Holding On and Letting Go

Holding On and Letting Go (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2

            When I was finally released from the hospital, three days later, I had regained most of my strength, but still suffered from severe headaches. My mother walked me outside, still babying me as if I were incapable of stepping into an elevator, or opening the door to her shiny BMW. Outside, the air was different. It didn’t smell like old toothpaste and stale sweat the way hospitals do; it smelled of wildflowers, and the air was thick with heat. After so long in that icy hospital room, the warmth from the sun was sublime on my pale skin. I hadn’t looked in a mirror since I’d woken up, afraid at what I might see. Scars running the length of my face, or swollen eyes and a broken nose. Of course, the Barbie my mother was, she insisted I take a look in the mirror when we got home. I’d agreed, mostly so she would hurry up and take us home; I wasn’t sure I remembered how to drive. She flipped through the radio channels until settling on some… some disco mix with an auto tuned female voice blaring through it all. I flinched, the aching in my head returning more forcefully than before.

            “Oh, right,” my mother giggled, seemingly embarrassed at her obliviousness and shut the radio off. She pulled out of the driveway and I stared out the window, watching the spiky, oversized leaves of palm trees fly by. Palm trees? We didn’t have palm trees in Pennsylvania. We were somewhere along the coast. We turned a few corners, and suddenly the stench of salty air was overwhelming. Mom inhaled deeply, smiling to herself as we got closer to the beach.

            “Would you look at that, Capri,” she said, referring to the wide expanse ahead of us, with nothing but sparkling blue water and pale brown sand. More palm trees dotted the sand, and before I could get a better look, we were pulling into what I guessed to be our driveway. “It’s beautiful today,” she sighed, “Isn’t it? It’s that California sun!”

            California? California? When? Why? What about my friends in Pennsylvania? Sure, palm trees were nice but.. no snow? Before I could voice my thoughts however, I set eyes on possibly the most beautiful house I could imagine.

Pale yellow shingles covered the exterior of the house, which look sparkling new and entirely too large for the three of us: My dad, Mom, and me. The windows were open, framed by white shutters, and there was a long walk leading to the front door. The walk was accompanied with bundles of flowers, and yet again, a small palm tree. The roof arched high into the electric blue of the sky. I had never seen such a blue sky before! Thin, wispy clouds sprawled lazily across it, none daring an attempt to blot out the sun, which shined on everything below it, illuminating it in an attractive glow. Here, I supposed, everything was appealing. Though the house was unfamiliar, I had to admire the home-y feel to it. It seemed comfortable enough, from the outside at least. A few hundred meters away from the beach, and neighbors that were close, but not uncomfortably so.  Before I had a better chance to study the house, we were in the garage, next to a sparkling VW buggy, coated in glossy lime green paint.

“Whose is that?” I wondered aloud. Surely Dad wouldn’t drive such a…. loud vehicle.

            My mother glanced at me for a moment, before realizing I had little to no recollection of the past three years. She sighed, glancing in her mirror and dabbing some gloss across her lips with her ring finger. I noticed the large diamond on it, which must have cost a fortune for my dad.

            “That’s your’s,” she said, closing the mirror compact and opening her door. I followed.

            “Mine?” I said a bit too loudly. My head buzzed, and then a headache moved in. I steadied myself on the car door, allowing the dizziness to subside.

            “You begged for that car. You and your friends all wanted bugs. Different colors of course, but the same idea. I was overwhelmed suddenly, by the sad realization that I had no friends. Not anymore, anyways. I stepped into the house, a few steps behind my mother. Inside, it smelled pleasantly of vanilla air freshener, with a dim aftertaste of the morning’s coffee. The kitchen was grand, like everything in the house, I supposed. The table was already set for dinner, with matching plate and silverware sets. A window overlooking the ocean filtered sunlight into the room, so bright it triggered more throbbing in my head as I walked over and snapped the velvet curtains shut over it.

            “I’m going to go lay down,” I announced, beginning a steep climb up the cherry wood floors. I opened the first door I could find. The scent of fresh soap bars and steam wafted from the room, where someone must have recently showered. I quietly closed the door and advanced to the next room. The door was already open, one side of the bed inside unmade. Besides the enormous bed, the room was empty, besides an expensive looking dresser and a tall floor lamp.

No, I thought, not mine.

            The only alternative was up the stairs. I took each step cautiously, one hand on the rail, in case a wave of dizziness overtook me again. There was only one door placed at the top of the stairs, decorated with KEEP OUT signs and hot pink paint. I opened it, a little excited at what I might find.

            There was no doubt that this was my room. Though the walls were painted a deep pink, almost red, one was almost completely covered by photographs. In nearly every one, the brown haired girl from before stared back at me. There, she stood with Ian, his arm tight around her waist and her head on his shoulder. He was in full football gear, adding on a couple extra inches to his height and bulk. Under the field lights, you could see the slick of sweat on his forehead and hair. She was in a cheer outfit, her stomach exposed and a skimpy skirt, maybe too short for someone her age. How old was she anyways? There, she waded knee deep into the ocean sporting a bright red string bikini, posing playfully with one of her friends and showing off her flat stomach and belly button piercing. I lifted up my shirt, and sure enough, there was a belly piercing. I pulled the picture off the wall. In swooping, loopy letters, the back read:

            Beth and me, Oceanside Beach, June 2010

Then one more recent, July, 2011. She stood with two other girls, all of them wearing sports bras and ponytails, toting bags half our size on what could only be a summer cheer camp, wearing cheesy smiles and showing off their perfect teeth. A little nauseated, I set the pictures on my desk, next to a lime colored laptop. Looking around, I noticed quite a few things were that color. I supposed it was, at one point, her favorite shade. No, my favorite. She.. That girl, was me.

***

Moving a bit slowly here, I know, but Capri’s school starts soon =P should be interesting, yeah?

Hope you enjoy!