Extraordinary (3 page)

“Hurry while it’s hot!” Kate exclaimed, lounging on the floor. “The guy just delivered them.”

I tried to recall the last time the two of us spent a day together under normal circumstances. Her last visit three months ago consisted of my mom’s funeral. I just wanted to enjoy the company of my best friend when we weren’t emotional wrecks. Unlucky for me, “normal” flew right out the window the second I opened that blasted journal.

Maybe I imagined the whole thing.

I needed one more peek to be sure. The diary, which I now held squeezed between my hands, had remained on my mother’s bed since yesterday afternoon. I trusted that Kate wouldn’t disturb it, her curiosity had been squashed the second she thought it was blank.

I peeled back the top corner just enough to see a sliver of the pages, thinking it would somehow lessen the shock. Just as before, the words appeared.

“Crap!” I blurted.

“What? What is wrong with you? Are you having an emotional relapse?”

I leaned over the back of the couch, positioning the journal close enough for Kate to see. Displaying the opened book, I waited for her reaction. The words revealed themselves and Kate’s expression remained blank. She finally blinked and her eyes shifted to me.

“What the hell?” Kate yelled. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t do anything.”

For once, we both fell speechless. Kate had never been quiet a day in her life but that shut her up for several minutes.

“At this point I’m just thrilled to know I’m not nuts,” I said, ending the silence.

“I figured you were off your rocker again.”

“You realize we just saw words appear from nowhere? We both may be off our rockers.”

“Well now we have to read it!”

“Really? That’s what your first thought is?”

“Are you kidding? I’m more curious than ever! Don’t you want to know what it’s all about?”

Kate was right, again. My curiosity was piqued. I was no longer hallucinating; I was perfectly lucid, just caught in the middle of a strange event. Throughout our thirteen-year friendship Kate had pushed me to do things I would have otherwise put off until later or never done at all, why should this be any different?

I sat on the floor in front of the couch with Kate squirming next to me, no longer concerned with the pizza. With trembling fingers and a half-open mind, I turned back the leather cover and readied myself for the madness.

“Forgive me Mom,” I whispered.

The first entry was dated October 13, 1996.
I was two years old at the time.

Dear Alex:

Sometimes life is complicated and lonely but I am starting this journal so you will know how special my life is because of you.

You are so young but already you have brought such warmth and joy to each day.

The road ahead may be unknown but we will face it together and that brings me more comfort than you’ll ever know.

Love,

Mom

There was nothing too compelling in the passage but I discerned a tone of unhappiness hidden between each line. I fought back the tears, not willing to break just yet. Kate placed a hand on my shoulder giving me the boost I needed to continue.

I found myself lost in the words while Kate listened as I read aloud.  Mom told stories of my childhood, most of which I was too young to remember.  Every humorous anecdote my young brain formed, every temper tantrum, and every new discovery was accounted for.

The story of my inquiry into the ever famous ‘Where do babies come from?’ was proceeded by an embarrassed laugh. Apparently, I saw a particularly interesting movie scene that led to endless questioning. Mom took pride possessing the tools to quell my need for answers without scarring my young soul.

The entries, though not always extensive or exciting, were heartfelt.

November 27, 2000

Alex,

You came home from school today upset because you watched Bambi in class and were mortified that you cried. But then Kate came by and told you that she cried when Bambi’s mother died too and you forgot all about your embarrassment.

Your heart is so big, Alex. It always has been. I wish you’d stop trying to hide it.

Mom

“I second that!” Kate said.

I ignored my mother’s plea and Kate’s concurrence; this task was difficult enough without stopping to analyze my flaws. Skimming further into the journal, one entry, in particular, caught my attention.

March 12, 2006

Alex,

One day I predict you will read this journal, probably through Kate’s influence.

You are on one of your walks. It’s another beautiful day and I’m so grateful for moments like this.

There is so much I want to tell you but you are so young I fear you may not understand…or maybe I’m afraid that you will.

I hope one day you know the love a mother has for her children. That love is so strong you are willing to do whatever needs to be done to protect them.

I see you walking back now. You have flowers in your hand. You look so happy.

I love you,

Mom

“Well she has you pegged,” I said, and then noticed that Kate had fallen asleep.

I continued reading in hopes of learning the secrets I sensed lurking beneath all of the motherly insights. The entries depicted holidays, birthdays, and even Kate, but mostly she described me.

I never knew myself through her eyes. She painted me in a way that I could not recognize. Were it not my mother’s journal, I might have believed the words were about someone else, someone more fascinating and appealing.

Scanning through arbitrary events that only a mother could perceive as noteworthy such as my first school dance and even my first cavity, I questioned the authenticity of her ever-present smile. My mother never missed a school play or parent-teacher conference, there was a home cooked meal on the table each night, and birthdays were always a big deal. There was always a grin on her face and a hug ready at just the right moment. But was it possible to be content with a life void of relationships, other than one with your daughter? Was she truly satisfied being alone, and, if not, why did she never seek an escape from her loneliness?

Nothing in her words expressed regret or remorse for the path she chose but the periodic tones of melancholy lead me to believe otherwise.

July 18, 2010

Alex,

Today is just another quiet Sunday.

You girls are out test-driving Kate’s new Mercedes, which, by the way, I think is an absurd birthday gift for a sixteen-year-old.

I don’t have much to say today. So I’ll just say I love you.

Mom

The chainsaw-like hum of Kate’s snoring echoed throughout the living room. With her head tilted back on the couch cushion, Kate slept in peace, blissfully unaware of the anxiety brewing within me. I craved more. I needed more. Even if every entry left me sad and empty.

I remembered her writing the entry dated January 31, 2013 because it was from a hospital bed. It turned out to be the last time Mom ever wrote in this journal.

Dear Alex,

I am weaker and I know our days are limited so I must prepare you for what is ahead. But I fear what I have to tell you may not make it easier.

You may feel I am taking the easy way out by writing all this instead of telling you in person. The truth is you’re right. I can’t bear to see the look on your face or dig up all the emotions I have kept buried all this time.

This information will be complicated and what could potentially follow is risky.

You tried so hard to hide your pain and questions but sometimes with just one look I could see that they were there. Despite your efforts to understand and hide the hole caused by your father, I could see it vividly. The pain of knowing how to erase this incompleteness nearly crippled me but please understand why I hid it.

You are a wonder to me, Alex.  You knew on some level that your life was not as fulfilled as it should be and yet you never questioned it, at least not to me.  You are the best kind of daughter and you will never know the depth of my love and appreciation. 

My decision was a difficult one but it was necessary in order to protect you. Though keeping you from a life with your family—with our family—breaks my heart, if I had my way you'd never know. You can't imagine the grief and risk that comes with knowing and living the life I was born into.

On November 27, 1992, your Dad and I had a son, Jackson.  Your father decided to call him by his middle name, Blaze, after your late-grandfather, Blaise. He was such a shining light in our lives and we knew from an early age of his intense personality and strength.  Our lives were difficult before him and he came in, ironically, like a ball of fire erasing any pain. 

I loved your father but we came from different worlds. Literally. When I gave up my world, I found him and became a part of his and we started a family. 

When I found out I was pregnant with you I was ecstatic but my heart also broke because I knew what I must do. I had to tell your father about my past. And now I must tell you.

I come from a mystical place. My life was in danger and I was forced to leave there. Once I told your father he struggled but loved me enough to try. When I told him that we must separate you and Blaze to protect you, his trust was truly tested. I could sense your power even then.

We lived apart for some time but the strain of my story and our separation was too much to deal with. I wanted your father to have a normal life so I pushed him away so that he would no longer have to fight to convince himself of his love for me.

After our official separation, I discovered that I was pregnant again. Sadie was born February 21, 1996.

Sadie was sent to live with your Aunt Leah, your father’s sister.  She, like your father, knows of my past but she somehow accepted the sacrifice more than your father could.

A piece of my heart was lost when we split you up.  I knew you all would be taken care of but it did not make it any easier, I assure you.  We are not like other families. You are not like other siblings.

It was and still is incredibly dangerous for you to know this information. Keeping you all separate was the only way to ensure that you were protected from the evil that threatened me and from a world that would not understand.

My choices and actions may appear selfish and reckless but please believe me when I say I did it because I wanted all of you, I did it to protect you, but I did it especially because I loved you.

Out of fear, I must be vague. Part of me hopes you never read this at all. But knowing Kate's powers of persuasion, you will. Your Aunt Leah can fill-in the blanks should you read this and want a better explanation than I can offer you. I imagine you would, her address is 147 Fourth Street, Atlanta, GA.

I’m sorry. I love you.

****

Chapter Three

“We are going to Atlanta!” Kate screamed.

Startled, I jumped to my feet but my quivering knees forced me to sit back down.

“How did you…what is…” I struggled to form a sentence, any sentence.

“You were reading out loud. Alex, you’ve got a brother and a sister!”

“That story is absurd. Why do you believe it?”

“Why do you not? It’s your mother! She’s not insane or a liar. Sounds to me like we need to get the rest of the story, don’t you think?”

“Fine!”

I offered no more rebuttals; instead I slipped on my shoes as Kate grabbed her keys and sunglasses. Pulling my hair into a ponytail, we sped down the driveway so fast the gravel pelted the underside of Kate’s Benz like a hailstorm.

Kate and I spent the next four hours talking over one another, never acknowledging or answering the other’s questions followed by extended periods of eerie silence. As we turned in at the address scribbled on the journal page, I couldn’t decide if it was nerves or anger that had carried me thus far.  Whatever it was it sure got us there fast.

Hesitation was no longer a word in my vocabulary. I rushed to the front door of the house that I prayed held answers to some upsetting questions. Yet, my flip-flops were like concrete boots weighing my every step. My breathing accelerated to a dangerous level and a cloudy numbness overtook my brain.

Within seconds of my knock, the door opened.

I supposed I’d never taken the time to imagine what she must be like because the sight of her surprised me. Long-lost Aunt Leah looked nothing like most women her age. Her ivory blonde hair hung just above her shoulders and wispy bangs swooped across her forehead. Our eyes met, registering to my overwrought brain that we were the same height.

The jeans and t-shirt she wore were nothing exceptional but she wore them well.

“Alex, I wondered if you’d come,” she said, opening the door further.