Adieu

Misplaced Blame (Michayla)

"It was a gift from your father."

Michayla could physically feel the anxiety seeping into her skin and constricting her muscles, a lump beginning to form in her throat that she was having difficultly swallowing down. Opting to join Theresa on the floor and bending at the knees, Mickey's now trembling hands mirrored those of her mother's as she gripped the case tightly, pulling it towards herself. She absently ran her hands over the textured material, enjoying the feeling of the cool leather beneath her fingertips. Dragging her fingers to the clasps that had kept the instrument safe for these many years, Michayla carefully opened the case to reveal Michael's old sax. The smell of polishing oil that assaulted her senses hurled Mickey into yet another wave of nostalgia as she recalled the many evenings she sat quietly with her father and simply looked on as he went about cleaning his instrument. Michayla hesitated as she outstretched her hand to run over the smooth brass. As far as she knew, her father had been the last person to show it TLC, to play it with the same amount of love and release that Michayla exerted when playing the violin. Placing her fingertips against its neck, Mickey's fingers instantly stilled as she dragged them over its surface. This was the closest she had felt to her father since she had put down her own instruments and the overwhelming reminder that she'd never hear the man play again brought a burn to her eyes. It was then that she felt a distinct roughness beneath her middle finger. Pulling her hand back slightly and leaning forward, Michayla audibly gasped as she looked closer at the face of the saxophone. There, engraved in its immaculate neck, it read;

Mickey Mouse
My Greatest Muse

While she had been able to keep the tears back up until this point, Michayla found that in those five, simple words she would lose the strength to continue fighting against them. Instead, she'd bring her hands to her mouth and sit back on her knees, thoughts swimming and intermingling with the rush of emotion that was quickly overtaking her. It was in the sounds of her mother's own sobs that pulled Michayla's attention up and away from the sax. Theresa had her face buried in her own hands, shaking her head, mumbling, 'I'm sorry.' repeatedly into the spaces of her fingers. Bringing her hands from her lips and to her eyes, Mickey quickly wiped the overflow from her lids and scooted closer to her mother, reaching forward and taking Therea's hands into her own. "Mom, it's okay. I'm alright, see? It was just a little overwhelming and unexpected." Theresa just continued to shake her head as she looked up and into her daughter's eyes, the sadness swimming behind them reflected in Mickey's own. "No, Mick, you don't understand. I should've given it to you sooner. I thought I was protecting you. I didn't want you to blame yourself but, regardless, it wasn't my place to keep it from you. I realize now how selfish I've been and I'm so sorry Michayla. " Confused, Michayla absently reached forward and softly wiped away her mother's tears as she asked, "Wait, protect me? From what? And what about blaming myself?"

Theresa inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly as she attempted to control her breathing. Though Michayla was anxious to know what her mother meant, she waited patiently and allowed her mother to gather her thoughts. It also gave Mickey the opportunity to brace for whatever may have been coming. After a few more deep breaths, Theresa gave Michayla's hand a tight squeeze as she began to explain, "Your father was planning on giving it to you as a congratulatory gift for landing that soloist position." Pausing then, Mickey could feel her mother's grip tighten around her hands. Running her thumbs over the backs of Theresa's hands reassuringly, Michayla eased her mother onward. "The night of the accident...he was on his way home from having the saxophone dropped off to be polished and engraved." Theresa could feel herself beginning to frazzle again as she reached forward and placed a quaking hand to Mickey's stained cheek, her words running together in a near-incomprehensible mess. "Michayla, please, I'm so sorry honey. I shouldn't have kept it from you, I know that. I was just so scared that you would blame yourself and I couldn't stand the idea of you carrying that guilt. Please."

By this point, the pleading of her mother had become background noise for Michayla. If she had waited to tell her parents, even by a single day, would that have changed anything? Would the man who had hit her father not have been on the roads that night? If she had done a singular thing differently, would her father have been able to present her with his saxophone the night of her introductory concert? Turning her face into her mother's palm and bringing her own hand to rest over it softly, Michayla kissed the inside of her mother's wrist before giving the woman a soft smile. This is what her mother had wanted to avoid, to shield the young Michayla from. Nearly ten years after her father's passing and instantly Mickey was finding ways to blame herself. She didn't want to imagine the amount of torment she would've put herself through as a teenager who had just lost their best friend. "Mom, it's okay. I understand. You're right, I would've blamed myself. I might've even stopped playing." She leaned forward then and pulled her mother into a tight hug, trying to still the woman's sobs but cooing gentle reassurances into her ear. "I love you, mama. Thank you."

The drive home had been long and quiet. While she had asked Dezmond if he would ride in the car with her, it wasn't for the sake of conversation. It was for the closeness, the familiarity that came with the angel. In reality, he was the only person on the planet that had been there with Mickey through every accomplishment, hardship, happiness, and heartbreak. Knowing that someone was there with her that could understand the chaotic turmoil her brain had been through that day brought Mickey more comfort than she believed the angel could truly understand. Now, seated at the breakfast nook, Michayla's fingers absently scooted the assortment of pills in front of her across the table, eyes glazed over as they looked out and over the garden that she had inherited. Setting an elbow on the table and perching her chin in the palm of her hand, she turned to Dezmond then and simply watched as stood under her gaze. After a moment, she smiled and patted the table seat adjacent herself. "I'd say it's been a rather eye-opening day for the both of us. Should we have a chat?"