Leaving Lavender/✔

ten

Lola, that was his name for me. He had rarely used it, especially when others were around. I winced stepping into the house, my body ached from the sun’s warmth. Lola, I am proud. I had pushed his letter out of my head, trying to suppress my feelings and conflictions. My feet padded against the wood floor and I stopped in the kitchen.
    “Everything alright Lori?” I looked up at Thomas, his eyes reaching mine from the kitchen table.
    “I found a letter last night, for me.” He had nodded and spun his cup a little.
    “We all had gotten one from mo-”
    “It was from father.” My voice had cut through his, it quick and hard, like father’s blows. My lips twitched a little at remembering the pain that had come with it.
    “Father  left you a letter?” I nodded and sat at the table.
    “He left a letter for only me.” My voice was small and sad, you could tell I was sad, and my thoughts jumbled. I had shook my head and rubbed at my face. It hadn't made sense, father's words. I mean, they did, but they didn't. I just… I just feel like my world had been shifted, a whole set of rules and amendments to follow religiously, the past ones old and outdated.
“What did it say?” I looked up at my brother and sighed.
“It’s on their bed if you want to grab it.” I muttered, looking back down. I had never expected an apology from my father, nonetheless him to say he loved me. And that I was his favorite? Was this a cruel joke? It couldn't have, the handwriting was spot on, strict and small letters, neat like they were copy and pasted from a textbook, none of us were able to write like him, except me. I pushed the thought back, another small similarity found. Thomas had made his way back, his forehead creased and eyes narrowed in interest. He had shook his head and set the letter down on the table and took a seat.
“Lola? Lo? I've never heard him call you that.”
“Because he never did around you guys.” I muttered stealing a look at the letter. There was a small silence, I don't think my brother thought this was real either.
“He didn't… he didn't do anything did he?” My head snapped up to meet Thomas’s questioning eyes and I shook my head quickly.
“No, Father  was a terrible person but he wouldn't… no, he didn't.”
“I just… I can't believe it.” He muttered right after me, we were both dumbfounded. Finally after two minutes he had seemed to finally accept it, folded it back up and slid it to me.
“It may not… make sense, but at least we know he had some type of remorse. Or that he could feel something other than anger.” I nodded absentmindedly and took the letter into my hands.
“I slept in their room.”
“I know.” My lips had pinched and I pulled away from the table. Something was building up inside of me, anxiety? Is that the panicky feeling I'm feeling?
“I need to go… I have to- I don't know.” My voice was so alien to me today, everything was strange and everything seemed to be shattering. I fidgeted with the letter in my hand as I passed through the house, down the porch and made my way into the fields.
I didn't realize I was running until I had tripped and fell, my knees knocking on the ground. A sting had nipped at my knees and palms, it was obvious I had cut them up but it didn't seem to hurt too bad, and maybe that was the numbing effect of this letter. I gathered myself and stood up, brushing whatever dirt and rock was still on me and looked at the small patch of the field that never grew anything. I was in the exile territory, the nomad land, the badlands. My jaw had clenched and I had taken a seat in the middle of the patch.
It was crazy to think about, how Father  used to send us here. This was never as bad as the basement, but sometimes the coyotes were bad, and whatever else that may live out there. Father  didn't exile me as much as the others, he seemed to know the basement had terrified me far more. And maybe that's because he knew I enjoyed it out here.
I wish… I wish he was here. I wish he could be here, to set out an exact new set of rules he had wanted me to follow, something to live by since he had tainted the old one. I wish I would have never found that letter to be honest, it was making me sick. I had brought my knees close to my chest and looked up. The night sky was black, diamonds hanging like a chandelier. I wish they could shed some light on this, maybe show me new rules, maybe show me what I'm supposed to do. Because I don't, I don't know what to do and that's a first.
All my life I had followed the exact task at hand to the t, I had done everything ritually, I done everything the way I was supposed to. Father  had always said the fields were first, work was the most important thing, the true key to success. And then he goes… he goes and tells me I need to let go?
He told me all my life to never depend on anyone, never let someone take away your independence, your ethic and now what? It's ok?
I shook my head again and rested my forehead on my kneecaps. I couldn't think, I didn't want to, it was hurting me. My head hurt from these two voices now. One, being the Father  that was hard and strict, the other was this new father, the one that had ruined this all for me. But it was obvious, I'm not going to be able to just sit here for the rest of my life and complain, its up to me now to make these new rules. Father  hadn't given a new set, he had given me guidelines, a new theory to base them on.
One, work still comes first. The fields are still your number one success, especially economically. Do not give up on that, ever.
Two, make an effort to appreciate things more. Give more to yourself especially, you do work a lot, give yourself time to rest and to appreciate the land that was given to you. Do not ever resent this land, it will be good to you if you are good to it.
Three, do not let yourself become more like Father  or grandfather. Do not go mad, do not go hard.
Four, open up more. Let yourself be happy, let yourself go a little. Be dependent, but not too much. Remind yourself you cannot do everything by yourself, although I can- no, become more dependent. Let people in, start a conversation.
I had shaken my head, this was going to take a bit to get used to. I mean, the four rules seemed simple enough, but they were different. Especially the last one, that will change ne more than I could imagine. Social interactions were not a strong suit, they never have been. Exactly… how do you keep up a conversation? How do you even be friendly? What even is it like to have friends? I mean, were Thomas and I considered friends? But we were raised together, our habits too much a like so of course conversation would go smoothly. But how about for someone the exact opposite of me? How would I act with someone who was loud and bubbly? I would feel awkward and small, I would clam up and stay shy, my hands folded and a small smile on my lips showing I was trying but not hard enough to actually have a conversation.
I looked at the letter again, my finger tracing his carefully written words. I wonder why he hadn't put it in a more noticeable place, why he had never just given it to me and tell me to open it after he died. But maybe he knew I would eventually go through their things, that he knew when that time came I would be ready.
I closed it, folded it back up and closed my eyes. I could see his eyes behind my lids. They were softer, calmer. It was the day before he had died. I think he knew that was his last day, the way he had gripped onto my hand and the way he stared at me. I didn't understand it, why he specifically wanted me there. I had asked if he wanted me to go get any of the other kids for him, but had shook his head no and smiled sadly at me, his lips looked cold, much like his skin. I don't think I cried, I know I had seen him have one tear fall before he had fallen asleep. He had squeezed my hand one last time before he had drifted off into nothingness.
And maybe that's what broke my heart, that I hadn't known he had loved me all along, that he had favored me. He had showed uncharacteristic signs, like the tear, the hand holding, but I had thought it was just because he had feared the doors he was going to walk through. I never would've imagined it was for me, or even that I had impacted him that much.
I wish I would have done that day differently. I wish I would have held his hand tighter, I wish I would've stared at him right back, I just wish… I wish I would've showed him something more than I had. And I know, I know he was terrible, he had abused us beyond belief, but he was still my father.
I wiped away the tears and sniffed a little, I couldn't believe I was crying again. I laughed a little actually, how ironic it was that I was here crying because I wished I would have given him more when I usually cry because I wanted everything about him gone. Funny how a letter had changed that.
The lavender had bustled around me as the wind had pushed all around me. The breeze was nice against my sunburned skin, the sun was on its warpath again today, blazing its ray's as active threats. I had breathed in shakily as I stood again, finding my way back to the house. My body had ached and I was tired, emotionally and physically. I was already out here for thirty four minutes, the sun was completely down and it was growing to be cold tonight. My feet hurt from today's work, I mean my whole body did, but my feet especially. I had looked up near the house to see Peter’s truck parked, and he wasn't in it or on the bench. He must've went inside.
I had stepped inside, making my way towards the kitchen but had once again stopped at my parents door. It was slightly open, the door was never closed. I pushed it open and for a second, it was like I was walking in to see if Father  needed anything, but the moonlight had played tricks on me. I pushed away the tears and set the letter on their bed before I had stepped out and closed the door behind me.
It felt like a heartbreak really, like I was leaving something behind. Like I was letting go, but I didn't know of what. Was it the possibility of leaving behind my Father  finally? Had God answered my prayers in the worst way possible? Making me feel more pain than I had before? I don't know what I was letting go, but I know with time I would be fine. I would settle with these new rules, I would let my father's memory be a mix of good and bad, and I'd let myself be whole again. But right now, right now I was mending myself back together.