Willow (2 page)

The girl was human, I was sure enough of that. Blood coursed through her veins like anyone else and I could sense the strong beat of her heart – a heart that beat slightly faster than most. I had smelled her faint perspiration and underneath it detected the lingering scent of soap. She was lovely in her own nimble way but astonishingly normal. Just as potent as her scent, was the scent of her grief. It floored me, but not nearly as much as the familiar force of her eyes. I had to know more, I had to know
her
.

Chapter 2: Willow

It was by all accounts a beautiful autumn day; so beautiful it was offensive. I wanted the day to reflect how I
really
felt and I wanted the sky to darken in varying shades of dark indigo and angry amethyst. I wanted wind to violently force clouds across the sky. I wanted it to storm and to thunder as if it could match the silent screams I felt inside. I wanted rain to fall from the heavens like grief had poured out from my broken heart.

I was by myself in presence and in thought.

Alone
.

I repeated the cold, despondent word to myself; the meaning seemed so final and forlorn, just as I was. There was a slight breeze and desiccated amber leaves fell from their branches. As they drifted I noted the ones already decaying on the pavement near my feet. At one time those leaves had been nothing more than a bud beginning its phase through life. I knelt down and gently scooped one of them up. Its form was delicate and at one time no doubt vibrant with pigment and composition. I traced the contour and closed my palm around it, rendering it into dust. I blew and watched as the particles dispersed into thin air.

All I knew at that moment was that I didn’t want that cycle of life and death to claim one of my own, my only one.

I stood there for a moment and brushed a single tear from my cheek. I couldn’t even muster the energy to spill the floodgates that boiled under the surface. My throat burned but I had to do it. With painful resolve I mustered what little strength I had and I walked into the funeral home. I lowered my head until my chin was tucked into the warmth of my patterned plush scarf. My hands were clenched but they were hidden inside the pockets of my red wool coat. I was trying to conceal my emotions from revealing themselves physically. I barely noticed my surroundings but the interior of the reformed Victorian home was dark and depressing. Adding to the dismal ambiance that threatened to grip me in its bleak embrace were the dimly lit sconces. My feet, enclosed in small black boots, walked upon a dark wood floor and a carpet of deep burgundy. Even the paintings were dark and were showcased in ostentatious frames. There was no life in this space, no warmth, no sound - only the smell of death and despair.

I was led into a room where my dad lay in state. The director, a strange yet older man, stood by me. I politely asked to be left alone. He seemed unsure--I was so young after all--but he did as I asked and closed the door behind him.

I stood there and stared, knowing this would be the last time that I would ever see my dad, and there he was, just steps away - the motionless form of Connor Alan Scott - my friend, my dad, and the only family I ever really had.

My voice couldn’t reach him, my tears couldn’t touch him and although he was before me, he wasn’t really there. His empty shell overwhelmed me. It looked like him, but it wasn’t the essence of him. I couldn’t believe the finality of it. It couldn’t be happening. I wanted it to be a nightmare from which I could wake and have everything the way it used to be.

He was so silent and still. His brown eyes were closed forever and his mouth was incapable of soothing my sorrow with the comfort and familiarity of his strong yet temperate voice.

I walked up to him. My heart was pounding from the grief that engulfed me. I wanted my heart to touch his, as if I could shock the life back into him. I swayed and held myself, endlessly repeating to him that I was sorry and that I loved him. The stillness spoke volumes and the silence gave way to despair.

Oh God Dad, you can’t really be gone
…

I lowered my head and covered my heart with my hand. It was then, in my sorrow, that I realized how alone I was and how nothing would be the same again.

I silently prayed, took one final look at my dad’s face, turned, and walked to the door. I hesitated for the briefest of moments. I walked out, leaving his shell behind but carrying his memory in my heart.

Chapter 3

I sat in my Jeep waiting for the heat to warm the space around me; I knew I didn’t have much time left. I was leaving everything behind but had to make one final visit to the cozy two bedroom house that had been my life long home. It was where my parents started their life together and were so happy. It was where I had been happy too…
with him
.

Dark was descending but the stars and the moon masked the twilight. It was unusually cold but the soft breeze guided me to a place where I didn’t want to go. How could the memories be locked away and so yearning to break free? 

I pushed a strand of dark hair behind my ear and closed my eyes.  I hadn’t even attempted to open the door to my house when I slid to the ground and buried my face in my knees.  My throat ached and tears flowed.  Silent sobs gave way to ones that seemed to have no end. I lifted my tear-streaked face to the sky and looked at the doorway to the house I might never be able to sleep in again. I cried out in agony and cared not if some distant neighbors heard my cries. How I wanted back in the house that was now dark with no signs of life inside. The only stirring was that of the bushes nearby.

What I wanted was for that dark and depressing house to be warmly lit from within – from the kitchen where my dad cooked oatmeal, pot pies and biscuits, to the living room where we would sit in front of the fireplace and read or play games like scrabble and UNO. Now there was nobody, nothing, not even light.

I cried until I was too weak to cry any longer. I slowly got up and made my way down the steps of the porch to my old, white Jeep wrangler. Once inside I backed out of the gravel driveway and took one last look. In just one day it went from a happy home filled with a family to a dark and empty structure void of life.

My life was changed forever and at that moment I didn’t think I would ever be happy again. The darkness was all around me and I was sad. Death had locked me out from the comfort of presence and familiarity. Not only had I lost him but I was losing my home and moving several hours away to live with an Aunt I had met only a handful of times.

Chapter 4

“You’ll love it here, really.” Anne was trying to be helpful. She was hanging clothes, fluffing pillows that didn’t need it, and helping me organize the guest room that was now my bedroom.

“The school is small and most everyone is friendly,” she told me.  

I placated her by smiling but I didn’t feel it. Would I feel anything again, anything except the dull emptiness and raw pain?

Anne smoothed a folded blanket with her manicured hand and put it on the full sized bed that was covered in a white down comforter. She lifted her other hand to rub my back but I dodged the intimacy by reaching for my partially unpacked suitcase. She slowly dropped her hand and moved away. I didn’t want to offend her so I mustered a smile and hers in response was equally polite but just as insincere.

Perhaps the move would be good for me. There were too many memories in Woodland Park. Everywhere I looked I saw him and I remembered our life together. I had seventeen wonderful years with him and although my mother died when I was two, her beautiful, comforting echo was in almost every room, kept alive by the one person who never stopped loving her.

My dad never missed a chance to remind me of her either, “See over there Willow…your mother loved the vibrant colors. She loved the smell in the air, the wild wind; the scent of colder days and the cloud of darker nights.”

I loved autumn too because it’s an effortless time to be outdoors and to feel a sense of affinity with the wilderness and the wildlife that my parents held so dear. Perhaps autumn is cherished because the season is the shortest and we tend to appreciate more what passes through our lives so quickly.

How very well I understand this now…We don’t have time to grow impatient because autumn is so brief.
Everything good is brief...

Anne’s knock on my door momentarily distracted me from my musings. I hadn’t even noticed that she had left.

“Willow, when you’re done unpacking I thought we could walk to the Pizzeria for dinner.”

I wasn’t in the mood.

“Um, sure, that sounds nice,” I lied.

Pleased, she added, “It will be good to get out and you can see more of the town.”

My heart was heavy. “Sure thing, I’ll see you downstairs in a few.”

A new town, a pizzeria; old memories intermingled with new ones. Would the reminders never cease?

Every December my dad and I would drive down to Old Colorado City and visit the chocolate factory, and every visit I would choose the same thing - chocolate covered gummi bears. If the buggy was in town my dad never missed a chance to pay for a ride. We would sit there side by side, somewhat quiet but always connected. Sometimes when I looked into his thoughtful brown eyes, I would see his love for me and also his longing for her. She was always with him.

I looked more like my dad – dark hair, brown eyes. He was half Cheyenne and half Scottish. He had only stood at a height of 5’9 but he had always been strong.

My parents met at a bonfire before they graduated from Woodland Park High School and from that moment on were inseparable.

Around the time I turned fourteen my dad brought home a beautiful white and gray puppy with bright, inquisitive yellow eyes. She was a Siberian Husky and I called her Pandora, or Panda for short. She was my first and only pet – ‘
a companion who would watch out for me’
my dad explained. He didn’t need to, I loved her right away. She was somewhat mischievous but hopelessly devoted to me. She was the only real friend I had and she made the trip with me.

With my fingertips I parted the white curtains to glance down below. I could see her aimlessly meandering through the back yard, checking out her new surroundings. She caught sight of me in the second story window and wagged her tail. I gave her a small wave. As kind as Anne was, Pandora was the only one who understood me.

My mother was Tanith Davidenka Scott. My father said I favored her, but only with my features. I could only dream of what she must have been like as I had few memories of her. I remembered her striking smile and feeling warmly content in her arms. I even recalled her long, slim fingers running through my hair as she hummed a lullaby. Other than that, what I knew of her were memories my dad had shared and seeing her through photographs, which were everywhere. My mother had long blond hair, exotic blue eyes and pale skin. In photos she was more or less the same height as my father; 5’7 perhaps?

She didn’t have much family, at least any that she kept in touch with, but my dad wouldn’t expound on the matter, only briefly stating that she was born in Kuybyshev, now known as Samara; she came to the United States with her father when she was a child. He had proudly stated that she spoke English with the faintest of accents and had done very well in school, better than me in fact. The gist of what I got from him was that he was fiercely protective of her and that she had sacrificed a lot to be with him. The rest was a mystery to me but I always thought my dad would be around long enough to eventually tell me everything. Sadly reconciled I shook my head.

There is never enough time, and there aren’t many chances. I guess we have to make the most of the ones we do have and we should never be careless enough to let the others slip away.

Chapter 5

I was thankful I had brought my cream colored sweater because it was chilly. Anne and I sat outside the Pizzeria and waited to be served. She was looking at me sympathetically when she said, “You’re always so quiet.”

Lamely I remarked, “I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just thinking.”

What could I tell her, that I felt hopeless, lost, and that I was uncomfortable around her because I didn’t know her? The truth would be far ruder than silence, or so I thought.

She was still looking at me. Was that pity I saw in her dark, almond-shaped brown eyes –
my dad’s eyes
? I hoped not, I didn’t want to be seen at all.

Anne Scott was my dad’s sister. She was twenty-two when I was born and had never married, although she was never without the company of men. Her wavy auburn hair fell just below her shoulders. Today she had a half up-do. Her appearance was impeccable, tidy, and pin-up glamorous. She wasn’t overweight but she was curvy and a couple of inches shorter than me. Even now, men stared. Unlike me she adored attention and I admired that she wasn’t shy.

Anne owned and operated a bakery in town that was popular for its old-fashioned soda fountain. Anne loved to bake but she couldn’t cook...at all. She had one full-time employee - an older gentleman named Benjamin Dalton. He was a retired teacher and also a widower.  Ben, as he preferred being called, was born in Mississippi but moved to Kansas when he was young. He was a jovial and kind man. He also liked to tell stories and I was told he had many talents. Anne said she was lucky to have him and when I was ready, I could help out in the bakery.

An hour passed but Anne and I had exchanged few words. I felt lonely, even in her presence. It was a weeknight and there were few people milling about.  As I picked at what was left of my cheese pizza, Anne excused herself to speak to one of her gentleman friends. Before she left I asked permission to walk across the street to the chocolate factory, which just so happened to be the same chain that had a store in Old Colorado City. Was I seeking to ground myself through nostalgia? All I knew is that I needed to go, or maybe I just needed to get away.

I walked in a hurry, but in a hurry for what? To my left a sporty black motorcycle caught my eye. Then I noticed the rider. Tall and very slim, he too was covered from head to toe in black. I looked away, indifferent. As I passed him I noticed his head was turned in my direction and I could feel his eyes bore into my back. Seeking shelter from being seen I hurried up the stone steps and opened the door.

The store was old and the wood floor creaked as I moved about. A teenage girl stood behind the counter waiting to offer assistance. I scanned the items and recognized the dark chocolate pretzels my dad liked so much. I knowingly and mournfully smiled and went over to the baskets where I chose the usual…chocolate covered gummi bears. I reached inside my backpack trying to locate my wallet, but nothing...I kept searching.

I heard the bells chime. A presence drew near but I didn’t look up. I heard the movement of a leather jacket and then the girl spoke.

An attractive voice greeted her in return before handing over a 10.00 bill. “This should cover it.” In my peripheral vision I saw him raise his hand as if to stop her.

I was embarrassed and almost didn’t take the bag when the girl handed it to me. I turned to object and for a brief moment my eyes locked with his but the connection felt like minutes more than seconds. His eyes were a brilliantly soft azure, or were there even words to describe their intensity? His eyes had pulled me in somehow, and as they caught the light they momentarily flared blue-green. He had a strong, square jaw, slender face, well-defined cheekbones, and his tousled hair was a rich light brown. He was attractive but it was more than that.