And for the first time in years and years and years, I remember what joy feels like.
I remember what it feels like to be so happy that you’re exploding inside.
I want to grab her.
She’s my daughter.
Pull her into my arms.
My little girl.
I want to hold her, love her, cherish her and never let go. But I can tell by her regal nature and perfect stature that she’s inherited her father’s straight-to-business demeanor. That’s something I do remember about Elijah. He was very stern, curt, and to the point. Besides, this is the first time I’ve seen her since she was a baby and I think it best that in situations like these, that you ease into them and don’t push it early on. So I start with a comment, “I assumed you were dead.” I know that isn’t the best way to start this kind of thing, but it’s the truth. When I found my file in Dr. Swell’s office I assumed that Willow had died in the car accident that caused my amnesia.
“I’m sure you did.” There is a somber tone to her voice and a confused look on her face. “You know, Adelaide,” she continues, “I’ve searched for you for a long time.”
“How long?” I inquire.
“It’s been years,” she says as she drops her gaze to her hands and plays with her fingers. “I always told myself I’d never give up through. Not until I found you.” Her voice is shaky. And low. Almost a whisper. “I was hoping that you’d have some answers about my childhood that I’ve been searching for, for years.”
I can barely contain the excitement in my voice and I almost blurt out the words. “I’ll answer any question you have to the best of my ability.”
“Good,” she says with a smile.
“But first,” I say. “Can I ask a few questions about you?”
“Of course.”
“Who took you in?” I want to know that she was properly cared for. I want to know if she had a good child-hood. I want to know if she was loved.
“My aunt,” she says. “My father’s sister. Do you remember her at all?”
“No.” Sorrow oozes from my vocal chords. “I never had the chance to meet her.” I straighten up my posture. “Did she raise you well? Was she attentive? Was she—?”
Willow cuts me off before I can go any further. “I had a very good upbringing. And I was loved. I was treated like one of her own children.”
“I’m glad,” I say softly. Even though I’m not glad at all and when I uttered those words a little part of me broke inside.
I would have given anything…
My arm…
My leg…
I would have ripped my heart from my chest and placed in the palm of an organ broker if that’s what it would have taken for me to have been able to raise my daughter. “You know that’s not what I would have wanted,” I tell her, choking back a sob. “If I would have known I—”
“I understand, Adelaide. I know that it isn’t your fault.” The tone in her voice tells me otherwise. There is a hint of animosity in it. Her mannerisms do as well. She’s avoiding eye contact by staring out the window. “I just,” she stammers then catches herself, “I just wanted to find out about where I came from, you know?” She looks at me, but still won’t look me directly in the eye. “I want to know about my grandparents. My father. You. I know a little bit from what my aunt told me, but she didn’t know much about your relationship with my father.”
I can’t give her an accurate answer and that almost sends me into a fit of hysteria. I feel worthless. I haven’t had anything to do with my daughter for her entire life and I can’t even give her the answers she’s looking for. I know that my absence wasn’t by choice, but still. I want to be able to help. I want to be able to contribute. “I’m not entirely sure,” I tell her. “But I imagine I loved him a great deal or you wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re not sure.” Her voice trails off and gives off the vibe that I just punched her in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her lungs.
“I…I.” I struggle to get the words out. “I was in a car accident. I was in a coma for months. I lost my memory. I remember almost nothing about my relationship with your father except for what I’ve read or been told. The few things that I do remember are insignificant.” I take a deep breath and continue. “I didn’t even remember you.” My voice cracks. My chest vibrates. A sharp pain pumps through my heart and I have to clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. “But I remembered your eyes when you looked at me.” Tears roll down my cheeks and I sniffle. “I remember them because you have mine and my mother’s eyes.” I’ve always been told that violet eyes are rare.
Her face lights up the slightest bit. “My grandmother?”
“Yes,” I say. “I do remember quite a bit about her.”
“Like what?” Willow scoots closer, wearing an intrigued expression on her face. “Is she alive?”
“No.” A solemn look crosses over my features. I don’t want to get into the depressing details surrounding my mother’s death. “She died when I was very young. But, she loved lavender perfume and lullabies and she was sweet, loving, caring.”
Willow smiles. “And my grandfather?”
That is a topic that I definitely don’t want to dive into. “He’s dead too.” Dead, gone, and buried and my opinion his death was for the greater good of humanity. “He died in prison.” And that’s all I’m going to say about him.
“How did you meet my father, then?”
“I believe he was my doctor at some point.” According to my file that I confiscated that’s what it said. “Here,” I take Willow’s hand. She hesitates at first, but then her hand relaxes beneath my firm grip. “Come with me.”
I stand slowly, with wobbling knees and a shortness of breath. For a second, I feel light-headed and almost fall back into my chair. Willow is up in a flash and with her other hand she grabs my elbow and steadies me. “Are you okay?” she asks with genuine concern.
“I’m sick,” I comment with a soft laugh. “But I’m not dead yet.”
They told me not too long ago that I have cancer. They also told me that it’s a very aggressive kind, but that’s all I made out of my diagnosis. I tuned them out the second they told me I was dying and refused to listen to another word. I’ve also refused treatments. Most of the staff members told me this was a stupid decision, but I disagree with them. When you’ve lived a life full of bleak, destructive misery sometimes death is the only thing you can look forward to. Because at the end of it all, you know that it is the only thing that will bring you peace.
I’ve hoped for peace for years and years and years.
I’ve prayed for it.
Wished for it.
Now that I’m one step closer, I don’t want to fight to get it.
I want to slip away into the night and be swaddled by the comfort of serenity without having to look back.
I’m unprepared for Willow’s abrupt action, but when she pulls me by the arms and hugs me tightly my body relaxes against hers. This moment between us feels warm and familiar and beautiful and I don’t want it to end. “Please don’t die,” she whispers against the curve of my neck. “I just found you. I don’t want to lose you.”
I can feel her heart hammering against her ribcage. I can hear the soft sobs leaving her throat. “Don’t cry, little bird,” I murmur. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be with you.” Reluctantly, I pull out of the embrace, keeping my hands on her elbows. I’m fearing this might be too emotionally overwhelming for the both of us so I cut our interaction short by changing the subject. “Come with me.” I keep a firm grip on her right hand and pull her through the door.
“Are you allowed to leave this room?” Willow asks as we stroll through the double doors and out into the hall.
“They don’t pay very much attention to me anymore,” I say. What I don’t say is how they used to watch me, follow me, and escort me wherever I went. What I can’t say is how they tortured me by filling my veins with drugs, fried my brain with th
eir version of therapy, and led me on with their beautiful versions of lies. What I won’t say is how I let this place break me. Over and over and over again. Right now, the only thing I want to think about is this happy moment and not dwell on my fucked up past.
We’re half-way to my room when Willow says, “Okay.”
When we reach the cell, I open the door and gesture her inside. She’s wary. I can tell because once I’m in the tiny room, she remains at the door, her eyes sweeping over everything before resting on my face. I motion for her to come closer. “It’s okay.”
She steps through the door, glancing from white wall to white wall before stopping in front of my cot. Brushing past her, I close the door to my cell. I’m trying to be discreet because I’ve kept what I’m about to give her a secret from the staff for years. It’s the only thing that connects me to my past and I didn’t want them to take it from me. I’m at Willow’s side again in a few steps, leaning over and removing the manila file folder from beneath my cot. “Take this.” I shove it at her, placing it flat against her chest. “Hide it. Don’t let them see you with it.”
“What is it?” Willow takes the envelope and peeks inside it.
“My file. My history. It’s all I have left, but maybe, just maybe it will contain some of the answers you’re looking for.”
Our eyes lock. “Does it say anything about my father?”
“Yes. But very little. There’s a clipping from a newspaper on him in there. His obituary.”
“Right.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence between us and I know it’s because neither one of us wants to discuss the painful tragedy surrounding Elijah’s death. I step back and sit down on the cot. I pat the bare spot next to me hoping to make the moment less awkward and say, “So why don’t you tell me about yourself? Tell me what you’ve been up to.”
Her face lights up as she takes a seat and the sight of it brings tears to my eyes. She launches into the details of what she’s studying in college, how many boys she’s dated, the places she’s visited on vacation…
Before I realize it, hours have passed by and Willow is staring at the clock hanging above my door. “I’ve got to get going,” she says, rising from my cot.
I stand too and pull her into a tight hug. This moment is too short-lived. I feel like we need more time together. I feel like I need to make up for everything I’ve missed out on. “It was nice to finally meet you,” I say, thumbing tears out of my eyes.
Willow eyes are watering too and she laughs. “You’re saying goodbye like this is the last time I’ll ever see you.” She tilts her head back for a second and sighs. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be back.”
I am elated that she called me mom instead of Adelaide.
I want to clap.
Squeal.
Jump for joy.
“You will?” Hope blossoms inside of my chest like a beautiful, red rose in the spring. “You’ll come visit again?”
“Absolutely,” she says with enthusiasm. “We have an entire lifetime to catch up on.”
I have something to look forward to and that is a beautiful feeling. “Enjoy the rest of your day,” I tell her as I place a kiss on her cheek. Then I show her out of my cell and close the door behind her.
I am reminded of what it feels like to have a purpose again.
I don’t feel like a shell anymore.
I feel somewhat wholesome and complete.
And I know that if I die tomorrow, I can die happy.
Chapter Twenty Four
The road called life is long and winding.
There are curves.
Bumps along the way.
And sometimes…
Sometimes you’re speeding through it, missing the signs and by the time you reach the end of it you have thoughts, recollections, and moments where you realize you haven’t really lived.
And that’s the thing about life.
It goes by way too fast.
At least mine did.
I’m in the bathroom at Oak Hill surrounded by crème tiles that are smathered by a thin layer of brown mold. A set of violet eyes stare back at me through the bathroom mirror. The dark circles underneath them have vanished. My skin looks tight and smooth. My face is fuller and there is a hint of pink in my ivory cheeks.
I look youthful.
I feel rejuvenated.
My eyes drop for a second and I notice that I’m still wearing my hospital gown.
A loud bang outside the door distracts me and causes me to abandon my image observation.
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I walk to the door and open it. I step out into the hall and watch two orderlies, dressed in white as they wheel my body down the corridor. Then my attention shifts when I see Willow, trailing behind them with flushed cheeks and eyes full of tears.
I walk behind her. I reach out for her, wanting to ease her pain by taking her in my arms.
Holding her.
Kissing away her sorrows.
But when I try to touch her, my hand goes right through her hair.
“Please don’t cry little bird,” I whisper. “We’ll meet again one day.”
I stay behind, lingering in the darkened corridor as she and the orderlies turn a corner.
It feels strange that I’m still here when I know that I’m supposed to be moving on. But Oak Hill…
This place has been my home for so long that I feel like I need to take one last walk through before I leave it for good.
I start with my cell.
I sit on the cot.
Stare at the plain white walls.
Then I walk over the barred window and admire the landscape of the institution’s grounds. Dead or not, I know that the deceiving look of this place will always stay with me.
I leave my cell and walk to the rec. I don’t bother going through the double doors, but I observe the few patients in the room through the square, glass windows on the door. One, a heavier set brunette sits on the mustard colored couch and watches television. Two others, both with long brown hair play cards at the back right corner table. I keep my eyes on the brunette facing me. She laughs and places one of her cards on the table. She seems happy.
I find this odd being that most of the time I spent here made me feel like I was living in hell.
But the times change.
So do restrictions.
Over the passing years, Oak Hill adapted a more lenient policy toward the patients. It was a blessing for the new patients, but for the patient like me who had been through worst situations in this place had to offer, well, it seemed like another method of cruel punishment.
I back away from the double doors, take one last look down the dim corridor, my eyes sweeping over the neutral walls. I breathe a sigh of relief and feel like a giant weight has been lifted from my chest. Then, I walk to the entrance.
~ ~ ~
The humid, summer air slaps me like a palm to the face the second I walk outside.
I feel the sun’s rays sting my cheeks and I tilt my head up, allowing the glow to cover my entire face. I don’t remember the last time I was outside. I can’t remember the last time it felt so good to let the sun burn my skin.
A gentle breeze tousles my hair as I stroll down the sidewalk and as I bask in the beauty of nature I wonder what my purpose is and where I’m going. I wonder if the sidewalk I’m walking on will take me somewhere or if it will never end.
Then, as I walk farther and farther away from Oak Hill something strange happens. The color of the sky transforms. It changes from blue to grey in a matter of seconds. Dulled stars come out to play and dot the horizon and suddenly, I’m on a brick road.
My eyes drop to my attire and I’m no longer in my hospital gown, but instead I’m wearing a lime green dress and matching lime green shoes.
I continue walking, staring down at the bricks I’m walking on.
Their colors are a mixture of browns and tans and blacks and they look shiny. They look like they have just been kissed by
Mother Nature’s tears.
I come to a halt when I see a set of shoes a few feet in front of me. They’re brown and shiny too, penny loafers, that are almost camouflaged by the bricks. My eyes travel up from the shoes and I see khaki pants. Then a white tailored shirt that has been tucked into the trousers.
My eyes stop at his face.
My lungs clench.
My nerves are shot.
My heart is a forest fire engulfed in flames that can’t be extinguished.
I whisper his name into the darkness, “Elijah.”
Beautiful Nightmares (The Asylum Trilogy) Page 10