging clothes, fluffing pillows that didn’t need it, and helping me organize the guest room that was now my bedroom.

  “The school is small and most everyone is friendly,” she told me.

  I placated her by smiling but I didn’t feel it. Would I feel anything again, anything except the dull emptiness and raw pain?

  Anne smoothed a folded blanket with her manicured hand and put it on the full sized bed that was covered in a white down comforter. She lifted her other hand to rub my back but I dodged the intimacy by reaching for my partially unpacked suitcase. She slowly dropped her hand and moved away. I didn’t want to offend her so I mustered a smile and hers in response was equally polite but just as insincere.

  Perhaps the move would be good for me. There were too many memories in Woodland Park. Everywhere I looked I saw him and I remembered our life together. I had seventeen wonderful years with him and although my mother died when I was two, her beautiful, comforting echo was in almost every room, kept alive by the one person who never stopped loving her.

  My dad never missed a chance to remind me of her either, “See over there Willow…your mother loved the vibrant colors. She loved the smell in the air, the wild wind; the scent of colder days and the cloud of darker nights.”

  I loved autumn too because it’s an effortless time to be outdoors and to feel a sense of affinity with the wilderness and the wildlife that my parents held so dear. Perhaps autumn is cherished because the season is the shortest and we tend to appreciate more what passes through our lives so quickly.

  How very well I understand this now…We don’t have time to grow impatient because autumn is so brief. Everything good is brief...

  Anne’s knock on my door momentarily distracted me from my musings. I hadn’t even noticed that she had left.

  “Willow, when you’re done unpacking I thought we could walk to the Pizzeria for dinner.”

  I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Um, sure, that sounds nice,” I lied.

  Pleased, she added, “It will be good to get out and you can see more of the town.”

  My heart was heavy. “Sure thing, I’ll see you downstairs in a few.”

  A new town, a pizzeria; old memories intermingled with new ones. Would the reminders never cease?

  Every December my dad and I would drive down to Old Colorado City and visit the chocolate factory, and every visit I would choose the same thing - chocolate covered gummi bears. If the buggy was in town my dad never missed a chance to pay for a ride. We would sit there side by side, somewhat quiet but always connected. Sometimes when I looked into his thoughtful brown eyes, I would see his love for me and also his longing for her. She was always with him.

  I looked more like my dad – dark hair, brown eyes. He was half Cheyenne and half Scottish. He had only stood at a height of 5’9 but he had always been strong.

  My parents met at a bonfire before they graduated from Woodland Park High School and from that moment on were inseparable.

  Around the time I turned fourteen my dad brought home a beautiful white and gray puppy with bright, inquisitive yellow eyes. She was a Siberian Husky and I called her Pandora, or Panda for short. She was my first and only pet – ‘a companion who would watch out for me’ my dad explained. He didn’t need to, I loved her right away. She was somewhat mischievous but hopelessly devoted to me. She was the only real friend I had and she made the trip with me.

  With my fingertips I parted the white curtains to glance down below. I could see her aimlessly meandering through the back yard, checking out her new surroundings. She caught sight of me in the second story window and wagged her tail. I gave her a small wave. As kind as Anne was, Pandora was the only one who understood me.

  My mother was Tanith Davidenka Scott. My father said I favored her, but only with my features. I could only dream of what she must have been like as I had few memories of her. I remembered her striking smile and feeling warmly content in her arms. I even recalled her long, slim fingers running through my hair as she hummed a lullaby. Other than that, what I knew of her were memories my dad had shared and seeing her through photographs, which were everywhere. My mother had long blond hair, exotic blue eyes and pale skin. In photos she was more or less the same height as my father; 5’7 perhaps?

  She didn’t have much family, at least any that she kept in touch with, but my dad wouldn’t expound on the matter, only briefly stating that she was born in Kuybyshev, now known as Samara; she came to the United States with her father when she was a child. He had proudly stated that she spoke English with the faintest of accents and had done very well in school, better than me in fact. The gist of what I got from him was that he was fiercely protective of her and that she had sacrificed a lot to be with him. The rest was a mystery to me but I always thought my dad would be around long enough to eventually tell me everything. Sadly reconciled I shook my head.

  There is never enough time, and there aren’t many chances. I guess we have to make the most of the ones we do have and we should never be careless enough to let the others slip away.

  Chapter 5

  I was thankful I had brought my cream colored sweater because it was chilly. Anne and I sat outside the Pizzeria and waited to be served. She was looking at me sympathetically when she said, “You’re always so quiet.”

  Lamely I remarked, “I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just thinking.”

  What could I tell her, that I felt hopeless, lost, and that I was uncomfortable around her because I didn’t know her? The truth would be far ruder than silence, or so I thought.

  She was still looking at me. Was that pity I saw in her dark, almond-shaped brown eyes – my dad’s eyes? I hoped not, I didn’t want to be seen at all.

  Anne Scott was my dad’s sister. She was twenty-two when I was born and had never married, although she was never without the company of men. Her wavy auburn hair fell just below her shoulders. Today she had a half up-do. Her appearance was impeccable, tidy, and pin-up glamorous. She wasn’t overweight but she was curvy and a couple of inches shorter than me. Even now, men stared. Unlike me she adored attention and I admired that she wasn’t shy.

  Anne owned and operated a bakery in town that was popular for its old-fashioned soda fountain. Anne loved to bake but she couldn’t cook...at all. She had one full-time employee - an older gentleman named Benjamin Dalton. He was a retired teacher and also a widower. Ben, as he preferred being called, was born in
Mississippi but moved to Kansas when he was young. He was a jovial and kind man. He also liked to tell stories and I was told he had many talents. Anne said she was lucky to have him and when I was ready, I could help out in the bakery.

  An hour passed but Anne and I had exchanged few words. I felt lonely, even in her presence. It was a weeknight and there were few people milling about. As I picked at what was left of my cheese pizza, Anne excused herself to speak to one of her gentleman friends. Before she left I asked permission to walk across the street to the chocolate factory, which just so happened to be the same chain that had a store in Old Colorado City. Was I seeking to ground myself through nostalgia? All I knew is that I needed to go, or maybe I just needed to get away.

  I walked in a hurry, but in a hurry for what? To my left a sporty black motorcycle caught my eye. Then I noticed the rider. Tall and very slim, he too was covered from head to toe in black. I looked away, indifferent. As I passed him I noticed his head was turned in my direction and I could feel his eyes bore into my back. Seeking shelter from being seen I hurried up the stone steps and opened the door.

  The store was old and the wood floor creaked as I moved about. A teenage girl stood behind the counter waiting to offer assistance. I scanned the items and recognized the dark chocolate pretzels my dad liked so much. I knowingly and mournfully smiled and went over to the baskets where I chose the usual…chocolate covered gummi bears. I reached inside my backpack trying to locate my wallet, but nothing...I kept searching.

  I heard the bells chime. A presence drew near but I didn’t look up. I heard the movement of a leather jacket and then the girl spoke.

  An attractive voice greeted her in return before handing over a 10.00 bill. “This should cover it.” In my peripheral vision I saw him raise his hand as if to stop her.

  I was embarrassed and almost didn’t take the bag when the girl handed it to me. I turned to object and for a brief moment my eyes locked with his but the connection felt like minutes more than seconds. His eyes were a brilliantly soft azure, or were there even words to describe their intensity? His eyes had pulled me in somehow, and as they caught the light they momentarily flared blue-green. He had a strong, square jaw, slender face, well-defined cheekbones, and his tousled hair was a rich light brown. He was attractive but it was more than that.

  The young man stood just a few inches taller than me. He was lean but toned; he stood rigid with his eyes focused on me. Something unspoken was happening. I know I wasn’t imaging it. Suddenly the bells chimed and a fresh gust of air stirred the air around us, swirling up his scent from beneath the aroma of old leather. I hadn’t noticed one quite like it and it stirred an unfamiliar, physical reaction in me.

  The connection was broken and I gathered my thoughts, thanked him, and hurried out of the store knowing full well he was watching me. I rushed around the corner and rested against the wall of a bank. What was wrong with me?

  I shook my head as if to clear my thoughts and decided to walk home. Anne was giving me some space but she expected me home at a certain hour and had given me a spare key. As I walked I folded my arms across my chest, pulling the sweater tight, protecting myself from the cold and also from vulnerability.

  I rounded the corner and saw Anne’s off-white Victorian house in sight. Blue trim carved out the corners. A neighbor’s brown and gold calico cat was curled up on the porch swing but as I loomed closer the cat hissed and ran off. I watched her dash into some nearby bushes and looked up to see a dark figure standing near a light post at least two blocks away.

  Was that him? Or was it my imagination?

  I quickly let myself in and locked the door behind me. I peeked out the window but the dark figure was gone.

  Feeling frazzled I let Pandora in and turned on the TV for company and sat down on the couch, which backed to a large window facing the front yard. Pandora nuzzled me for reassurance and curled up at my feet. I reached over to examine Anne’s books. My fingers rested on a hardcover. I flipped through the pages and saw she had highlighted certain quotes or sentences, all relating to the paranormal. I read them, shook my head at what they inferred and closed the book. I opted for one a little less morbid and settled on an old Sunfire romance novel - anything to get my mind off instant attractions and eerie works of fiction.

  Chapter 6

  I was dreaming of it again but like all the other times I’ve been powerless to wake until the end.

  I watched as the champagne colored wolf paced back and forth while the other wolves stood their ground. Their long tongues were dripping and their eyes were on fire. Connor cocked his rifle and stood near the champagne colored wolf. The pack began circling and their growls were low and angry. Some trotted back and forth eagerly. They were waiting...

  The menacing brown wolf deliberately crept forward. Champagne growled low in return and bared her teeth. Connor stepped back, secured his footing, and aimed but didn’t fire. He didn’t have time to. The brown wolf charged and Champagne tackled her adversary in the air. Connor cried out, trying to get the brown wolf in his line of sight. He couldn’t risk firing so he stood by helplessly. The brown wolf bit into Champagne’s neck, temporarily rendering her powerless. She let out a yelp but twisted and broke free. Her white and gold fur was caked in blood and her eyes were wide. She limped back to Connor, bracing herself in front of him. Connor took the opportunity to aim at the brown wolf but he blended into the darkness unseen. One by one the other wolves advanced. Out of the tree line a rogue wolf charged, colliding with another and viciously breaking his neck. Connor took advantage of the interruption to take aim at another, being brought to a sudden stop by Champagne who leaped in front of him to protect him from a wolf that had stalked them from their flank. She courageously held her own but her wound was too great and she was outnumbered, even with the assistance of the rogue wolf.

  Connor shouted and threw himself on top of Champagne. With one arm he cradled her while his fingers curled into her thick, soft fur. With his other arm he pointed towards the remaining wolves. One by one they disappeared into the tree line, leaving their dead. The rogue wolf remained, guarding him, but Connor didn’t notice him. All he saw were the blue eyes that were fixated on his own. Tears rolled down his face and he caressed Champagne. Her heartbeat slowed, her panting dwindled and her movements began to cease but she never stopped looking into his face. He stroked her cheek, trying to comfort her. An incandescent haze began to form around her, the temperature increased, and in mere moments she was lying in his arms, her uncovered body bloodied but whole. With that last transformation she let out a sigh and became still. Connor wailed and embraced her form with his, never letting go. The rogue wolf howled into the night and I woke up, as I always did at the moment of her death, but I didn’t have time to mull. I had to get ready for school.

  I opened the closet to choose an outfit. I settled on a pair of jeans, a white blouse and a pair of sketchers. I didn’t have any jewelry except my necklace with a small cross pendant. It was on my tenth birthday that my dad had given me the necklace and it was something I never took off.

  My dad and I were believers but we never went to church. My dad had said that the relationship with God was more important than the religion and he felt closest to God when he was in the great outdoors. Still, he thought faith was important and he often prayed over me.

  After showering I brushed my long dark hair and secured my black headband in place. I dusted my face with a little mineral veil, dabbed on some mint scented lip gloss and brushed my eye brows into place. I was ready, or so I hoped. I was also nervous. This was my first time changing schools and I was coming in late, the tail end of September.

  Anne was already gone but she left me a note in her broken cursive and signed it with a smiley face. Next to the note was some money for lunch. She also set out some cereal. I was touched by her thoughtfulness. I knew she wasn’t used to having anyone else around.

  After letting Pandora out and giving her some fresh food and water, I walke
d the three blocks that it took me to get to school. Anne had explained that everything was taken care of and that they were expecting me. After checking in with the secretary and counselor, they summoned a girl to show me around. As she approached me her tight, black ringlets pulled into a high pony tail bounced with each step she took. Her skin was flawlessly dark and she was wearing gold hoops that offset her caramel colored eyes; she was exotic, probably well off from her attire.

  “Hey,” she greeted, extending her hand. “I’m Tavia.” She looked me up and down without being rude about it. “Tavia Moore.”

  I flashed a smile. “Willow Scott; it’s nice to meet you.”

  “That’s a pretty name.” She glanced at my schedule and motioned for me to follow her. “Where did you move from?”

  “Woodland Park,” I offered. “It’s where I grew up.”

  She nodded casually. “I know that place. It’s near Colorado Springs.”

  She stopped in front of a room and opened the door. “Social Studies is my first class, too.”

  Before I had a chance to reply the teacher welcomed me and pointed out some empty seats. I could feel the curious glances from other students and I blushed. I ended up choosing a desk closer to the back of the room.

  Tavia followed and leaned against the desk to my right. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  I shook my head. “No, I moved here to be with my aunt. It’s just the two of us.” I didn’t want to elaborate. Tavia seemed to take the hint because all she did was nod.

  More students trickled in and I felt less alone thanks to Tavia but I still felt out of place. I always felt out of place.

  The day passed by uneventfully and some of the students were commonly nice but I gathered it was their natural curiosity towards the new girl in school. Most kept to themselves and their own inner circles. Consistently reserved I really didn’t notice anyone unless they introduced themselves or I had to ask for assistance.