Dad worked on readying the pool, urged on by the imaginings of its grand opening. The family eagerly awaited the moment he announced it was ready to cool, entertain, and exercise their bodies. Although he considered himself capable of tending to the balance of chemicals and had an innate awareness of water levels, this pool presented issues he had never faced. It had been some time since his senses were honed to the slightest turn of an additive. The curtain of tangled woods provided a vastly different backdrop than the scant shade of three palm trees they splashed about under while in their Arizona pool. The dense foliage made maintenance much more difficult, but it was a welcome distraction from working at home and kept him from devoting too much time to his job.
His family underestimated his efforts. Ignorantly blissful, they rendered their bodies to the crystal waters. Dad made sure there was no hint of the rescued frog, no fallen leaves, and chased off tiny salamanders so the image was inviting and pristine. He did regale them with creepy stories when something extraordinary popped up. He'd become concerned by the increasing prevalence of furry tarantulas and mother wolf spiders who harbored hundreds of eight-legged offspring on their backs as they transgressed its cement shores. Mom excused herself and left them room when he spoke of the scorpions and their nightly exodus from the forest. He questioned their instincts because once at the water's edge they plummeted its depths, never again reaching the surface.
Mom honed a newfound skill: procuring supplies in the wake of the pandemic, an effort which proved exacting at times since the supply chain was oddly impacted by the virus. While she longed for weekends spent shopping and lunching, she couldn't understand why anyone would go inside stores and restaurants when everything could be delivered to your car or your front door. She graciously accepted substitutes and shrugged off unavailable items in a display of sacrifice, doing what she could for the greater good. In an uncanny flash of foresight, she had stockpiled enough toilet paper, the golden goose of the modern plague, long before the hoard purchasing began. All the while, she was aware that these difficulties were a minor nuisance given the bigger picture.
Her teaching, if it could even be called that, had become a chore. There was little delight in the attempt to keep notoriously short attention spans engaged. Parents were overwhelmed, trying to work at home, or worse holding down a job outside the home, all while trying to educate their own children. It was unsustainable. The morning check-ins that started with the off-key, out of sync singing of "Hello Friends" was about as much as her young students could muster. They rarely stuck around for virtual Circle Time.
With less time spent on lesson plans and shopping trips, Mom became transfixed by the news and sat in front of the TV, unblinking, absorbed by the onslaught of devastating reports. Over dinner, she spouted statistics of death counts, hospitalizations, and infection rates. Often, meals ended in tears as she found herself sharing the stories of the lost soul.
"You need to step away from the television and social media," Dad implored. "Find some healthier distractions. We are lucky to be able to work from home. We're doing everything right, staying safe. Be grateful, and unplug. It will do you good."
Shaking her head, she would counter, "We need to stay informed. Every other day new guidelines are dispensed. There's so much chaos and death. I don't know what this world is coming to."
The twins focused on finishing up the most insane school year of their lives. They struggled to decipher assignments. The distortion of learning from a screen while sitting in a place that was far too comfortable required extra energy to not lose focus. Their faces flushed for classmates who were busted for surrendering to distractions or fell victim to an unmuted mic.
Hazel and Holden learned that their district would dispense a simple Pass or Fail in each class, which would deprive them of hard-earned As or under-the-wire Bs. Both had worked hard, and this decision would discredit their efforts. It was painfully apparent that their teachers were grappling with distance learning even more than the students. Buzzwords like pivot and grace were thrown around with abandon.
The walls were closing in on Hazel. She wanted to get out and explore her new town, even if it was one in which she did not want to be, nor felt she belonged. Her longing to be back in Colorado with her friends hit like a gut punch sometimes, knocking the air right out of her. Deflated by it all, she often cried herself to sleep. The race to end distance learning and tending to Bailey kept the homesickness at bay during waking hours. But at night, usually after catching up with Miren, the isolation and loneliness crushed her. She envied her brother's acceptance of their current situation. He was never lonely in his online world and was oblivious to her pain. She missed the cadence of the life she lived not long ago, the energy of doing things and seeing people.
There were too many hours left after a day of online school and favorite pastimes like TikTok, Twitch, and Animal Crossing became less appealing. Hazel picked up her paintbrushes and made attempts to rediscover her love of creating, but often felt uninspired and stuck. Even mundane chores made her feel somewhat useful, but time seemed to pass differently in quarantine. Every day was the same; they all just blended together, creating confusion and doubt.
Did I take out the trash yesterday? Or was it today?
The last day of school, traditionally a momentous event and the cause for dinner out at a favorite restaurant, simply passed quietly, barely recognized by a collective sigh of relief. Surprise, the twins passed! No one would ever know how impressive their passing grades actually were. Never had they imagined a world without finals, the spring dance, senior prank week, or yearbooks. Mom didn't have the chance to watch her Pre-K class graduate. It wasn't fair.
Hazel and Mom chose the pool as their favorite time-killer. Amazon rushed water workout gear to Mom. She looked ridiculous in her goggles, webbed gloves, and flotation belt. But she busied her mind and her body with a routine.
"Vitamin D provides protection from the virus," she espoused. Locked inside their small world, the virus would have to knock on their door for them to catch it. The amount of vitamin D in their systems would have little impact due to their isolation.
As Hazel floated around the pool, flipping over every fifteen minutes to maintain an even tan, her mind tortured her with thoughts of how different life should be. Sunbathing at the pool with Miren would be endlessly more entertaining than listening to Mom's ’80s tunes and audible rep count.
Hazel and Mom had developed a deep, bronze skin tone by the day Mom's Amazon Music account went rogue. Mom suited up for her aquatic workout in the shade of the gazebo.
"Alexa, play my ’80s playlist," she shouted at her phone as she made her way to the water. The Bluetooth speaker came to life with a song by Tears for Fears, "Mad World." After completing her routine, she emerged from the water, removed the belt and gloves, then returned to the pool, taking float on an air-filled mat. Something nagged at her during her workout, but it wasn't until her focus shifted from her routine to relaxation that the vexing source of her discomfort became apparent. She realized she was humming along to "Mad World" again. As the song wound down into its dreamy outro, she anticipated the panning warble from the intro of "Memories Fade," another Tears for Fears song. She predicted the next song correctly. Both songs were great, but they weren't the only two songs on her voluminous ’80s playlist.
She paddled to the side of the pool, climbed the ladder, and went to her phone. At the same time, Hazel came out the back door, towel in hand. Mom waved her over. "Come here and tell me I'm not losing my mind!"
Hazel sensed a setup, and wished she could back up and change plans. Instead, she went to her Mom, registering the final sax solo and haunting drum beat of an old song, a favorite of Mom's. The next song in the queue was "Mad World." Mom wasn't a child of the ’80s, but it was her favorite decade of music and Hazel had been subjected to the retro tunes all her life.
Mom held a finger to her lips as Hazel stood in confused silence, listening to the song, which she
had to admit she kind of liked. The lilting notes of the next song began. Mom looked at her wide-eyed. Hazel was beginning to believe she would have to inform Mom that she might, in fact, be losing her mind. She wasn't ready to have Mom committed, so she started, "Tears for—"
"Ssshhh!" Mom swatted at her.
The two stood, waiting for "Memories Fade" to end, and when it did it was followed by "Mad World" again. Now Hazel got it, and she understood what had Mom so worked up. Alexa, or more correctly Amazon Music, was stuck in a loop, repeating the two songs continually. Hazel took her Mom's phone and checked her playlist, convinced Mom had made a boomer-esque error and created a playlist consisting of only two songs.
"Weird, right?" Mom said in a tone that suggested this was not user error.
"Yeah, sorta," Hazel replied, hitting the back button several times. The app's history showed the two songs repeating as far back as she cared to view. She handed the phone back over and said, "Probably just some glitch. Shut it down and reboot."
"We can just listen to one of your playlists."
"Mom, you've said my music makes you cry for today's youth. I'm not sure—"
"Well, it's better than listening to the same two songs over and over again," she said, cutting Hazel off.
"Valid point."
Mom shut her phone down and Hazel connected to the Bluetooth device. For the first time ever, Mom listened to Hazel's playlist without complaint as the two relaxed in the pool.
Eight
With summer officially in full swing, Hazel turned her attention to her bedroom makeover. Mom and Dad told her she was in charge, giving her the freedom to make decisions and changes as she saw fit. Their only caveat was that she had to do the majority of the work on her own. Dad would bankroll the project, Mom was project coordinator and assistant, but Hazel was the designer and most importantly, laborer. She was down with those terms.
In an attempt to downplay the romper room vibe, she had covered the walls in tapestries and art. As the wall hangings came down, she took her first good look at the mural. The room must have been intended to be a nursery, but how could it have been one for so many years? Any kids who lived here had to have outgrown the storybook image come to life on their bedroom wall. While she was put off by the juvenile feel of the mural, she was impressed by the artistry. The detail was incredible. Having dabbled in painting herself, she understood how much time and effort had been dedicated to creating the piece.
The intricacies of each blade of grass and delicacies of every tiny flower petal were stunning. A fawn on the edge of a brook was lifelike, and the brook itself appeared to be in motion. She counted the dragonflies and ladybugs and marveled that each insect was different in color and shade, spots and details. As she admired the wall, she started feeling guilty about painting over something that someone had obviously poured their heart into. She thought about how she would feel if some kid came along and painted over something she had spent weeks creating. She didn't have the heart to obliterate the piece. Maybe others who had found respite in this room felt the same, too overcome by guilt at the thought of erasing the unknown person's craft.
Hazel decided there were ways she could camouflage it while she called the room hers. Mom and Dad planned on living there forever, but she did not. The frumpy wallpaper would definitely go and if the mural bothered her too much, she could simply cover it up again with tapestries. She would learn to live with it and use the mural as inspiration for her bedroom makeover color palette.
As she flopped onto the bed and opened her MacBook to search paint colors, her mind drifted. The project would be a much-needed distraction as she struggled with this "new normal." She knew she had it much better than so many other people, but she still couldn't come to terms with the radical changes, the things the world had taken for granted. Things "taken for granted" might be the understatement of the year. She missed Miren and couldn't quite remember Brock's face anymore. Closing her eyes to recall his dimples, she wondered how he was handling isolation.
She wanted to go to downtown Stillwater, check out the university's Student Union, meet kids her age while soaking in what life in the small town would be like. She knew she wasn't the only one who wanted these things. And so she accepted the rules for living through the pandemic for what they were and dreamed, like many, of the days when it was over, and she could hug Miren again, sit in the sun-drenched annex of the Student Union with new friends and maybe set her sights on a new guy.
She went down the online shopping rabbit hole, urges to click on the next link taking her to yet another Boho macramé wall hanging too overwhelming to deny. How would she ever decide on just one? She dozed off early and forgot to check on Bailey. She even slept through the nightly stompfest outside her room and although Coraline did not, she slept through Coraline's reaction to it.
Nine
Waking in a dazed confusion that stemmed from falling asleep unexpectedly, without following her typical bedtime routine, Hazel groggily attempted to gain her bearings. It was much earlier than she was used to. Coraline snored lightly by her side and the house was tranquil. She bolted upright as she realized that she hadn't given Bailey extra attention and food the night before. Coraline didn't stir as she exited her room. It was too early for the dog to bother getting up for her morning call of nature trip outside and bowl of kibble, so she stayed in bed, barely acknowledging Hazel's rushed departure.
Hazel sensed something different the second she entered the laundry room. The air felt and smelled differently. Bailey would usually stretch, arch and mew when the lights were turned on, but this morning Hazel was greeted with silence and stillness. The cheery blanket was atop the dryer, but there was no motion. Bracing herself, she slowly approached, calling Bailey's name in the singsong high-pitched voice all pet owners use in times of coaxing. Still, there was no motion, no meow.
As she got closer, her heart pounded as she saw the fuzzy blanket was hiding a motionless mound. The throw was lovingly tucked around the cat, as if someone wanted to hide it. Hazel knew that something had to be wrong; Bailey would never lay there covered so tightly. She wasn't one of those cats who liked to be under the covers—she had to be outside the blankets, always aware of her surroundings, not wanting to be vulnerable. They chalked it up to her life before being rescued. Hazel had to tug on the blanket as it was tucked so intently and securely, weighted down by an unmoving mass. There, under the blanket, was Bailey's lifeless body. At first the cat appeared to be sleeping, but she was taking no breaths. She was gone.
Tears sprung forth and a tiny, gasping cry escaped Hazel’s lips. Poor Bailey! Hazel had failed to tend to the cat last night. Too wrapped up in her stupid musings, she had ignored her frail, dying cat. How could she be such a careless person? She had left Bailey to die alone! How could she ever forgive herself? Pain ripped through her, shocking her system with overwhelming grief. Her heart ached and the tears leaked through her clenched eyes while she made no sound other than gasping inhales.
Hazel could not bring herself to touch the cat now in her state of death. She was afraid. Afraid of what her beloved cat would feel like. She didn't know what to do, so she sunk to the floor, crying harder.
She wasn't sure how long she had been there crouched on the cold, hard floor sobbing below her dead cat before Mom came in. Mom was humming a tune. In the back of her mind, Hazel recognized the song, "Mad World." Mom reached into a cabinet and pulled out a box of K-cups, oblivious to her daughter's presence.
"Oh, you scared me!" She jumped, covering her mouth and dropping the box. Her shock was tossed aside when she saw the tears running down Hazel's red face. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" Hazel said nothing but Mom's gaze landed above her daughter's head, to the mound on top of the dryer. "Is she? No!" Mom choked on her words as she struggled to fathom what she was seeing.
Hazel dropped her head as Mom sat beside her, wrapping her arms around her daughter. She gently pulled Hazel's head to her shoulder and the two sat in their sadness. The da
y that had been promised had come, and Bailey was gone. Mom was crushed by the loss of her long-time companion; her emptiness belied her maternal instinct to comfort her child.
Hazel nestled her face in Mom's hair and fought to speak without the halting gasps that made her feel like a child, but she lost that battle. "Why did you guys just cover her up and leave her here?" she managed to say.
"What do you mean?" Mom asked in confusion.
Hazel stood, wanting to show her mom how the cat had laid in repose, but couldn't bring herself to do it, as it meant touching her departed cat, acknowledging the evidence. She turned her back and said, "When I found her, she was completely covered by her blanket. She couldn't have wrapped herself up that way; it was tucked all the way around her."
"Oh no, Haze, I would have never left her here for you to come upon." Mom contemplated the scene briefly, wiped her face and exited the room to set about understanding how the cat became enshrouded and forgotten.
Hazel didn't know what to do with herself, but she couldn't leave the cat alone. She checked the garage door. It was locked, of course. She felt foolish even as she was doing it. Like someone would come in and give the cat her last rites in the middle of the night! Dad had been hypervigilant about doors, especially this door as it was the closest one to the source of the puzzling nightly camera alert.
Mom returned with Dad by her side, looking visibly shaken and reluctant to accept the reality. Ever the stoic one, Dad tried to hide the tears welling up, threatening to spill over. "Poor, Bailey. Why don't you two leave me to this? I'll find a box we can use for a coffin.”
Hazel was grateful for the pass to escape the room, knowing Bailey wouldn't be alone. As she turned to go, she asked, "Can you leave her wrapped in her blanket?" She knew it was a silly request but wanted Bailey to be comfortable in her resting spot.
Red Water, Shadows of Camelot Crossing Page 4