Cait

by R. N. Snow

  Tyler and I are sitting on a swinging chair in the garden of our old house. It is my favorite outside chair. The mood is somber. There has been fighting between our parents and Mom has done a lot of crying, with Dad doing most of the shouting. We don’t know what it’s all about because they have locked themselves up inside their bedroom. Their voices can be heard from outside. I turn to Tyler. My lips are quivering, and I am about to cry.

  “Ty, why have Mom and Dad been fighting lately?”

  “Cait, I don’t know. But I heard Mom shouting something at Dad. She said that he cheated on her. I think that is a very bad thing to do. Mom has been crying since last night. She is also sad that he does not come back early.”

  “Oh! But if it was such a bad thing, why did Dad do it to Mom?”

  “I don’t know. He has been insisting that he didn’t do it. But Mom has refused to listen. She’s been screaming at him all day.”

  “Hmmm. I wish she’d stop being mad at him. It makes me sad. We were all happy yesterday. I want that back.”

  I start crying, and Tyler wraps his arms around me, telling me to stop.

  “If you don’t want Mom to be sad, then you have to be happy. Don’t worry; we’ll go to her room when they’re done shouting at each other. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, sniffling. “Where’s Hazel?”

  “She’s asleep in her room.”

  “Let’s go stay with her then. Maybe she’ll allow us to have candies since Mom and Dad are not watching.”

  “Yeah, candies. Let’s go.”

  As we are climbing down from the chair, I fall down and a broken piece of glass pierces through the skin on my right knee. I begin to bawl in pain, until Mom rushes out, Dad behind her.

  I come back to the present. Did I just remember something from my past? I’ve been having flashbacks, but just pictures, words, and little things. This is the first time I’m having a real, realistic flashback. This really happened.

  I pull off my jeans and examine my right knee. Sure enough, there is a little scar there. My flashbacks are not figments of my imagination. My flashbacks are real! This vivid one is real! Should I go tell Hazel or not? Okay, it’s time to really check out the contents of that box.

  I drag the box out from under the table and go through the contents again. The locked diary seems to have the answers that I’m searching for, but how do I open it? I cannot risk forcing it open because it looks fragile, and I don’t want it to get torn. I place it on top of the table. Maybe if I see it there every day, I’ll get another flashback and the pin code will come back to me.

  Then, I ruffle through the rest of the stuff inside. There’s a photo album underneath. How come I didn’t see it the first day? Oh well. Sitting down yogi style in front of the box, I flip through the album. The first picture shows three children between the ages of eight to four. The youngest one has a tooth missing. The three of them are smiling at the camera. I don’t need anyone to tell me that the children are my two siblings and I. Hazel and I have our hair braided into two pigtails and tied with pink ribbons to match our pink gowns.

  The next page shows a young couple sitting down on rock and holding hands. Hazel, Tyler, and I are standing beside them in the same clothes from the first picture. Mom and Dad. Wait! Dad! That’s Dad! He’s the one I shared a bong with at the party. Which means that I was hallucinating that night. Wow! I spoke with Dad, or rather, I spoke with Dad in my head. This is very weird.

  Things are slowly falling into place, but I’ve not gotten the full picture yet. Like how Mom died, which Hazel has refused to talk about, saying that I should “chill.” I need to know about Dad. I need to know a lot of things. Then, there’s the locket too. I open it, and there’s a picture of Mom and I smiling at each other. I’m about four or five in the picture. The inscription carved on the front of it says, “FOR CAITLYN. LOVE, MOMMA.”

  Okay, so Mom left me a locket. And there’s a diary with a code, which needs to be opened. Then, there’s the mystery that is Dad and what happened to him. I need to find answers, and I’m going to find them. Even if it means staring at all these items one by one until I find answers.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Thursday, 4:00 p.m.

  Tyler drops me off at Dr. Salesberg’s. This is our fifth session. There is someone in the consulting room, so I have to wait. I pull out my iPod from my shoulder bag and plug in my earpieces, after clicking on my playlist. I bought it recently, and since then, I’m almost always listening to music. Celine Dion’s “I’m Alive” is playing when the patient comes out. I unplug my earpieces, put everything in my bag, and then go into the room.

  Dr. Salesberg’s inner sanctum doesn’t look like a consulting room at all. The walls are painted pink, and there are different designs made on the wall, from butterflies, to a human brain, to roses. There are two very comfy couches placed at strategic corners of the room. Tall flower pots stand at the four corners. She did her best to make this place a welcoming haven where patients are free to talk about their problems, and it works, at least for me. I have no problems or reservations talking to her anymore.

  “Good day, Dr. Salesberg.”

  I sit down on one of the couches, the one I’ve always sat on, making sure that I’m comfortable.

  “Good day, Caitlyn. How has your day been?”

  She is sitting on a single sofa in the middle of the room, not too far from me, also where she always sits during our sessions.

  “It’s been fine, doc. I’ve resumed school.”

  “Oh, really? How’s it going?”

  “Great actually. My friends have also been very supportive.”

  “This is the kind of news I love hearing. It shows a lot of improvement.”

  “I had a flashback, too. Like a really vivid one.”

  Dr. Salesberg leans forward, very interested.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. It was very vivid, though the incident took place more than ten years ago.”

  “How do you know this?”

  I’m wearing a little red dress, so I show her the scar on my right knee. “I got this injury that day. A piece of glass pierced through my skin.”

  “This is very interesting indeed.”

  “So, what was this flashback about?”

  “It was about my parents. It was the day after I turned five. I know because my birthday party was the day before. My mom and dad were screaming at each other. I was outside with my brother Tyler. He was seven then. My mom was accusing my dad of cheating and though he denied it, they had a nasty fight.”

  “How did you know at that age? Did you overhear them?”

  “No. Tyler did, and he told me.”

  “Okay. What happened next?”

  “I started crying, and he comforted me. Then we were about to go back inside to my sister’s room when I slipped from the chair I was sitting on and fell. A broken piece of glass was in the grass, and it injured me.”

  “And then?”

  “I screamed out in pain, which made my parents rush out to find out what was wrong.”

  “Okay?”

  “That’s all. That was the last thing I remember.”

  “I see. Were you able to make anything out of this flashback?”

  “Of course. Now, I know that Mom suspected Dad of cheating on her at some point. I don’t know if she caught him or just suspected he did. I’m guessing that he left us because of that, or she asked him to leave. I’m still not sure. But something tells me that the incident contributed to the breakdown of their marriage. Again, this is not something I’m sure of. I may be wrong. I wish I could remember more.”

  “Don’t worry, Caitlyn. This flashback is a good sign. There will probably be more. You don’t have to force it. Like this one, they are going to come back to you naturally.”

  “I also had a hallucination where I saw m
y dad.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yeah, we talked about my life right now. My accident and how I feel.” I’m not telling her that we smoked pot together. That is something I’m trying to get out of my head because it sounds very ridiculous, even to me.

  “I don’t know what to make out of your hallucination, but if you have another one, let me know. Another question. Ever feel like you were physically abused as a child?”

  “I can’t remember anything like that.”

  She has been writing in her notebook since we started talking. Now, she brings out the pictures. They are pictures of me, taken at different times.

  “Can you remember the day you took this picture?”

  I am in a pair of grey plain trousers and lilac blazers. The picture looks pretty recent. But I don’t remember taking it.

  “No.”

  “What about this one?”

  This one was taken at the beach. I’m lying on the sand in a two piece, putting on a raffia hat and signing “peace” with my index and middle finger. Again, zilch.

  “No.”

  She shows me seven more, but none of them jog my memory.

  “There’s no rush. Hopefully, next week will be different, especially as you’ve started having flashbacks. Should we wrap up today’s session or is there anything else you want to say?”

  “No, doc. There’s nothing else to say.”

  “Alright. We’ve come to the end of today’s session. See you next week.”

  “See you next week,” I repeat, standing up. I tell her goodbye and to have a nice weekend, and then walk out to the street and go to the bus stop.

  Saturday, 10:00 a.m.

  I woke up three hours ago, and ever since then, I’ve had the box in front of me. I’ve gone through its contents again, carefully this time, but I haven’t been able to find anything new.

  My friends and I are going to the bookstore today. We need to purchase some textbooks for school and novels for leisure reading. The time agreed upon by everyone is three o’clock. That is to allow time for chores and laundry, as is the tradition in many homes.

  Right now, chores are not my problem. I can take care of that anytime. The diary is still on the table. Grabbing it, I rack my brain again, this time using immense concentration to see if I can pluck its code out of my head. Nothing.

  No need wasting time here. I have yet to collect the money for textbooks from Hazel. I told her two days ago that I was going to the bookstore, so she should have it ready. I should go check up on her in her room. It’s been eons since I entered there.

  Padding to the next room, I knock quietly on the door.

  “Who?” Hazel’s sleepy voice asks.

  “Caitlyn.”

  I hear her get out of bed and come over to open the door. It seems I woke her up. Her eyes are swollen from sleep and her hair is scattered.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  “No. I opened my eyes like three minutes ago, but I was still enjoying the feel of my bed. Saturdays are the best days.”

  “I know, right?”

  I walk inside the room. Unlike my room, Hazel’s room can be described as sterile. Her walls are white and without any stain on them. No posters, pictures, or designs either. Not even a hair is out of place. There are just two novels and a makeup bag on her table. No wonder she runs the house so efficiently. She’s an innately organized person. Good for her.

  “How’re you? Just waking up yourself?”

  “Yeah,” I lie.

  I sit down on her white bedsheets. If not for the grey duvet on her bed, her room would look like the inside of a hospital.

  “Hazel, I’m going to the bookstore today. I told you about it on Thursday morning.”

  “Yeah. I made a withdrawal as regards that. Let me get my purse.”

  She walks to her closet and opens it. There is a clothes section and a bags section. The purse is inside one of the bags. She takes it out, zips the bag up again, and closes the closet. Then, still standing, she says, “Cait, have you noticed anything about Tyler’s behavior recently?”

  “You mean, like his regular absences from home?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve asked him several times if there’s any problem, and he says no. It can’t be because of a girl; he knows I have no problem with that, after all he’s an adult. Seriously, I hope he’s not running with some bad gang. He has still not told me where he got the car from, or rather, who it is that gave it to him.”

  “Uhm . . . maybe he just doesn’t like being at home much. What with only two sisters, one a workaholic and the other a mentally ill female.”

  “You’re not mentally ill; it’s just temporary memory loss.”

  Yeah right. You just think that because you’re not the one putting on the shoes. I remember the guy in the car. I hope Tyler is not running with a bad gang like Hazel said.

  “Anyway,” I say, “when he’s ready to talk, I’m sure he’ll do so. Let’s just leave him alone. He still goes to work and keeps to his routine, so I don’t think there’s a serious problem.”

  “Hmmm! If you say so. Well, here’s the money.” She counts out ten-dollar bills into thirty and hands them to me. “For your books.” Then, she counts out ten more notes from her purse. “Your allowance for next week.”

  “Thanks, sis,” I say, hugging her.

  “You’re welcome.”

  My siblings are really trying. Without their jobs, I’m sure that we’d have to starve occasionally. From what Hazel told me after I had calmed down on the day I found out who paid my tuition, Aunt Deserae’s allowances mainly take care of our bills. So, Hazel and Tyler have to work to put food on the table. Really, I have the best siblings. Meanwhile, I should ask Tyler what’s going on. I could see the worry in Hazel’s eyes minutes ago when she was talking about him. Maybe he will open up to me—it’s worth trying.

  As I turn to leave, Hazel says, “Don’t forget to come for your medication after having breakfast. I want to try and catch up on some more sleep, so I’m not coming down yet.”

  “Okay. Will do.”

  First things first, I’m going to run a cold shower. Then, breakfast and a movie. My dirty laundry will have to wait until tomorrow.

  Breakfast is blueberry muffins and milk. Hazel knows how to bake, and at least once every week, we get to eat cakes or muffins. I carry my food to the front of the TV and switch it on. For the next four hours, I sit there, my breakfast tray on the side stool. Tyler joined me half an hour ago. I told him that I want to talk to him when I’m back, and after asking me what for, without getting a straightforward reply, he says that he would not be home until late in the night and if I’m up then, fine.

  It’s 2:20 p.m. when I take my dishes to the sink and run water over them before placing them back where they belong. Then, I run upstairs to get dressed. Today, I’m putting on slacks and a hoodie. I go to Hazel’s room for my medication. I’m already done, my shoulder bag slung across my shoulder when I hear Leah’s familiar car horn, followed by a voice shouting my name, Charlie’s voice.

  Alright, the gang is here. My Saturday just began.

  “Hazel, I’m going,” I call as I run downstairs.

  “Alright, see you later. Be safe,” she calls back.

  I say the same to Tyler, though I have to add that I’m going to the bookstore because he doesn’t know.

  “Hey guys,” I say cheerfully, getting into the back seat beside Charlie. “What’s popping?”

  “We’re getting an ejuucazhun,” Charlie says, and we all laugh.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “An education, silly.”

  “Ohh! I hope everyone’s doing okay?” I ask. They all say that they are.

  “What bookstore are we going to?”

  “It’s called Pinnacle
Bookstores. It’s not very far from our school,” Leah says.

  “Alright. If it’s good enough for y’all, it’s good enough for me.”

  I settle into the back seat and close my eyes. The car hood has been taken down, so we can feel the breeze.

  Charlie begins to hum a song, which turns to actually singing and before long, we join him, screaming at the top of our lungs. People we pass on the road stare at us in astonishment, but we don’t care. We’re young and free.

  It’s 3:15 p.m. by the time we’re in front of the bookstore. Black New Times Roman letters say “PINNACLE BOOKSTORES” on a white background of the sign hung in front of the bookstore. We get down from the car and wait for Leah as she parks properly. Then we go inside the store. It is a big hall filled with bookcases packed thick with books of every genre.

  “How do we find what we’re looking for?” I ask.

  “They’re labeled, duh,” Charlie answers.

  I smack him playfully on the head.

  Then, Leah says that we should buy textbooks together first, before branching out to find other literature of our choice. So, together, we get the required textbooks and I get six notebooks, all of which takes us more than an hour. Then, after agreeing to meet at the car, we separate to find other books that we like.

  All I want to get are novels and nothing else. I’m not one of those people that swear by motivational or inspirational books; I can bet my life on it. On one of the aisles, I see the spine of a book that catches my attention. The spine says ANIMAL FARM by George Orwell.

  I go to pull out the book, but it’s stuck. How? With one hand still holding it, I drop my basket containing my textbooks and use both hands to tug on it. It seems like some invisible force is making it impossible for me to bring it out, and unfortunately, there’s only one copy remaining. Then, the invisible force pulls me to smack into the bookshelf.

  “Owww!” I grab my instantly swollen nose and jump up and down in pain.

  “Uh oh!” a voice says from the other side of the shelf.