by Lowe, T. I.
Anyway, there we were, and Hope kept telling me no about one class and insisting I take this sketch class. I don’t even like to doodle much less draw, but she just kept right on until I couldn’t take it anymore. In the midst of the advisor telling me a timeslot was available for the photo design course I had my sights set on, I blurted out, “I’m a grown woman and I’ll take whatever class I so choose!”
The grey headed woman looked up from the computer screen and glared at me from over the top of her glasses. I went to apologizing and Aunt Frostie thought it best to tell my irritated advisor of my brain injury—I did not. Of course the guilt followed and then pity showed up, causing everything to smooth over.
I didn’t realize my schedule somehow included the blame sketch class until we were already at the college bookstore. As I followed Aunt Frostie around the bookshelves, I glared over at Hope and whispered, “You think you’re so smart.” I thought I said it low enough, but when Aunt Frostie looked over her shoulder at me I decided I did not. She said nothing, just handed me one of my required books and kept moving along.
I’ve given up on explaining my outbursts. Maybe I have gone mad. It would make more sense than me talking to this angel. I stand here glaring at her, but she just keeps smiling without faltering. I stomp over to the bathroom to retrieve my medicine for migraines and pop two of them with some water from the tap. I go back into the bedroom, and after shutting off the lights and securing the heavy curtains, I crawl onto my bed and secretly beg the throb in my head and this angel to simultaneously disappear. I feel the bed dip slightly as she eases beside me.
“You’ll get the hang of driving again soon,” she offers. I’m doubtful. It’s been over six months of trying to get over it.
Without looking at her, I ask, “What do you want from me? Why won’t you just leave me be?” I try to rub the stinging from my nose away before it produces tears that will surely slam this headache up a few agonizing notches.
“God has a working to do in your life.”
“I already live by His commandments and I’m faithful at attending church,” I whisper because it’s starting to hurt to even talk.
Hope starts running her fingers through my short hair, just as Mom used to do with my long hair. This causes my heart to squeeze painfully at missing her. Even though it hurts inwardly, Hope’s motherly affection is soothing, so I let her continue as silent tears escape from the edges of my closed eyes.
“God’s precious gift is way too glorious to keep to yourself. There are seven billion people blessed to live on this planet. He expects his children to go out and share His gift. You, my child, have not. He has instructed His people to go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.” Hope quietens for a while before she speaks again softly. “I’ll make you a deal. You help me out with a few people in need, and I promise to leave after that.”
I don’t know if I find any comfort in this proposal. “How can I help?”
“You can start by noticing. Take off your fancy blinders and pay attention to those around you. Your earthly father has done a truly noble job at shielding you from the hurt of this world up until last summer. You both need to let you out to discover the true world and your divine place in it. God left you here for a higher purpose than the one you were living. He expects you to show compassion to those who are suffering.”
Hope’s words hit me deep. I’ve always sort of lived in a perfect little bubble where my parents have always protected me. That bubble shattered in a million little excruciating pieces with the slap of my mom leaving. And let’s not forget the horrific wreck where I’m pretty sure I died. Talk about when it rains it pours…
“I don’t think I’m the right person to help you,” I mutter.
Hope eases her hand out of my hair and places it in her lap. “That’s why you are the perfect person to help me. God says if you humble yourself before Him, He will lift you up.”
“Fine,” I slur. The meds are starting to pull me under and I am thankful. “Who do I need to show com… compassion to?” I nod off, but reawaken. I pry my eyes open and find myself alone. Maybe I just needed to be willing, or maybe the meds have alleviated my hallucination…
~~~~~
Morning arrives without me noticing. The room is still as dark as night from the custom blackout curtains. I turn the bedside lamp on and come close to screaming.
“You trying to give me a heart attack?” I gasp and clench my chest.
“Your heart is healthy. You can handle being startled,” Hope says with her usual smile dancing along her face. She’s sitting on my dresser. Even though she’s been randomly popping up for a while, I still can’t get used to the unexpectedness of it.
I roll away from her and try to go back to sleep. I feel a slight change in the air and open my eyes to find her face just inches from mine. She’s kneeling beside my bed now. I sigh in frustration. “What do you want?”
“Today, I need you to help me with someone who is hurting.” She hops to her feet and starts pulling the covers off of me.
I try making a grab for them, but she’s quicker. The clock indicates seven in the morning. “Who could possibly need me this early in the morning?”
“Well. Let’s see?” She says this as she taps her chin in mock thought. “You and your mother used to meet at a little coffee shop every Tuesday morning to catch up. Why did that stop?”
Please, Lord. Don’t make me go there…
“She left me.” I glare over at the annoying hallucination.
“You still see her. She’s not left you. Death is the only permanent separation. She’s still here and it’s time you forgive her.”
I scratch my fingers through my disheveled hair in frustration. “Pick another person, please.”
“Nope. This is where you have to begin. Or you can just keep being stuck with me. The choice is yours.”
“I’ve got to figure out this driving thing first. That’s going to be enough to focus on. Mom knows I love her.” I crawl out of the bed and lock the bathroom door behind me. I can’t face any of this right now.
I spend the next several days venturing out farther each time. I have finally worked up enough nerve to make a few practice runs to the campus, but it’s been harder than I had imagined. I always make sure I’m in by dusk. There’s no way I’m ready for night driving. Who knows how long that will take for me to overcome?
Chapter Six
I begin the spring semester this mild January with Hope tagging along with me everywhere I go. Even though she is ever a constant, my angel won’t say a word. She’s sort of like my shadow, quietly following behind me.
“What’s up with you being mute all of a sudden?” I asked on the drive home from school last week.
“I’m patiently waiting for you to forgive your mother.”
With that, she went right back to being my mute shadow. I’ve tried to provoke her into conversation. However, she’s one determined angel and has kept diligently silent.
A few weeks of school pass and I’m ready to scream at the frustration of having this shadow. I want her gone so I can focus on my education. Every class, Hope perches on top of the desks, so I have no choice but to see her. I know this is intentional, so today after class, I declared defeat. I call Mom and she agrees to meet me for coffee in the morning. I thought this would be good enough to at least bring back the conversation, but all Hope will do is pat me on my shoulder and smile.
We are seated in the corner of our usual coffee shop, staring uncomfortably into our cups. Mom mumbled a few questions on how school is going and I’ve mumbled an okay so far. She doesn’t even know about my major change and I have no patience for filling her in with it today. Nope. Today I am on a difficult mission I’m not sure how to maneuver. Forgiveness.
I don’t know how to begin this conversation so I just blurt out as we study our cappuccinos, “I want to forgive you.”
Mom stops playing with her coffee stirrer and looks over at me through wa
tery gold eyes. “I want you to forgive me too, Willow.” She dabs away an escaped tear delicately so as to not smudge her flawless makeup. I wonder how she plans on continuing to afford such luxuries, but banish the thought with great effort. It doesn’t matter. She places her hand on top of mine. “Please forgive me, sweetheart.”
I pull my hand from under hers and see the little dagger of pain that move inflicted, so I try covering my action by taking a sip of coffee. After I place the cup back down, I place my hands in my lap. “You left me,” I whisper through the hurt of it.
“I left your father, not you. Willow, you are a grown woman. You don’t need me anymore, which was clearly proven in this past year.” Her voice catches on this as though she’s close to choking on the words.
I want to rebuke her claim and cry out that I’ll always need her. Instead, my anger wins over my vulnerability. “Well, it’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” I ask calmly, trying not to sound too sharp.
“I just need some time for myself. I know it’s so selfish of me. But, please,” she begs.
I go back to studying my coffee cup, unable to look her in the eyes. “How can I forgive something I don’t understand?” I ask absently, doubting there is a comforting answer to my query.
“You’ll understand one day when you fall in love for the first time, and I just bet it’ll happen sooner rather than later. You will find yourself doing what you never thought capable of because of that love.” She says this wistfully with a smile and my stomach seizes with offense.
“Who wants love if it turns you into a fool?” I snap.
This slaps the smile off of my mother’s face. We go back to the muted coffee cup stare for a while, until my cup is close to empty and I’m ready to bolt.
Mom breaks the silence. “Please love me in spite of myself.”
I look over at her and find her crying again, but I hold my tears back. I refuse to shed any in front of her. “I do love you, Mom.” I glance around the quaint shop, wanting to avoid her gaze.
She clears her throat and dabs a tissue at her eyes. “Then you will forgive me too,” she says with more confidence than I think she should. “You will forgive me because you love me, not because I deserve it,” Mom clarifies when she sees my brows pinched together.
Hope appears at this comment. My angel is sitting beside me in the vacant chair at our small table. She quotes a familiar passage of scripture.
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”
I know I don’t deserve God’s forgiveness, but He gave it anyway when I asked. Simply because He loves me. And I do love my mom.
“I forgive you,” I whisper, causing my mom and my angel to smile with hope.
On the slow drive home, I keep eyeing Hope as she searches the radio for a song pleasing to her. She seems infatuated with music.
“I did as you asked. Why are you still here fiddling with my radio?” She stops on a rap station. I use the button on the steering wheel and change it over to a country station where Miranda Lambert is telling it like it is through bold, twangy lyrics.
With her hand still resting on the radio nob, Hope answers, “Oh my friend, our walk has just begun today.” She looks way too excited at this declaration and I’m feeling a big dose of dread over it. I was hoping my looney hallucination faze was about to depart. I guess that’s what I get for hoping…
~~~~~
A week passes with my shadow constantly on my heels. She has gone back to being on mute until this morning in the stupid sketch class she bullied me into. I’m early because my last class let out only fifteen minutes in because the professor got sick. For nothing better to do, I have headed on over to the art department. I love this part of campus. There is a more free-spirited vibe around these buildings. You always find students sprawled out on the lawn, sketching or reading or listening to music. It seems so laid back. On the other side of campus, the pre-med students are very anxious and all business with their stellar focus. I realize the importance to have those types in our world, but I am not one of them. Since this semester began, I have felt a peace come over me. I feel like I am finally where I belong. In the midst of the vibrant lively art buildings, I am finally at home.
My camera is a constant companion around my neck and I snap pictures throughout the day of various things. I’ve had it a few years now. My dad bought it for me before our family vacation to Italy, saying lots of pictures were required. I walked around snapping pictures the entire two weeks as we explored Florence to Rome to Naples. We finished our trip in the beautiful coast village of Bari. I was absolutely in love with the art of photography by the end of our vacation, but did nothing about it. I kept it as an unattainable dream, until now.
I love when I’m given an assignment that requires me to photograph. One of my first assignments was to capture an unusual subject for my Intro to Photography class. I was sitting on the back patio at home with Hope perched on the short privacy wall. I had aimed and snapped several quick shots of her, but when I went to download them onto my computer, no Hope was captured. Instead of my angel, I had captured the most unusual beach sky. The sky was a normal vivid blue touching the waves, but in the center of each shot was a circular rainbow with a cross etched in the midst of it. My professor loved the picture and had wanted to know what computer program I used to edit the picture. This led to a long awkward talk after class with me trying convince her I didn’t use any effects and her not believing me. I still got an A for the project. I tried to ask Hope about it, but she wouldn’t answer me. It’s like she’s waiting for me to do something and I’m not sure what that can be.
I scoot into the studio room where rows of art easel stations are set up. Only one other person has arrived. I glance and quickly dismiss him as I claim my usual station near the back of the class. I’m scared someone might be able to see my horrendous sketches if I sit anywhere else.
Hope sits beside me and nudges my arm. “Do you see him?”
I glance back over to the guy in question. “How could I not?” I mumble under my breath. I have noticed him since day one. It would be impossible not to, with him having bright purple spiked hair and facial piercings. Not to mention an assortment of tattoos. His normal attire is a shroud of blacks, dark blues, and greys.
The guy’s purple head is bent towards his sketch pad and his ink stained hand is drawing fervently. I’ve stared long enough, so I pull my own sketch pad out and start flipping through the pages for the lack of anything better to do. I cringe at my poorly executed attempts. I would hate to know I ruined my GPA over this unnecessary class Hope roped me into.
“Go speak to him,” Hope insists, and I have a bad feeling. She’s talking again so I think I just met my next mission. I look back over at him as worry settles deep in my stomach.
I stay put, but mumble out, “Good morning.”
He glances up briefly. “Yo,” is all he says before going back to drawing. Good. He doesn’t want to be bothered any more than I want to bother him.
“Go on,” Hope encourages.
“I’m Willow Carter.”
“Duke Harris,” he states without looking up this time.
“You should go over and sit with him.” Hope keeps on at me, and I’m getting annoyed.
“No,” I whisper.
“Why not?”
“That package is a very loud flashing sign—STAY AWAY, NO TRESPASSING, NO ONE ALLOWED.” I try saying this under my breath as I wave my hand discreetly in his direction.
“No. That’s just him expressing himself. Nothing wrong with that as long as he’s not harming himself, and he’s not, by the way.”
“He has tombstones tattooed on his neck.” I cringe as I peep over at the ink swirling along the side of his long throat.
“His parents died when he was ten. The unexpected loss of them at such a young definitely left a permanent mark.”
“Look, he’s not my type,” I say slowly to make sure she unde
rstands.
“That’s great.” Hope quickly agrees, making me nervous about what might be great about that.
Before I can say anything else, Duke mutters, “You always talk to yourself?” He continues to draw, so he doesn’t see my face blush with embarrassment—thank goodness.
Now this strange fella thinks I’m the strange one. This has been a long five minutes. I look over towards the door and silently beg for more of the class to arrive. When I look back, I find Duke staring at me with a smirk on his face, waiting for my response.
“Yep,” I reply honestly.
“Art major,” he assumes as he goes back to drawing.
“Photography major,” I correct, causing him to look back up at me again.
He begins packing up his stuff and the next thing I know, the guy is sitting at the easel beside me where Miss Busy Pants Hope was just occupying. I scan the room and find her nowhere. Good. I look back at Duke and find him staring at me like I’m the oddest thing. Bad. I take the opportunity and get a good look at him. The guy isn’t bad looking at all. He has two thin silver rods through his right eyebrow, silver hoops in his ears, and a lip ring pierced close to the corner of his full bottom lip. He bites at it now with perfectly straight white teeth as though he’s holding back a laugh. I glance back at his eyes and find them a rare shade of greyish-blue, almost void of any color. They are quite striking with a thick dark ring circling each nearly-clear iris. Surprisingly, they are friendly eyes. I’m pretty sure he’s about the same age as me, even though he gives off the vibe of having lived a lot more life than me. He’s probably at least six feet tall and rugged, making it a hard to make a call on his age.
“You done checking me out?” he asks boldly, with the pierced eyebrow raised.
“No. Lean your head over so I can get a good look at that tattoo,” I say back with some sass before I can stop myself. I already feel familiar with this guy in mere minutes. Weird.