Lovley Fire

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“Mommy? Why are you printing your name on the tree now? Your life isn’t over yet,” I said standing next to mother as we stood under the willow tree, surrounded by hundreds of brightly colored flowers that waved to us in the wind, sparking blissfulness to our forest. Mother got down on her knees in front of me with her flowing white dress blowing in the wind. She smiled at me with those perfectly white teeth and ocean blue eyes. Red hair just like mine. I was a mini her.

“Because although my life isn’t actually over yet, I have lived. I’ve completed the task that life has given me. I’ve fallen in love with a man that loves me just as much as I love him, and I’ve had a beautiful child that will always be mine. Now my only task that life hands me is to raise this child that stands in front of me now and to love her just as much as I love the flowers that surround her,” she said, her voice soft and pleasant. I handed her the box, old and cracked from old age. There was a willow tree carved into the box on the front, perfectly shaped and magnificent. Mother stood up and faced the tree, opening the box and staring down in to it. I was too short to see what was inside the box, so I didn’t know what was in it. Mother rested her hand in the box for a second and then pulled it back out; her palm was red with some kind liquid, maybe ink. She slowly pressed her hand against the tree and then pulled it back, revealing a small hand print. She was now a part of this tree and a part of the family that marked it. Father came up behind me and put his hands on my shoulder. Mother’s hand print was just next to his.

“Soon,” he said kneeling down next to me. “Your hand print will stain that tree, and you will be a part of it as well.” 

 

I leaned up in bed so fast I couldn’t see anything for a moment. Everything was black and my head felt like it was going to burst. I wiped my hand across my sweaty forehead. When my vision finally came back, I was staring at myself. I looked at myself in the mirror that was across the room from me. I touched my shoulder gently where my father had touched it and imagined his hand beneath mine, heavy and strong.

“It was just a dream, they’re not coming back,” I whispered to myself as I layed back in bed. I stared at my ceiling listening to my own breathing. My dreams are getting more and more hectic. They are always pieces and fragments of my past that always have to do with something about my parents. Either it’s the flames of my burning house that I dream about, or the flowers and the wind that blew through my hair as my mother and father talked about the hand prints and the forest and the trees. None of it makes sense to me. People say that you dream of what you thought of before you fall asleep, if that’s true, then my dreams are messed up because the thing that I try most not to think about is my parents and my past. I want these dreams to go away; I want everything to just go away. Sometimes I wish I could erase all of those memories so I wouldn’t hurt anymore, but I knew it’d be more painful to destroy those memories, than to live with them. I still remember that box that I handed mother. I remember the willow tree carved on the front of it. I don’t even know where that box is anymore. I’m pretty sure it burned in the fire, so I’ll never it back.

 

“Emrey, I suggest you get up before Mamaw Ruby beats those buns from last night out of you.” I opened my eyes and blinked several times to wake up. I’m lucky that I actually fell back asleep after that dream last night, most of the times I just end up staring blankly at the ceiling until sunrise. “Emrey, are you alright?” Aunt Eclaire asked sitting on the end of the bed with concern in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” I asked sitting up in bed more, throwing the sheets off of me.

“Well, you look as if you’ve been crying. Your eyes might just be redder than your hair.” I looked at the mirror and she was right. I did look as if I had been crying, in fact; I could see streaks of old tears running down my cheeks. I wiped my eyes and ran my hands down my face. Maybe I had been crying in my sleep. Who knows?