The Indigo

Part 1

Present Day

After meeting a sharp corner, it climbed up, dipped down, and then symmetrically curved over again. You could paint it whatever color you wanted, but I always kept mine the same; a neutral pink. Consistency had been the most convincing, I'd learned. A smile was nothing more than a prop. I wore mine like my clothing, putting a fresh one on everyday, but like the last shirt my father gave me before he died, full of holes and loose in its stitching, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep it together.

My once rosy undertones now tainted with grey, like dried up potpourri. Faded cheeks lacking in vitamin D, because spending time in the cheerful sun was something happy people did, and that wasn't me.

Dabbing on another layer of concealer to the circles beneath my eyes, I swept the brush through my hair again, smoothing it down with a scented palm-aid. Hair didn't portray exhaustion and misery. Otherwise, I'd really be in trouble.

A knock came from the door. "Hana?" My mother called, "Are you getting ready?"

The reflection in the mirror was a stranger to what it had been ten minutes ago. I had become an artist with make up - to the point where I could probably find a career in it - but I wasn't into such things. I only did it to survive. Some days, I could almost convince myself.  Almost.

"I'll be out in a minute." I answered. It was clear she hadn't heard me, because I could hear mugs clanking around in the cupboard, which meant she was back in the kitchen.

Next to me, the bathroom window rattled, gusts of wind audibly whipping the rain against the exterior vinyl siding. Storm clouds rolled across the angry sky taking out their frustrations on the land below, and in a way, I envied them. The vanity lights flickered, reminding me how dark it would be without them. I knew it was seven-am, but judging by the amount of daylight, it could easily be mistaken for night.

I scanned myself again. Eventually I'd find something else to fix, but staring any longer would only cause my face to morph, and of all days to be insecure, today was not one of them. I turned away and clicked open the door. Following sounds of the weatherman's voice echoing from down the hall, recounting the same information we'd been hearing all week.

"—out to be an early season of tropical storms. Expect to see record rainfall across most of the state throughout the weekend. Around the clock traffic delays to the north into Austin. Texas has not experienced a storm like this since '09, Folks. Check back for updates. Stay dry, Starseed residents!"

The countertop television blinked until the picture cleared, the weatherman waving over a map of Texas, his hand encompassing a giant green swirl looping over the screen. It was the storm of the century. All it took was one trip to the supermarket for me to realize the whole town had become overnight doomsday preppers. You'd have thought it was the apocalypse. My survival instincts were all out of whack. I was abnormally at ease. The night we had lightning, I watched it crackle through the sky. It rumbled ten seconds after it struck the ground. I could feel its vibration along my skin. I felt both comforted and energized.

My mom had disappeared again. Allowing myself to relax, I gathered a clean mug and tea bag, grateful for the steaming kettle on the stove.

I dipped the fragrant tea bag in and out of the steaming amber liquid, allowing a blankness to settle over me. Stirring my spoon counterclockwise, rebelling against my inner nature, I stared into the white porcelain mug, my thoughts lost in its swirling abyss.

Silently, I counted the number of times I'd lied to my mother in the past 24 hours. I was feeling guilty.

"This is what you want, Hana?"

"Yes, Mom." One.

"You would tell me if something is wrong, right?"

"Of course." Two.

"You're not doing this for my sake, are you?"

"Not at all." Three.

"Are you feeling sick again?"

"Feeling fine, Mom." Four. The truth was, I always felt sick, only I hid it well. At least until the times when it became so intense I couldn't hold down my food, to which I would blame it on something that I ate. She'd been trying to figure out what I was allergic to for the past five years. Unlike my mother, my grief after dads' death never faded. In fact, it intensified. "Time heals all wounds." That was the first lie I remember being told. After six long years, I could safely say that time turned the gaping hole in my chest into a mile-wide crater, similar to the ones at the end of asteroid documentaries.

A growing stack of mail lay in the middle of the table. I grab it, siphoning through each letter. Madeline Hargrave, Madeline Hargrave, Madeline Hargrave...One for me. A large rectangular envelope with a printed Hana Hargrave in the clear plastic window. Another college offer. I'd been getting them all summer. It was the only acknowledgment I'd gotten in my simple life. No one else knew I existed.

My mom rushed in, turning off the television in passing, throwing items in her purse from around the room. She checked her watch, huffing as she did.

"This is going to take some time to get use to, Hana. We're both late."

Setting her purse on the cool stone countertop, she pulled a chair adjacent to where I was sitting. I did my best to look alive. I had become a master at faking it, but my body was finally reaching its limit.

"Hana, if at any point you change your mind, if you decide this is no longer what you want to do, I want you to tell me. There is nothing wrong with how things were before. We can go back to that. This is your choice."

Even nodding felt like a lie.

It was my choice and I had chosen it for several reasons. The first being that this was a great opportunity for my mom. It hadn't been easy supporting us alone. My mother was a nutrionist and there weren't many health conscious Americans in the state of Texas, especially not in Starseed. When she receieved the offer for taking the lead on a geographical health study, it was the happiest I'd seen her since I was eleven. I could see the hope in her eyes. Hope seemed like an impossible thing to me, but I wasn't about to condemn my mother to the same fate.

"Promise me, Hana."

There was also a part of me that genuinely wanted this. The thought of not sitting at home being sad, of not having to fake a cheery persona all the time, there was a possibility of surviving. There was also the possibility of feeling worse, but no matter the outcome, I wouldn't take this away from her.

I swallowed, wrestling with the words, and the invisible lump in my throat seemed to sink a littler further.

"I promise." Five. I forced a tight-lipped smile.

Lying was against everything I believed in. I believed in truth, in answers, yet my pain was here to stay. It wouldn't help for her to know of it. Where was the point in upsetting my mother? She couldn't change anything. Too many times I'd tried to resurrect the argument that his death wasn't an accident, but she never listened. I was too young to know better, she said. The truth was buried and no one seemed to care but me. Finally, I'd learned it was pointless to dwell in the past.

My father was dead. That was the only truth I was sure of. Nothing was bringing him back.

Her head tilted to the side, placing her hand to my cheek fondly. "Well, you should probably get going." She suggested. "Call me for anything."

Pushing up and away from the table, I slung my messenger bag to the side and slid the chair back under.

"I'll see you later, Mom." I gave her a quick kiss and went on my way. Grabbing keys and an umbrella, I quickly swung open the door of our ranch-style home, plowing off into the heavy downpour.