Tristessa's Story, Part 8

This is the final chapter in a series of 8 posts. I hope you've enjoyed the others. -m

My mother was so weak she couldn't stand on her own, so Ambreel and Ravigie picked her up by the arms and carried her into the house. 

The imaginary children followed me like puppies, their eyes trained on me as though they were afraid I'd leave them.  They made me uncomfortable.  Such wide, scared eyes.  And such blank features. 

I didn't even have enough imagination to give them faces, I thought without much amusement.  But even as I thought it, the children's faces grew even more interesting with different sized noses, freckles, acne... any little thing I could think of to distinguish them, I planted it on their faces.  When I was satisfied, I pulled away from them, feeling faint.

Mama was lying on the couch, and Ambreel was brushing the hair away from her forehead in a way that made me feel like an intruder.  I wanted to go to her, but I felt suddenly shy.  She had not even called to me, so I stayed where I was, waiting.  Ravigie came in then carrying a tray with a bowl of hot water, a towel, and a glass of goat's milk.  I don't know where she found the water, but I remember feeling very angry with her for wasting it on a towel.

"Feliciterra, can you hear me?" Ambreel whispered into her ear.

Mama's eyes were closed, but she swallowed and nodded her head.  Her mouth worked for a little bit, like she was practicing words with her lips still closed.  Ravigie set the tray down and began to wet the rag, but my mother didn't look at Ravigie or Ambreel when she opened her eyes.  She looked at me.

"Tristessa," my mother whispered hoarsely.  Ambreel turned and beckoned to me, so I went to them.  My mother touched my hair and tried to smile.

"You released me," she said, finally succeeding in her smile.

I looked at Ambreel, eyebrows raised.

"It's true," Mama said.  "Thank you for putting on the necklace."

"I'm confused," I said.  "What did I do?"  I reached up and touched the cool stones of the necklace.  They felt like droplets of cold water on my hand.  I smirked, wishing I was touching real water, so I could drink it.

And then, suddenly, I was. 

My hands were wet, the floor was wet, everything was a flood of water.  It was coming out of the necklace.  My mother smiled at me through the torrent.  As every wave of the water hit her, a bruise seemed to be washed away.  Soon there was so much water, so many waves of rushing water, that I closed my eyes and turned my head away. 

Ambreel stood strong through the deluge, his arms around Mama, keeping her safe.  Ravigie was gone, and I was thrown against the wall, drinking it all in.  The water was blue with my electricity, and I didn't want it to stop, but then my mother put out her hand.

"Fermati!"  she yelled.  The waters heard her and stopped their throws.  Her black hair was like a shining blanket over her shoulders, and her smiling cheeks were pink and wet.  No more bruises, no more weakness.  She stood on her own and came to me, giving me the biggest hug I'd ever had, and have ever had since then.

"Oh, Tessa.  My girl.  Thank you for bringing the water back," she said into my hair.  "Thank you."

Ambreel's hand was on my shoulder, a warm connection to the real world.  He knew I didn't understand.  He knew I didn't know what was happening.  "She is the land, and you are the rain," he said. 

Like that explained anything.

But then, just as I realized that Ravigie and the children were all gone, I remembered a day when I was flying over everything, and my mother was with me, and the land below us was green with life. I looked around me with new eyes, and I could feel the weight of the necklace my mother had given me as it hung around my neck.  I knew in that moment that I had almost killed everyone in the world, depriving them of water while I mourned my missing mother.

Ambreel squeezed my arm.  "I didn't think you'd believe me if I'd told you.  You didn't even remember your magic," he said to me.  It almost sounded like an excuse, but it was so true that I couldn't deny him. 

"Mama, can we fly again?" I asked.  It was the only thing I wanted to do.  I didn't want to think about what I had done.  I didn't want to think about Ravigie and the children.  So my mother and I left Ambreel standing on the green hill around the house, squinting up into the sun at us as we flew over the hills, my mother checking her land, me making sure that the rain fell on everyone and everything.

Sometimes I think about that day and I wonder: How much of any of my life has been real?

I suppose I'll never know.

Paying for freedom

Her name was Cora*. Cora Thompson. I was her best friend in seventh and eighth grade, but she wasn't mine. Cora was one of those girls who, I don't know, just couldn't be a good friend. She was very pretty, with thick brown hair and big brown eyes; maybe she was a little on the chubby side, but who isn't, in middle school? She wore cooler clothes than I did, and when we went to D.C. for our school trip in eighth grade, she and I were buddies.

In seventh grade, she attached herself to me because I listened to her. I didn't push her away. Her parents were divorced, she hated her mom's boyfriend. Actually, she hated all of them. I don't remember for sure if she had siblings, but I seem to remember a younger brother. Cora was soft inside, like meat gets after you beat it with a cleaver for a few minutes. Sometimes when she was talking to me I could still see the marks it had left. But I would shake my head and blink and then it would be obvious that nothing was wrong with her.

I can't even begin to tell you how many times she ignored things I said. If she was complaining about a teacher, sometimes I would join in. That's when she heard me. But standing up for people was a most uncalled-for act. When I got home from school I would collapse, exhausted, on my bed. You see, listening is a great quality. But you need to have a filter, so that things don't get stuck in your head and stew. It's the stewing that got to me. Cora dumped everything on me: her family, her boy problems, her conquests, her hates, her likes, her feelings.

And then she left. She finished eighth grade and then went to a different school. I can't say I was too devastated; but it still made me a little sad to never hear from her. Isn't it always like that? No matter how good a friend is at being a friend, they are almost always missed as a friend. Cora disappeared and I didn't hear from her and after a while, I realized that it was nice to live without stress.

A year later, I was shopping at JC Penney's with my mom, trying to find jeans long enough for my freakish legs. I was holding a pile of them when Cora suddenly appeared in front of me, grinning.

"Genevieve," she said. It sounded like an announcement, not a question.
"Cora! Hi! How are you?" We went through the typical formalities: schools, classes, people we both knew. And then:

"Man, I'm so glad I left that school. I feel so free now," she said.
"Free? That's cool," I said. I wasn't really sure what to say, if anything.
"Free! I mean, I get to sleep with whoever I want, and, don't tell my mom, but the nurse at school hands out free condoms and I just fill my locker with them."
"Oh," I said.
"And I just started this thing at Water World, honestly, it rocks, because all I have to do is make out with this one guy Lucas, and he gives me free pot. I'm not even lying," Cora said. She was smiling at me in a strange way, as though waiting for me to react. I couldn't. I couldn't do anything besides stand there. I felt as though I had been slapped in the face. This was coming from Cora, Cora, my friend, who had talked with me a little over a year before about how boys are so not worth it and how people we knew who did drugs only ruined themselves and the relationships of people around them.

"I see," I said. I took in a deep breath while thinking of my next response, but Cora beat me to it.
"You wanna know the best part? It's like God ever existed. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. No more rules, no more hoops to jump through," she said.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," I said.
"Ha! You just like your rules where they are," Cora said. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "You're such a rule follower."
"Maybe," I said, smiling. "But I'm free, too. I'm not pushed into things."
"Sure. Whatever. I have to go. Bye," she said. Without giving me a chance to say anything else, Cora disappeared behind some clothes. I looked around the department. It was nearly empty. Readjusting my hold on my pile of pants, I ducked into the dressing room area and enclosed myself in a room before the tears could do anything besides hover.

I looked in the mirror, and my eyes were very glossy. I laughed a little at myself, trying not to be sad. But I cried anyways.

Cora never contacted me again. I heard little things about her, from various people, but on the whole I kind of forgot about her. That is, I forgot about her until January or February of my freshman year of college. I was sitting on my dorm bed doing homework when I got a text from my kindred spirit-best friend-soul sister:

"Did you hear about Cora Thompson?"
"No, what? Man, I haven't heard from her in years!"
"She committed suicide."

I dropped my phone and stopped thinking.
Cora had finished high school and gone to CSU, in Fort Collins. She'd made it through the first semester. And then her roommate found her dangling from the top bunk.

I closed my books and grabbed my quilt, and walked down to the patio. It was dark, several hours after dinner time, and I stared into the dead grass while thinking about nothing. A friend came out and gave me a hug. I continued to sit, thinking, I feel like I should have done something. Something, something, something.




*I seem to be on a name-changing kick. Darn.