Lemon Grass and Sleep

THE PART ROWLING REFUSED TO SHOW

I couldn't help but sob as I stepped into the flat, stumbling forward as the door disappeared in front of me. There was nothing more disorienting than suddenly having to navigate without my sense of sight--suddenly unable to even procure a mental map of the flat as I bumped into everything.

A hand gripped my arm suddenly, making my entire body jolt with fear as I struggled to step away from whoever it was.

"Let go of me," I snarled, ripping my arm out of their grip and trying my best to keep my balance.

"Thomas-" Fred stammered, "Let me at least guide you to our room, please." His tone was pleading desperately with me to listen, hand once again trying to grab onto me.

"No," I sobbed again, tripping over something left on the floor and collapsing to the ground, "Just leave me alone, get out!"

"I-" Fred said quietly, shuffling to my left, "Okay, just call for me if you need anything, okay?"

I didn't respond, just staring at where I knew the floor was. Fred sighed, the sound of his fingers brushing through his hair faintly reached my ears before I heard the door open and his footsteps exit the room.

My chest ached, and I couldn't help but clutch at my shirt pitifully as I tried to will the horrible feeling away. Nothing could help--not even Fred, and I brought my knees to my chest as I let everything out on the floor of what I assumed to be the kitchen. The floor felt cold against my skin as my tears wet my knees, the bony feeling of my kneecaps digging into my eyelids as I shoved my face against them.

All I could do was briefly remember what Glinda told me before rushing off--leaving me there with the twins. Every time I thought of her, that was the only thing that came to mind. Replaying her words, over and over again.

'Look in my vanity,top right drawer,' with that earnest smile that told me she knew she was going to die. What if I had stopped her, told her to not leave her position? That we needed her, that I needed her to stay?

I stood, my balance wobbly at best. I'm sure I looked closer to a new born deer than a fully grown man--but I had a mission. I needed to find out what Glinda had left for me in her vanity, it was the only thing left of her for me to find. With a deep breath, I paused.

My arms extended slowly, and I forced myself to take measured, patient steps toward where I thought George's bedroom door would be. My fingers bumped into the wall, smooth with no hints of where exactly I was. The only thing I could do to orient myself was to keep moving forward.

"Shit," I cursed quietly, feet bumping into coats left on the floor and books scattered like mines in a field.

A door frame greeted me, and I reached in to feel nothing. Empty air greeted me as I stepped into the room. Briefly, I regretted never following Glinda into George's bedroom--I had no idea how it was set up at all. The only thing in my mental image was that his bed was against the far right wall. That left the desk to be...in front of me?

"I should've called for Fred," I quietly remarked to myself, taking the smallest steps forward I could.

Eventually, a smooth wood jabbed me in the hip, stealing the breath from my lungs. I reached around blindly for a stool, the plush cushion bumping into my hand unapologetically. Hesitantly, I sat down on it, reaching around to feel for drawer handles.

Slowly, I was getting better at this. It only took a few moments for me to figure out which drawer was the topmost right one, and I pulled it open creakily. The sound of bottles and palettes jostling softly filled the silence, and I reached in to gently prod around and figure out if something was out of place. How was I to tell what Glinda had left for me?

My fingers brushed against something square--a picture with intricate detailing along its wooden frame. Some sort of handheld mirror? I blindly grasped around, fingers bumping into tubes and brushes as I tried to find the handle.

"Merlin's beard, what are you doing?" A familiar snarky voice spoke from in front of me.

Everything stopped for a split second, my entire brain stalling as I tried to explain what I'd just heard.

"Glinda?" My voice was raw from constantly crying and screaming out of frustration.

"Yeah, that's me. Thomas, I presume?"

"Merlin," I whimpered, "Now I've gone crazy, and I'm hearing her."

"No, silly," her laugh was bright and full of life. I couldn't help but feel more tears run down my face as I leaned forward until my head hit the top of the vanity. "I'm her portrait, technically as a gift for you. I assume she's told you where I was."

"I-" I couldn't come up with what to say, sniffling and swallowing as I struggled to get myself under control. "Have you been talking to her, all this time?"

"Yeah, we talk all the time," Glinda's portrait giggled again. "I would say our personalities are near identical at this point."

"You're what Glinda left for me," I croaked, tears coming back in full swing as I picked up the small portrait. It felt barely bigger than my hand, and I traced the carvings int he wood like it was made of fine china.

"That I am," I could hear the smile in the way she spoke, "I imagine she thought you'd get lonely after she left."

"When were you painted?" I asked quietly, "How old are you?"

"I was painted in her seventh year, so I'm rather young. Only a year, I think?"

"George is going to love you," I whispered.

"Oh, I hope so," she laughed, "Glinda was worried he'd be mad."

"Fuck it if he is," I mumbled, "I'm so glad to hear your voice."

"Sorry you couldn't hear it sooner," I could feel the phantom comfort of Glinda's hand rubbing my back soothingly. Her perfume still hung in the air, and for a moment I could pretend she was in the room with me.

"No," I shook my head, laughing despite the fact my chest was filled with pain, "You're fine, I'm...I'm so glad I get to meet you."

"It's rather nice to meet you too. I do wish it was under better circumstances, Glinda talked of you all the time, you know."

"All good things, I'm sure," I smiled, tears stumbling over my lips as they moved.

"Oh, of course," she reassured, teasing tone slipping into her voice.

"Of course," I whispered, holding the portrait in my hands as they shook.