Part 2: Missing Beats

Today she’s going to school. She couldn’t go last week because I had a stomach bug, but I seem to have gotten better over the weekend. I can’t help but feel guilty for making her miss her ballet lessons all last week; she’s dreamed of being a ballerina since we were four. I have to make sure we don’t miss too many classes on account of me, or she might not be welcome back. But I can’t help it if she doesn’t get her calcium everyday or get all her vitamins. It was easier when we were four; her mother always made sure she got every essential mineral. It was like that for a while, and when mom forgot, we remembered.

We used to be so good at that; she was the perfect child and student: never missing homework, A’s on every test, keeping the cleanest room in the house, practicing our splits right before bed. She never missed a beat. But I’m just skin, blood, and bones, I couldn’t really do anything when she needed me most. Needed me to stop, to pull away, to let go, when she couldn’t.

Ninth grade, her first year in high school, and she was on top of everything. While her peers could barely snatch a B in Freshman English, she was the star pupil, and passed her first quarter with a 97. It would’ve been a 98 too, if it hadn’t been for that group project. That was the project, wasn’t it? It was while they were reading To Kill a Mockingbird. The teacher assigned them random partners, and they had to act out a scene from the book. Oh, if it had been any other project. But there's no going back now, no changing the past. She went over to his house, so that they could work on the project together. It started out that way, at least. But even after the project was turned in, we still walked to his house every day. We started going out later and later and later, even staying till morning some nights. Mom had trusted us so much, she’d never set a curfew, but even she was able to see what was going on. Mom wouldn't stand for it any longer. And she was grounded. Just like that. “You should’ve known better.” That’s what Mom would say. It became her motto over the next few years, but it didn’t even take that long for the star pupil, the perfect daughter, God’s favorite angel, to fall from grace, though. Here’s how it went…

Something Precious

Everything worth keeping always finds its way back somehow

And though sometimes we don’t realize it until we need it most,

Nothing is ever truly lost.

I always thought that the days when I used to tree-climb were gone,

Lost forever to the  cruel, merciless passing of time.

But now I know better,

My memories are as firmly rooted in the soil I walk on as the trees I used to dance on.

Every day my experiences are anchored farther into the ground, never-changing.

The gentle chill of October wind,

Not a force of nature; but a friendly, unremembered stranger,

Reminding me of childhood autumns, drowned deeply in nostalgia.

The world I once lived in is no farther away

Than the raindrops of dear, long-forgotten spring days

The people we meet live on in our hearts,

Their spirit remains, under lock and key,

Waiting for us to open up again.

I am a flightless bird, staring up at the sky,

The entire world lost to me,

But now I realize that the sky was still there, blue as before.

And though, I might never soar across it again,

I can still feel the sun on my back, the wind under my wings;

And though hazy as a dream, I still remember

What is was like to fly.

I’ll never forget this place, no matter how far I am,

Because to me, it still tastes like warm apple cider and hot cocoa;

It still smells like before the rainstorm and after the rainbow;

It still feels like late winter snow and early summer heat;

It still sounds like loud tone-deaf singing and whispered bedtime fairytales;

It still looks like my house on the corner, my tree in the ground.

And a breath of fresh air never helped anyone as much as it did me,

Because now I know that the air I breathe is the same as before: crisp autumn chill, white winter frost, humid spring sparkle, and fiery summer sincerity

And I’ll always be home,

Here in my heart,

Where I never lose anything worth knowing. 

Remembrance

            The wolves had left the scene of the brawl, but they would be back once they sensed it over; Kajulian wolves weren’t keen on getting between others’ fights. They just did as they were told, as the Sorcerer told them. Shay’s childhood nickname for her echoed inside the depths of her mind, diving into memories she’d thought she’d left behind. Repressed emotions, carrying her deeper into relapse, reversing all she’d worked for.

            “Jez,” he called, “come out, come out, wherever you are. You can’t hide forever, you know.” Jasteirra sucked in a quick breath before Shay wandered over to her hiding spot behind the drapery.  She closed her eyes as if it would keep him from seeing her miniature figure in the fabric. The sharp sound of the curtains being drawn made her flinch away. She opened her eyes and gazed upwards, to find her brother looming over her, his eyebrows arched salaciously. “Found you” His hand sliced through the air, grabbing for her, but she was faster. Jasteirra ducked with lightning speed, slipping under his arm and scurrying away. She jumped onto her feet, racing to the door; in seconds she found her face smothered by her mother’s warm belly. She hugged her, wrapping her short, child’s arms as far around her mother as she could. She turned her head around, to see if her brother, Shay, the monster, was still there. Shay stood by the window, acknowledging the unspoken truce between them. He met her gaze, sending her a sore glare.  That was the biggest rule—and the one that kept Jasteirra out of trouble the most often: never in front of Mother. But it didn’t matter; he would get her back later. He always did.

           She winced; the memory struck her with immeasurable force. There certainly was a reason that some nightmares were repressed. Jasteirra wasn’t that scrawny, weak, little girl any more, though. And after that day, the rules hadn’t mattered any more. Mother had died the very next day, Jasteirra’s one safe haven, snuffed out like a candle. The doctors couldn’t tell their family what’d killed her, but Jasteirra had always suspected, deep down, her own brother. That had been the day that Jasteirra had realized that her only chance of survival lay in toughening up. And that was just what she had done. Her brother hardly ever received the chance to hurt her again. And now, looking at his lifeless remains, Jasteirra smiled. He’ll never be able to hurt me, never again.