The Summer Solstice

Chapter 2: Kassia

🌿 Kassia 🌿

    The first time the earth swallowed me whole, I was four.

    I'd been playing in the fields beside my house, long after the sunset. The stars were perched high, gleaming and flickering. Pointing out the constellations had always been easy for me. Mom claims that she never even taught me the Big Dipper, that I had simply known how the stars arranged.

    But tonight, as the grass pulls me under, the sky is empty.

    Shoots of dandelions and stems of wildflowers tug at my arms. They curl around my tiny biceps, latch onto my red hair, and stick to the hem of my dress. The dirt cushions me. It's still dense and moist from last night's rain.

    I let myself sink as far as I can until I begin to sputter. Soil fills my nose. My lungs scream for air. My body goes into survival mode and wrenches itself upwards, out from the ground. The grass that's just pulled me down willingly parts as I resurface. I sit there panting, smelling of earthworms and seeds, never quite as happy as I am when submerged underground.

🌿

    Mom gives me a hard look when I enter kitchen, specks of dirt trailing behind me. I go straight for a glass of water, pretending not to notice.

    "Kassia, still? Seriously?"

    I give myself one big gulp before replying. "It's Sunday, mom. Nothing's changed."

    "And that's exactly the problem."

    "I'm sorry," I say. It's all I can ever offer, and no matter how many times I say it, it's clearly never enough.

    My mom puts down her steaming mug of tea. Sighs.

    I hate that I know what she's thinking: that everything bad about her life is my fault. But what I hate the most is that she's got a point.

    I leave the kitchen and her behind, taking my glass of water. The air is cool and crisp in the house, unlike the humidity of an early summer's start outside. My hair is wavy and frizzy as a result. I push it out of my eyes as I reach my door. The purple wood is stale, the brass knob peeling. My dad picked out the colors, mom always reminds me, which ultimately reminds us of his absence. Another thing that's inevitably my doing.

    Without meaning to, I touch my birthmark. A mark my mom swears I didn't have the day she gave birth to me. It spans from the left corner of my mouth all the way to my ear like a massive half-smile. It's so wide that it nearly reaches my nose. The skin isn't rough, but it isn't soft like the rest of my face. It's a purple-red color, like an aging bruise. Impossible to miss.

    I throw myself onto my bed. My phone lights up, two text notifications on the screen.

    Ty: So how was your Sunday sink?

    Gwen: Let's go out tonight. There's a $3 milkshake deal at Lenny's.

    I smile widely at my screen like a moron. I can't help it. My two friends are the only proof that I have a shred of sanity. I respond to Gwen first. She knows how much of a sucker I am for dairy, especially cavity-sweet milkshakes.

    I'm game. Be there in 15.

    Then, to Ty: As good as it can be. Mom's big pissed off though.

    Ever since I disclosed my strange habit to Ty, he never fails to ask how I am. He's a massive information fanatic. Always curious, always asking questions.