Minder

Chapter 13

OLALLIE

I try to put on a brave face. I try to recognize the beauty within myself, within the struggles. But, I can’t seem to find the strength to look up and knock on Lawson’s front door.

My mind drifts back to Colorado, where Harper has Shaymus and Zailey has River. Here I sit on the curb, trying to find salvation that wasn’t mine to keep.

Luna thought her purpose was for me, and I wondered if mine meant a different life. It struck me as odd, but I couldn’t understand how quiet the sensation made me feel.

I told him I would come over, but I hesitated, even mentioning that I needed a safe place to stay. After Kalonie dumped all my clothes in the dumpster and threatened me with sour words.

So I envision what my feet must look like, walking up there and asking for help.

“Patch.” A man stands a few yards away, he notices my fear, and I accept his own for me.

My fingers tingle to say hi, explain, and offer anything that represents why I’m here. But, I just put my hands up, palms to Patch’s badge.

He did the same; his feet never made much noise. It almost made me uncomfortable with how quiet the approach was.

“Halo?” Patch’s fingers went above his head. Why did he use that name? Was it a ploy from Knox? Only my mother and Asher called me that.

Shame fills me; it drops from the heavens. It cascades over my instruments of language. I let my hands fall to my sides, silenced once again.

“Looking for Lawson?” Patch’s deep voice vibrates in my right ear. I cover it up, the noise too familiar.

Like father, like son.

Bound by bond, instead of blood.

Devastation doesn’t describe me as my hand moves from my ear to my cheek. Holding my head there in defeat.

My mother will never hold my hand again. Tell me it’s okay. Calm my nerves on my wedding day if I made it there or when a baby is born.

The loss is noticeable, an empty space sitting next to me. An unholy ghost, affecting me to the point of feeling incomplete. There must be a reason, a silver lining to the chaos I condone.

When I look back on my youth and discuss it with others, each of us confessing what stole our innocence, I will mumble to myself, whispering the truth of my own betrayal, that it was sorrow that cured my childhood imagination.

Not the doubts or cautions of adults. But it was my own despair that caused the colors to fade and my name to remain the same.

It’s not your fault. It never is unless we accept blame, accepting the responsibility I did.

Before the cochlear became a part of my person. When I was little, I would sit on the carpet in the living room. My mother stood behind me, watching me as I felt the vibrations of bass that rolled through the floor.

She would smile like I was experiencing sensations I couldn’t describe. And I couldn’t. Because I didn’t know how to understand something I couldn’t hear.

Sometimes the song would fade, and I would hear new vibrations. Angry tones and quiet rage. Asher lashing out, and my mother standing ground to bring him clarity. I closed my eyes and imagined what he would say to her. How she refused to react insulted or harmed.

Luna’s eyes always looking toward me, like I would vanish, now that she was finally allowed to love me. To this day, I wondered what kind of love Luna Lovett and Asher Rainer shared.

Was it enough? Would it have lasted? Was it a love story people wrote stories about or admired in public? Would I receive and give the same affection, one locked in forever?

~

Leonie and I shared an ordinary loss. Both our mothers loved us more than a survival of self.

We weren't best friends, we didn't shop together. Sometimes late at night, she would be there sitting on the porch nestled next to an empty chair—an invitation where our words didn't matter, not needing to hear me speak to understand.

I wonder if she remembered Rebecca like I remember Luna? Or she might remember more of Luna than I could ever convince myself of knowing.

We stare out in the field as we watch fireflies flirt with the overgrown grass.

This was peace when the only noise I needed was my own heartbeat to remind me I was alive, and Luna didn't waste hers saving mine.

I don't know what surprised me more. The fact I was here sitting in front of Rebecca's headstone or that my mother was a few rows down. I stared at her name. My fingers circled around the letters. Wondering if her pain was equal to the same killing as Luna's.

I wondered how far Asher had gotten before he lost motivation to continue. I wanted to know what a life with him would be like. Maybe if destiny allowed, we would both have healed and earned happiness. But that isn't the way our lives had gone. It certainly wasn't my brightest moment when I asked Knox if I could see him one day.

He looked up at me, confused. Like I didn't know; how could I have not known? Didn't you feel the earth shake as another person was stripped from your life? Didn't you sense the tide pull back too far it exposed all the bones? Didn't you hear the silence every time you cried and were left without a home?

Didn't you know he went and didn't return?

“Your mom didn't like smoking. But sometimes, she would stand next to someone just to smell it. Like she was addicted to the scent of danger.” A tidbit from Leonie.

Sounds like Luna.

Sounds like a person who knew her limits and still overcame them. I looked up at her. She was special. Like you, like I am. They wanted us to believe being different was wrong, that it would hurt us if we exposed our truths.

I didn't want to be different. I wanted to see my mother again. I wanted Asher to be my dad. I wanted the guy down the block to love me instead of fearing me. I wanted my sisters to stop making me feel small, insignificant, and, most of all, vague.

Afternoons were empty, and I walked around the town. A tree lining down the road caught my attention, and I remembered what it was from.

Finding this was something I forgot to mention. Forgot to inquire about locating. Missing pieces of Luna was standard when you didn’t have anyone else to reminiscence with.

“Olallie.” Down the path, Leonie strolled over to me, her steps patient, my mind not.

“Yes?” Not taking my eyes off Rebecca Townsend’s date of birth.

“Would you sign to me?” Her legs folded over one another, participating in the conversation.

“What do you want me to sign?”

“Anything, tell me a story. I'm fascinated by how you communicate with your hands.”

I didn’t know if I should be impressed or offended. But Leonie sat across from me, not really smiling but eager to learn. And that's how we spent our afternoons, sitting in the graveyard spilling secrets with our hands. While our dead mothers watched from above as their names were carved in stone beside us.

My mother was a unique creature. She wasn’t after fame, a name, or even money that kept her free from obligation. She was attracted to my father utilizing an attitude hot to the touch and quickly burned.

Leonie’s mother was a beautiful woman who loved her entire being. She was our father’s first love, forever sweethearts. They met as teenagers and were married at the immature age of fifteen. She was pregnant with Leonie.

She died in the night, months after Leonie turned five. The twins’ came by accident. In some bizarre way, as my dad described to Rebecca as he pleaded with forgiveness, he had mistakenly knocked up a random woman. She replied, “Why was your d**k out of your pants in the first place?”

She forgave him as she always did. The twins came along, and I entered a year later. Rebecca became a surrogate mother to Kalonie and Calhoun like they had grown in her own womb until the betrayal was too much to bear.

How might you be wondering how Rebecca died? She simply just stopped breathing. She faded from the present tense.

I wasn’t my father’s favorite if, by any means, I was tied in the last place with Kalonie.