The Existence of Reconcilable Differences

Chapter One

Danica Rhodes stood at the precipice of pending paroxysm or a rupture of the intestines. Either way, it wasn't going to end well. Elongated wavy curls swam with the winds that blew from the east, acting almost as a cardigan. One of the few things she prided herself on was her hair – it was her favorite feature that she believed God blessed her with.

But her hair failed to comfort her at that moment. Her clammy hands were protected in the onyx-colored dress pockets and she held a face of constipated pain. The core of her stomach had little volcanic explosions of excruciating grievances. Shaky eyes peered out at the Gulf of Mexico and the waves gave her a feeling of jumping in and allowing the arms of Yemaya to drag her in and exterminate the harrow embedded in her bone marrow.

The crowded house, full of people she knew, didn't know, and didn't want to know caused her to wander as far away as possible. She tried not to fight with herself; a headache had been silently building in her forehead. Her ache grew intensely and a snap of impulsion clicked in her. With her feet digging into the feverish sand, Danica walked towards the waves that tangoed before her, tempting her with their angelic swirls and telling her to hop right in.

Dani's inhalation drew in like molasses and it made the perturbation cease but only for about 15 seconds. As an act of impulse, her legs ran at top speed as if racing against the clock of irresponsibility and trepidation. Carelessness about the perspectives of others birthed a devil-may-care attitude in her. The ocean flushed into her ears and she wanted to fall deeper and heavier like a 500-pound anchor.

Danica's father died which meant her only true parent was gone. Her one true friend had been snatched away from her by a sinister culprit – cancer. It's always cancer, sometimes a freak accident, and rarely death by sleep. Always cancer. It wasn't a slow burn kind of death, it was a flash not even the world's most excellent psychic could foresee her father's death. He was an upbeat, active man with a heart of gold. A heart now turned into a shriveled-up piece of meat. He would call her, "Lil Dani" because of her short stature which didn't seem to change much since her mid-teens; somewhere around 15 years old. She preferred the nickname. In her opinion, her government name sounded harsh and suffocating.

She closed her eyes and prayed for a wide mouth and sharp-toothed shark to swallow her whole and take her to the netherworld where she could see her father's light brown eyes again. The moments slicked slowly through her fingers – something tapped her shoulder to snap her out of the longing to end it all. Dani reluctantly paddled her arms up and her legs followed. The sun's beam shined down on her as if it were inviting her to continue her life.

Finally making it to the surface, she dragged herself out of the water which made her body laden. The sand attached itself to her as she rested on its body with trembling hands on her head and mystification drawn all over her aura. A soaked Dani entered the house and looks of bewilderment were riddled on the faces of the pompous and imperious guests. Some whispered and some said nothing at all. Maymay, Dani's scrutinizing mother, lost the flow of her breathing when she caught her drenched daughter in her sight.

"Dani, are you okay?" Her concern was disturbingly fake.

"I'm fine." She replied.

A youthful man with a glass full of champagne stared at Dani from behind Maymay. He had been talking to the wicked witch before Dani took off to the ocean. She moved her attention toward the guy, "And you are?"

"Uh, Mario Guiganio."

"Nice to meet you." She stuck her dripping hand out and he shook it – hesitantly, of course.

"Uh, c'mon. Let's get you in some dry clothes." Maymay gently but thoroughly yanked her towards the stairs. Once they barged into Dani's bedroom, Maymay released what Dani called, "the sigh of evil". Whenever her mother went off the handle, she sighed heavily and deeply before the act.