I wish I wasn’t here.
My forehead pressed flush to the window, I blow a small patch of foggy circles onto the glass as I say, “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
“And you trust her?” My lip curls to a sneer. “You trust some woman you don’t even know? You trust her to tell you the truth—to not drug me—or—or do something worse? And what about the guy she’s sent to meet us? You’re just going to hand me over to some creepy old man you’ve never even met? What if he’s a pervert—or a serial killer—or both?”
The accusation hangs heavy between us, a barrier that cannot be breached—or at Aleast that’s what I think until she says, “I trust you.” And when she looks at me, my throat goes so lumpy I can’t speak. “I trust that what you see and experience is all too real for you, even if I can’t see or understand it myself. But Daire, we’ve been given a chance, an opportunity to help you in a nonclinical, all-natural kind of way, and I feel we have to at least give it a go. It kills me to sit back and watch you suffer like this. As your mother, I should be able to help you, spare you the pain you’re going through—and yet, everything I’ve done so far, every choice I’ve made, only seems to make you feel even worse than before. So yeah, I think we have to at least give Paloma a chance—see what she can do. You may not know her, but she is your grandmother. And just so you know, I would never just drop you off and hand you over to some creepy, old, serial killer, pervert as you claim. He happens to be Paloma’s close and trusted friend. He’s also a well-respected, much-sought-after veterinarian. I did Google him, you know.”
“Oh, so you Googled him? Oh, well, that changes everything then, doesn’t it? What could I possibly worry about now that I know you’ve conducted such a thorough Internet search?” I roll my eyes, shake my head, and gaze out the window again, adding, “As for my dad—if Grandma’s so great, then why’d he leave home at sixteen? Hunh? Do you have an excuse for that too?” I frown. Slide a finger under my bandage where I pick at the thick trail of scabs on my arm, waiting to see how she’ll wiggle out of that one.
“For your information, Django wasn’t running from her—he was running from what he considered to be a stifling life in a very small town.”
“A stifling life in a very small town?” I repeat the words back to her, my voice loaded with sarcasm. “Charming, Jennika, seriously charming.” I huff under my breath, push my hair off my face. “Do you even listen to the things
you say? You actually sound happy about condemning me to live in the same stifling Siberia my dad couldn’t wait to escape.”
“So you’d prefer the institution? Is that what you’re saying?” She looks right at me, her green eyes narrowed on mine, but I refuse to respond. “Besides,” she continues, pushing her pink strip of hair off her forehead and tucking it behind her multipierced ear. “According to you, Paloma’s already helped. According to you, you’ve been feeling much better since we got you off the drugs and onto the herbs, and you certainly seem to be doing better from what I can see.”
“whatever,” I grumble, unwilling to tell her the truth, that the effect is temporary at best. As much as I don’t want to go to Paloma’s, I want to go to the mental institution even less. “But did you ever stop to think that there might be a third choice—one that you never considered? Now that I’m doing so much better, I don’t see why I can’t just continue with the herbs and follow you to Chile.”
“No,” Jennika says, though her tone lacks the venom the word implies. “It’s not even an option. The fact that you’re doing better only leads me to think that Paloma just might be able to help you kick this for good. Besides, it’s not like I won’t check in. I’ll call every day—I’ll write to you too! And before you know it, I’ll be headed your way. As soon as we wrap, I’ll catch the first plane out, I swear.”
She lifts her hand from the wheel, extends her pinky toward me, her silver ring catching the light, winking at me, as she waits for me to curl mine around it. But I don’t. Instead I just say, “So it’s settled, then. There’s no room for debate. I’m going to live with some crazy old witch doctor who counts a creepy, old, perverted, serial killer, veterinarian among her friends. Awesome.” I nod, gracing her with a smile that’s anything but genuine. “If I live through it, I’ll be sure to include it in my memoirs. And if not, you can include it in yours.”
Jennika shakes her head in a way that tells me I’ve pushed all her limits. “She’s not a witch doctor and you know it.” Her nose twitches with the effort of keeping her voice steady—the movement causing the tiny diamond that flanks her right nostril to shimmer and blink. “She’s a very respected healer, and honestly, Daire, I get that you’re upset. I get that you feel abandoned and choose to express your fears by acting out. And while I’m very sorry for all that you’re going through, for all that’s happened to bring us to this point—I can’t help but wonder if you ever, just for one single moment, stopped to consider how this whole scenario might play for me?” She pauses, gives me a chance to reply, but since we both know I haven’t, she’s quick to move on. “If you think this is easy—if you think I feel good about this—if you think I don’t second-guess this decision every chance that I get—think again. You’re all that I’ve got. You’re the only thing I truly care about. If something happened to you—” Her breath hitches as her eyes go so bleary I can tell she’s picturing her version of a life without me and she doesn’t like what she sees. “Well, let’s just say that I’d never forgive myself. And yet, there’s no doubt this thing is bigger than me—bigger than both of us. Leaving me with only two choices, neither of which thrill me. Though I think you’ll agree that going to stay with your grandmother is by far the lesser evil.”
I shake my head in response. I roll my eyes too. But the fight’s seeping out of me and that’s all I can bring myself to do.
The conversation fading as quickly as the ribbon of highway that streams under our wheels. Leaving me to stare out my window—unwilling to look back at where I’ve been—too frightened to look forward into the big vast unknown.
I just close my eyes tightly and strive to hang onto whatever remains of my sanity. Not wanting Jennika to know that Paloma was right—the herbs only hold for a while, and after that time stops marching and the glowing people appear once again.
Unwilling to admit that as much as I don’t want to go—as much as I dread the moment when Jennika will leave me in the care of my grandmother’s friend who will drive me to New Mexico while Jennika heads for the Phoenix airport where she’ll trade in the rental car for an airplane bound for Chile—I can’t help but hang onto the small seed of hope that Paloma’s really not some crazy, sorcerer, witch doctor. That she’ll be able to save me—spare me a future of sterile-faced, white-coated men with their long, sharp needles and fast-draw prescription pads. So far, she’s the only one who hasn’t accused me of going stark-raving mad.
“Wake me when we get there,” I mumble, settling in as though I might sleep, when really, I’m just doing what I can to shut out the glowing ones, who are already popping up along the side of the road. Their piercing eyes following—watching—wanting me to know that, like it or not, they’re not going away until I do what they ask.
***
We meet in the clearing.
It always begins in the clearing.
And though I’ve no idea how I get there, there’s no other place I’d rather be.
I lift my face toward the trees, watching the leaves glimmer and dance in the wake of a soft trailing breeze, as a large, purple-eyed raven stares down from above—our gaze meeting, holding, until the boy appears just behind me.
His mere presence causing my breath to catch, my cheeks to heat—and when I turn and gaze upon the dark and startling beauty of him, that’s all it takes for my heart to skip several beats, for my knees to fold and grow weak.
“Daire,” he says.
Or does he merely think it? I didn’t see his lips move so there’s no way to be sure. All I know is that the sound of his voice causes the smile that widens my cheeks as my eyes graze the length of him. Pausing on icy-blue irises banded by a nimbus of gold, reflecting my image thousands of times—the stream of glossy black hair that flows down his back—the silky smooth skin—the long and lean limbs—the hands that hang open and loose by his sides, giving no indication of the pleasure I know them to give.
Those same hands curling around mine as he leads me out of the clearing, and down toward the bubbling hot spring where he gestures for me to wade in. My dress growing damp, transparent, clinging like skin—I head for the far side and eagerly await him.
Anticipating the feel of his lips upon mine, the burn of his fingers traveling over my flesh. His teeth nip at my neck, my collarbone, and then lower still, as he unbuttons my dress, slides it down past my shoulders, and gazes upon me in wonder…
“Hey.” Jennika’s blue glitter-painted nails scratch at my shoulder, refusing to stop until she’s sure I’m awake. “Daire, wake up, we’re almost there.”
I unfurl my legs and straighten my spine, using the back of my seat as a guide to haul myself up. Taking a moment to get my bearings, blink the fog from my eyes, and reestablish my place—making the transition from the dream state to the waking state, despite the way the images cling.