The Girl in Seat 23 {l.r.h.}

twenty-three.

Luke sat down in the grass below the oak in my backyard. "Tell me about her," he said softly. "Your mom."

"She was uncaged. Like a lion escaping the circus. She was fierce and gentle and wild. There's never going to be anyone like her. Ever. She never let us know when she was breaking."

He smiled slightly, picking blades of grass from the ground. "Yeah, I happen to know someone I like that."

I stifled a grin, shaking my head. "My mother was crazy. That's why she did it, you know. She only told me and nobody else. She'd say, 'Rosalie, you have the most beautiful mind. Don't let them take it away from you.' And she'd tell me that she heard voices in her mind and she saw faces that weren't there. Voices saying she wasn't anything and she couldn't do anything and she shouldn't live."

I wiped a tear from my cheek. "Schizophrenia. That's what they call it. But she wouldn't see anybody. She was uncaged, and she intended to stay that way. She was the best mom I could ask for. And if I could change one thing, I'd stomp all over those voices in her head, and maybe she'd still be here."

Luke was visibly shaken, staring in silence up at the cerulean sky above. "You have a beautiful mind."

"But for how long? It's genetic, you know. And I'd never know until I'm in my twenties. Ma said to live for her. I intend to do just that up until the very day that I lose my mind. That's why I'm going to that rally. If I don't make a change now, I might not get a chance."

He closed his eyes, folding his hands in his lap. "Be careful," he whispered.

"No promises."