In Parched Gardens: Book 2

Chapter 10: Trying to Drink the Nectar

She sat in a comfortable armchair in the corner of her bedroom and sipped her coffee. Maria liked to sleep in a little on Saturday, not getting up too late, but certainly not too early. Usually, she'd get up, haphazardly make her bed, and walk downstairs. She'd brew some coffee and make something lite to eat while the coffee aroma filled the air. Sometimes she ate in her kitchen looking out the backdoor toward fields and Sundial Hill. Recently, she'd seen a few rabbits playing in the fields, and she loved to watch them. Sometimes, she sat on a small sofa near the front of her house and watched Concord Street. Her front porch had a rocking chair and small table, and nice morning's like these, she wished she'd sit there. But she wasn't ready for that yet.

When she was done with her food, she'd refill her coffee and carry the mug upstairs with her to get ready for the day, which usually didn't involve much. She liked to walk on Saturday mornings if the weather was nice. Walking, somehow, was different than sitting on the porch. Sitting felt like an invitation, an exposure. Walking felt like freedom, as long as it was done with forethought and vigilance.

Upstairs, she'd sit in her bedroom's armchair and scroll through her phone or read a book or look out the window toward Southbend Park. Since she'd lived here, as long as the weather was nice, there were already children playing there once she was up on mornings like these. She'd sip her coffee until she felt awake enough to leave, which was usually just about when the coffee was empty, and then she'd put on comfortable walking clothes. She'd brush her teeth, put her hair up, and walk back downstairs.

Now, she was finishing up the last of her coffee and she tasted the extra bitterness of the last sips. Though she put ample sugar in her coffee, those last drops were still quite sharp. Going into her small walk-in closet, she looked through her shirts hung up along one wall and then through the pants folded in a cubby along the other. Putting them on, finding her favorite walking shoes and tying them tightly, she walked into her bathroom.

Looking into the mirror, she noticed how long her hair had gotten. She'd only gotten it cut once since she lived in Allbrook. She thought about going to the hairdresser with her grandmother growing up. It was something they'd always looked forward to doing together. It felt like such a place of community and closeness. Her grandmother had gone there for years and it seemed like she knew everyone there. It felt safe. It felt comfortable.

Looking closely at her eyes, she noticed how tired she looked. How's that possible, she wondered. She felt like she slept relatively fine, at this point anyway. She'd just slept in. She'd just had coffee. She was in a quiet, little community now. Why do I look so tired, she thought. Why am I so tired? But, really, she couldn't remember the last time she felt rested. It had been a long, long time. Maybe living with her grandparents. Maybe. Nights had always been hard, ever since she was a little girl. Maybe there was a time, before her memory, when they'd been peaceful and pleasant, but it couldn't have been long. Her home came alive at night. Day was the best time to sleep. But there was school and there was work and there was... Night was the time of music, and crashing, and loud talking, and crying, and yelling, and strangers knocking on the door.

She thought about that house. Why do I still think about it, she wondered, only half wondering. It was less thinking about it and more having the images and sounds and smells of it cast, like a shadow, into her mind. Something would remind her of it, something that shouldn't remind her of it like tired eyes, and then she'd see it and almost feel it. Sometimes she'd think of the good times... she paused. There'd been good times hadn't there? For a very long time she'd thought that way. Mom laughed didn't she? Dad took me to the park, didn't he? We sat and watched TV together, right? True, all true. Yet... those were the brief moments of light, of peace, of simplicity, between the heavy and the dark.

Sometimes she'd think of mundane times. Oh, the mundane times that had kept her sane. Listening to music in her room, alone. Doing homework on a stool in the basement, though it was damp and undone, to get away from the noise or the possibility of noise. Sitting on her bed and watching the fan rotate, listening to gravel crunch outside as cars passed, listening to birds beyond the window. But she also thought of the bad times. She thought of her mother, crying, more like sobbing, huddled against the wall beside her bed. She thought of trying to console her, scared and confused. Sometimes her mother would shoo her away, sometimes hysterically, sometimes meanly. Sometimes, she'd pull her in tightly, maybe too tightly, and hug her and cry into her clothes. She thought of her father, throwing open the door of the house, stomping into the chaotic living room. She thought of her father, lying half on the floor, half on the sofa, eyes glazed over. She thought of her father, yelling at her, screaming at her mother. Sometimes her mother screamed back. Sometimes her mother cowered, like an animal, wild with fear. She thought of her father, shaking her mother violently, shaking though she was unmoving, as if tranced, as if dead.

How'd I get here, she asked herself, genuinely. A nice home. Nothing huge, nothing fancy, but a nice home, and neat. A nice job, pharmacy of all things, the family business in some ways. A friend, or friends - maybe - she thought. Mornings of quiet coffee and walks down the street. Afternoons by the lake, or in a bookstore, or just at home. Imagine that, she thought, afternoons at home, like that's a good thing. And thinking of all that, she thought again of her grandparents. Where would I be, she questioned, again quite genuinely. Her tiny, stubborn, resilient grandmother. Her slightly stooped, but somehow still tall, proud, but humble grandfather. Where would I be?

Now, caught up in reflection, she raised the bottom of her shirt slightly to show her right ribs. Looking in the mirror, she rubbed it with her left hand, tracing it, and she chuckled. A small butterfly and a bumblebee on either side of a flower, both trying to drink the nectar. The bright coreopsis was haloed in yellow and red pooled near its center. Its small green stem curved over her ribs. Hovering to the right of the flower, a bumblebee robed in its black and gold, reached its proboscis toward the nectar. To the left of the flower, a butterfly did the same. The outside of its wings was white with dark-blue, almost purple spots, and the inside of its wings was a shimmering light blue. She'd always really liked butterflies. Bees, she didn't mind. Her mother had been allergic to bees, fairly seriously. She liked the imagery, especially when she was young and had gotten it.

Putting her shirt down, she ran her fingers across a specific spot on the back of her left thigh. She wasn't sure if she felt it, but she thought she could. This was definitely where it was. A scar ran there, looking to her almost like the line a welder makes quickly attaching together two pieces of metal. The scar was lighter than the almond skin around it, which made it even more noticeable. She was particularly self-conscious about it. Luckily it's so high up, she thought. Yeah... luckily. Even with shorts it didn't show, but if she went swimming, it was pretty obvious. She liked the water... but that wasn't something she looked forward to, especially if she were with people who didn't know.

Done getting ready, and done remembering, she walked downstairs, taking her empty coffee mug with her. She rinsed the mug out with water and put it in the sink. Walking to her door, she stepped out onto her small porch and made sure the door was locked, once, twice, one last check just to be sure. Satisfied, she stood on the porch for a moment looking up and down Concord Street, checking, verifying.

Walking to the sidewalk, she turned right toward Southbend Park. She could see the lawn of the park leading up the playground equipment. As expected, a few children were already there, some old enough to be with friends and some with a parent. She was looking forward to seeing the autumn and especially the Halloween decorations as she walked around. She found Allbrook's love for the season almost infectious. As she moved toward the park, she planned the route she would take around town. Down to First Street and then over to Allbrook Circle. Walk around the neighborhood on the eastern side of downtown. Then come back home. Maybe she'd stop and have a look through the General Store on the way home. Maybe by then she'd be ready for another coffee and she'd pop in the Creamery for a minute. Hopefully Jessica's working today, she thought. She was a woman, Maria figured a few years younger than herself, who worked there. They usually had a friendly conversation while she ordered and waited for her coffee. Maybe I'll stop at the grocery store, she thought. I'd imagine I need something...