Extraordinary (2 page)

“You signed me up didn’t you?” I asked.

“You start in August.”

And with that I was officially a college student. I was relieved because I had also officially run out of excuses.

“Seriously, Alex, I’d be a mess too but you have an obligation as a young woman to give life all you’ve got…while you’re young and attractive before you’re old and nobody cares.”

I stared back at Kate. Her blues eyes squinted to accommodate the large smile plastered across her face. There were no signs of disgrace for her off-the-wall statement. I didn’t expect there would be.

Still, giving life all you’ve got was easier for her. Kate was daring, opinionated, and thrived on being in the middle of whatever situation presented itself. Hence her being shoulder-deep in socializing and pursuing her childhood dream to study law at Stanford University.

Kate also liked to drive fast and be impulsive. Once we ended up in Charlotte, North Carolina on a Tuesday night because a pop-rock band she liked was performing at a bar there. Not only did she convince security that we were eighteen—we were sixteen—but she got us right smack in front of the stage and left with the lead singers phone number.

Now, I wondered if she was losing her touch but the longer I stood watching her, the more I became convinced that she had a point.

“You’re right,” I said. “At least the part about giving life all I’ve got. It’s hard to believe I managed to obtain popularity in high school.”

“And you’re welcome.”

“You can’t take credit for that. Jocks are popular by default. It’s a tale as old as time.”

I possessed a knack for running. Fast. I joined the track team to put my talent to use. I won the majority of my meets. As a result, I was deemed “special” by the students of Knox High and allowed into the exclusive popularity club. I found it all pointless and never participated. 

“I’d say you were destined for popularity. Now if only we could get that sparkle back.”

“It’s still there; it’s just out of shape,” I said, heading to the shower.

“Well go outside. Run, hop, skip, leap, just quit being a bum!”

Knowing Kate, this tirade could continue for some time. I turned on the water, eager to drown her voice and my sorrows. The hot water ran down my face, I exhaled, and allowed my body to relax. My muscles were shaky from lack of use. I felt guilty for that and so much more. As steam filled the bathroom, covering the mirror and shower door, I accepted Kate’s words as truth.

I was being a bum. I was wasting away in my own personal prison of gloom. Sure it was easier and safer, but what was I hoping to accomplish? I used to have dreams, goals for my life and myself.

The photograph beside my bedroom window had once been my inspiration. It was a reminder of a time when I had the energy to dream and the drive to do the thing I loved most—take photographs.

It showed a view of the sky on a typical spring evening in Georgia but to me it wasn’t the same sky I had looked up at every night. I saw another world between the mix of red and purple as the sun set on this side of the earth. I was a part of a greater existence in that moment and every moment since just by looking at it. I often tried to see things others couldn’t or didn’t or, at least, I took pride in believing that I was capable of such a feat.

Hence, my enrolling—then deferring—at Savannah College of Art and Design. My mom loved my photos. Photography used to make me happy. Now everything was tainted.

Lingering in the shower for longer than necessary, I avoided reality for just a few more minutes.

“Is this what my life has come to?”

“What?” Kate asked.

“Nothing!” I replied, exiting the shower. “Just thinking out loud.”

“Well, now that you’re sanitary, you need to eat something because you are wasting away.”

Peering down at my pelvic bone that had become more pronounced, I agreed with her…in silence. Kate loved to be right. Even if she was this time, she didn’t need to know just how right she was.

I dressed myself in the clothes she had picked out for me. It occurred to me that Kate was treating me like a five-year-old because that was how I was acting.

My dark denim shorts hung lower than usual. Lucky for me, Kate had chosen an oversized white tank top that would disguise my newly shrunken body, at least enough to avoid a discussion about it.

“And it’s time to clean this house,” she announced. “You wouldn’t believe how dusty it is.”

Yes, Mom
.

“You know there’s no food here,” I said.

The last time I had checked the cabinets all I had found was a can of corn and what appeared to be an old cookie. If I ate anything, I held strict to whatever food I could have delivered, which consisted of two options: pizza and Chinese food. I tried to space out my orders to each restaurant to avoid having the same delivery boys see me open the door looking like a crazy hermit.

“There’s food now,” Kate said. “I bought groceries. You have a sandwich on the counter.”

“Did you get coffee?”

“Duh. If it’ll get you out of this funk you can drink the whole pot for all I care.”

“Cream and sugar?”

Kate nodded. “What would you do without me?”

“Oh, Kate, never shy about tooting your own horn.”

“It’s such a lovely horn, why not toot it?”

Growing up with no one but my mom and Kate was atypical but longing for a storybook upbringing never occurred to me. Our simple life accommodated my loner tendencies...or perhaps created them.

Sure, sometimes I imagined what it would have been like to have an actual brother or sister. I wondered what it would be like to have someone to look up to or look after, or to have that unbreakable bond siblings possess. But with Mom and Kate around I never felt slighted.

Kate scooped up the basket of dirty laundry and I followed her downstairs.

A hazy sorrow dominated the entire living room and trickled into the kitchen.  Maybe it was the grime that had accumulated over the past few months or perhaps it was the emotions I tried to escape, either way the dreariness was palpable. 

But still, looking at the room was like being thirteen again. I could see Mom and me painting the walls. It took us two weeks to decide on a color. We went for a bold rustic shade of red because it was a surprising change from the yellowish hue of our house’s exterior. I laughed as the memory unfolded and I remembered how accomplished we felt after it was done. It took a week to finish and even longer to get the paint out of my hair.

“She loved this house,” Kate said, recognizing the look of nostalgia on my face.

“It was the only place she wanted to be.”

“Yeah, she did not like that hospital!”

Home was the only option for mom. On that Tuesday afternoon in October when the doctor informed us that she had stopped responding to treatment my mother rose above. With a smile, she asked that I take her home so that she could be in the place she cherished.

Through the window, the white porch surrounded the pale yellow walls of our home. At one end was the solitary swing where I would sit for many hours. Mom’s favorite rocking chair, where she spent the majority of her time, swayed in the middle.

It was no different than the one next to it, but to her it was special. She would sit, writing in her journal, and humming the song she would use to lull me to sleep each night as a child.

Amazing Grace.

Even in the face of death, she tried to look on the bright side. The least I could do was try to do the same.

“Where should we start?” I said, devouring Kate’s sandwich.

“I say we start with the hardest part first. Your mom’s room.”

I nodded and smiled so Kate wouldn’t worry but I knew it would be crippling. When I reached the top step, I paused for a moment to prepare myself for another emotional memory or two. Kate entered Mom’s room and I followed with as much enthusiasm as having teeth pulled.

Her bed was made, as it usually was. Her clothes hung in their respective places in the closet. The big straw gardening hat for sunny days like today draped on the bedpost. I poked fun at her each time she wore it. Mom would laugh along with me and never missed an opportunity to sport it. I often wondered if she purposely put it on knowing we would get a good laugh out of it.

Her much-loved record player idled in the corner and my thoughts went to the last day I remembered hearing her favorite Elvis Presley album blasting through the speakers. On several occasions, I had caught her swaying around the room or singing into a broom handle.

“Gosh, remember her records?” Kate asked. “I can hear her saying ‘They don’t make music like this anymore.’ We always rolled our eyes. I never got to tell her I agreed with her.”

“She knew,” I said. “We would dance along with her and we knew all the words.”

I tested the ancient contraptions functionality and to my surprise it worked. Elvis began to serenade us with words regarding his burning love.

“Oh, that’s a great song!” Kate yelped.

The two of us broke into silly dances and Mom’s presence surrounded me.

Gazing around the room I noticed her journal beside the bed. I had often wondered what she was writing about but was never nosey enough to look. If Mom were here the book would have been in her lap, not on the nightstand.

The needle slid to the next song—one of The King’s signature ballads. His haunting voice resonated deep within me; he understood. Wiping a layer of dust from the top, I held the journal tight to my chest.

I’m lonesome every night Mr. Presley. Thanks for asking.

“Whatcha got there?” Kate said, taking the book from my hands.

“No, Kate! It’s Mom’s journal.”

“Relax,” she said. “Don’t freak out. There’s nothing in it anyway.”

She flashed the blank pages to prove her point then tossed the book back to me. Kate shimmied across the room to dust the dresser. I was stationary beside the bed and curious as to why there were no words in the journal since I had personally watched my mother write in it daily. I opened it again, puzzled.

The blank sheets of paper began to fill with her handwriting. Page after page, Mom’s words appeared from nowhere. A shudder vibrated down my spine. A gasp erupted from deep within me, catching me off guard. I slammed the journal shut.

Kate turned in my direction with a confused expression. It was too late. She was on to me.

Is this what a psychotic break looks like?

My hands shook and my heart rate increased to a subtle rumbling. I tossed the book onto the bed, grabbed the vacuum, and pretended I wasn’t insane.

****

Chapter Two

Nothing bad ever happened here. Our crime rate was practically zero. No one even got speeding tickets. Knox was pure, untainted by the world’s frenzied pace and negativity. Somehow we remained a well-kept secret even considering how beautiful and idyllic it was.

One drive through town and you’d see why.

One minute you would find yourself parallel to the ocean, the next you were surrounded by breathtaking southern Georgia countryside. It was the best of both worlds if you asked me.

My house was isolated, as most homes on the outskirts were. My closest neighbor was a half-mile away, separated by lush woods. My mother once found comfort in this place. My home used to be my safe haven.

So how, in the middle of that splendor, did I find myself mentally unstable?

Words didn’t just appear out of thin air.

I had never heard of anyone going crazy here, it was too beautiful and peaceful. Knox was the kind of place that could cure what ailed you, not cause it. Yet, as I jogged through the woods on the trail I’d travelled hundreds of times before, I wondered where I went wrong.

I was hallucinating and no amount of exercise would cure that. Though, I wasn’t sure if I was running from the journal or running because I had downed an entire pot of coffee before lunch.

I weighed the pros and cons of telling Kate and found that no side faired better.

Kate was the girl who was rarely fazed by anything and had an explanation for everything. Sure, she could have explained what I saw, but I was not convinced she wouldn’t think I was insane.

I entered the house, continuing to jog until I was locked in my bathroom.

I knew I had to tell her but there was no sense in rushing it or not being clean when I did it. I had carried the weight for over twelve hours, what was one more?

My caffeine riddled body jittered as my shaky hands poured body wash onto the sponge. The rich coconut scent reminded me of the ocean, palm trees, sand between my toes—warm weather activities I should have been partaking in instead of losing my mind. After the longest shower I had ever taken, I made my way downstairs to share my secret.

Kate was waiting for me in the living room with two extra large pizzas on the table in front of her. I watched the steam rise off the melted cheese and evaporate into nothingness. My heart banged in my chest and my mouth went dry.