Blood On Her Hands

Chapter 22

I woke up on the morning of my birthday still partially submerged in a dream state. Memories were blending in with my own stream of consciousness to create small snippets of past events and made up ones. I saw my family, my friends, and people I’ve only met a handful of times. There were images of birthday cakes, streamers, glasses of wine and sparkly dresses. As I began to become more fully awake, my bedroom came into focus.

My muscles loosened as I stretched my limbs. The sunlight from the window poured onto my sheets. Fully sober and aware of what my life had been like for the last few weeks, I found it hard to hold onto the dreams of pastel parties and dancing. Blood splattered on the marble floor, shattered glass, and the barrel of a gun replaced them.

I sat up in my bed, dread welling up inside me from my toes to the top of my head. I tried to distract myself by thinking about something else as I got ready for the day.

There was only one birthday spent with my mother that I remembered. It was the last one before she died.

It was my fourth birthday and we were celebrating by having a small party in the local park. That year I had been really into ladybugs. I had drawn countless pictures of them that decorated our fridge and my favorite stuffed animal was a cute version of the black spotted insect. Because of my obsession, my mother made the birthday party themed so. She dressed me in a red dress and a black cardigan. She pinned back my hair with a ladybug hair clip and asked that everyone in attendance would wear the same colored attire.

There was only one thing missing from the party - a real life ladybug. My mother had explained to me that it was getting cold out. The October weather wasn’t warm enough for ladybugs to be out and about. Still, when the time came for me to blow out my candles, I wished for one.

When the party was over and all the adults were cleaning up, a ladybug landed on one of my toys. I had heard the shutter of her wings wisp by my ears and squealed in surprise. She walked up and down along the sides of the doll's face, almost camouflaging on its button eyes. A massive grin spread across my face as I rushed to get one of the paper cups from the party to trap her under.

My mother watched me as I approached the ladybug with the cup. She put down the trash bag she was carrying and gently grasped my arm. She kneeled beside me, both of us staring at the insect.

“What are you doing, Mickey?” she asked.

“I’m going to make the ladybug my pet.”

She smiled. “That is no way to treat a party guest.”

“I’ll feed it and take it on walks. It’ll be happy,” I said, anxious to capture it before it decided to fly away.

“Ladybugs aren’t meant to be trapped under a cup. They can suffocate and die.” If there was anything I remembered about my mother, it was that she was always honest. She never told a lie just to shut me up or make me stop crying.

“But isn’t it dangerous for the ladybug to live outside? A bird could eat it,” I pointed out. I was proud of my thinking and was sure I had won the argument.

“That is true but a life trapped under a cup is worse. The ladybug has to learn to survive on its own. It would be selfish to trap her.”

Pouting, I handed the cup over to my mother.

“Just enjoy the time you have with her now,” she said and then planted a kiss on the top of my head. For the rest of the time I was at the park, I sat across from the ladybug. I asked her for her name, told her mine, chatted and chatted like we were friends. Then, she flew away.