As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) (4 page)

“Nope. Did you call him that because he had no hair like a shark?” I asked, and then chomped my teeth up and down imitating a shark’s bite.

“
No, because he used to pretend to
be a shark.”
Her voice heightened then lowered.
“He would chase me around the pool like a big mean shark and acted like he was going to gobble me up. I always acted as if I was scared and screamed at the top of my lungs, but I really loved it. I sure do miss him.” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze fell distant for a moment. The lines on her forehead relaxed, she looked peaceful.

“
That’s a nice memory, Mommy.”

“
Yes it is...he was a wonderful grandpa.”

“
I’m glad you had a grandpa. I wish I would’ve had one—too bad I didn’t get to meet Grandpa Stephen and Grandpa Henry.” Grandpa Stephen was my mother’s father and Grandpa Henry was my dad’s father.

“
Maybe one day you will.” She paused, sitting up. Her reply was an unexpected twist since both of my grandfathers had passed away before I was born.

“
Huh?” I simply said. My mother was in a daze, for sure, still reflecting on her memories.

“
I think I heard Daddy come in downstairs.” She pushed up from my bed and listlessly wandered toward the doorway.

“
But Mommy, the songs—the voices—they sing songs like Papa Grant did. Those funny olden day songs.” If I had known any better, I would’ve just let her leave my room. But instead, I just kept rambling on about the voices. Besides, she’d asked me about the songs they sing. I jumped up from my bed and approached her. “You said you wanted to know what they sing to me...why you leaving now?” I questioned her demandingly. Who did I think I was? “You’re acting strange, Mommy.”

In my eyes, my mother was the sweetest person that walked the face of the earth. Everyone, even strangers, mentioned how much she resembled Princess Diana, inside and out.

Aside from my grandmother, my mom was my best friend. However, on that particular evening her understanding nature shifted. She was never quite the same since that day.

At the mere mention of the voices again, she whipped back around, and I could have sworn that her pale complexion turned a shade whiter; it was as if she had seen a ghost.

She grabbed me tightly by the forearms and scolded me, harshly. “I don’t like you having voices in your head. This is bad, Brielle. We will not talk about them ever again! I mean this...do you understand me?” Her voice pierced my eardrums.

“
No. I don’t. I don’t understand, Mommy,” I stammered, stomping my foot for effect. My eyes pulled together tightly, piercing into hers. I could feel my cheeks turning red. I pulled back from her grip. “Stop! You’re hurting me. I’m telling Grandma on you.” I threatened in my best brat mode. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad.” I snickered at her.

My mother rivaled blueberry punch stains everyday, which are stubborn, but not as stubborn as I was. Most definitely, I was my mother’s cross to bear, at times, but she never accused me of being such a demanding child.

“Do not challenge me, Brielle. You don’t need to understand everything right now, except that there are no such things as voices in your head and that people will call you terrible names if you talk about them. No more voices...make them go away or—or a doctor will...” Her words had sharp edges.

A doctor? What would the doctor do to me?
The threat of a doctor was enough to scare me into obeying.

“
Okay, no doctors. But,
why?”
I cried. Tears dampened my cheeks. My mother offered no explanation. Of course, I was five years old at the time so why should she have to explain.

“
Because I said so...don’t ask me any more questions. Just obey me or—or I will—I will spank you,” she practically growled. Her teeth clinched tightly between her words as she scolded me.

“
Momma, you’re scaring me.”

She bit her bottom lip, hard, as if
even
she was shocked by her own threats. Her face reddened and she shut her eyes. My mother had never threatened to spank me prior to that day. This was also the one and only time in my life she used the lame phrase,
“Because I said so
” as many parents do and will continue to do through the ages.

I stood there shaking like a leaf. Tears welled in my eyes. The grave seriousness in my mother’s tone, in that moment, caused me to fear her for the very first time. She paced my room, back and forth, speechless. Then, she suddenly buckled to her knees and began sobbing.

“Please, it’s okay...I’m sorry, sweetheart. I would never spank you. I promise, but—” She hung her face to hide her tears from me.

I dried my tears with my tiny fingers. I assured her that my invisible friends would never hurt me. This made her emotional angst worsen; she burst into uncontrollable cries. This frightened me to death. I was afraid she would never stop crying, and I would be the one to blame.

“Mom...my, I promise, I will never talk to them again. Don’t cry, Mommy,” I pleaded with her. Between her cries, she pleaded with me too, reinforcing once again, that I was to never speak to the voices in my head ever again.

My mother held true to her promise and, through the years, she had never paddled me either. Over time, the voices disappeared and life went on as usual. Well, until it didn’t anymore.

-2-

An Understanding

On a rainy night, long after the voices had vanished, I crawled into my bed. My herd of stuffed animals stared back at me in my dimly lit room. The shadow from the moon shining through my window distorted the images of my dolls, making them look haunted in the dark. I shut my eyes, pulling the blanket over my head and hummed my favorite song:
“Hush A Bye Mountain.” I knew every word. I learned it from watching the movie
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
over and over again.

The movie and my repetitive watching of it often helped me to fall asleep. Then, like magic, the music and the words manifested into something much more than just the music that lulled me to sleep every night.

The song grew louder and louder, mixing with my voice. My eyes batted open, and I sprang up to investigate the change. The lullaby was not playing on the radio or on the television, but instead, it originated inside my head.

“
You’re back,” I blurted out. I covered my mouth, trying to stifle my words. I couldn’t talk to them, remembering I’d made a promise. Despite my efforts to ignore them, the voices continued to sing. They sounded so lovely together that I leaned back against my pillow and listened. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.

At first they only visited me at night, after my parents tucked me in. Night after night, they sang to me. I loved all their voices, and their songs. I had to obey my mother so I only listened, without any reaction, and refrained from singing along, too. This wasn’t easy at my young age. For the longest time, I refused to communicate with them.

Weeks passed by without my uttering a word or even acknowledging their voices. Other than, falling asleep to their magical tunes, I pretended they didn’t exist, although I enjoyed their songs. I honestly did my best to ignore them until they began calling out my name.

“
Brielle—Brielle—Brielle. Talk to me. No. Talk to me. Brielle, you only need to talk to me...”
They all spoke in unison—at once. Their voices mingled like an untamed symphony. I found it funny—their parents must not have taught them any manners.

Without thinking I shouted out, “You’re going to get me in trouble. I’m not allowed to talk to you guys anymore,” I firmly said, and then hoped that they didn’t hear me, or that my parents, whose room was next to mine, didn’t hear me either.

It was too late; I had broken the ice. They knew I could hear them now. This ignited a rampage of banter between them. They were all pining for my attention.

I did the best I could to ignore all of their buzzing, but it was overwhelming. I had good intentions to obey my mother, but you know what they say about good intentions—yep—paves the road to Hell.

All of my good intentions were of no use. The voices wouldn’t retreat to where they had come from, which of course, inadvertently forced me to talk to them. After all, I couldn’t tell them to go away without speaking to them, now could I?

Still, as my mother had demanded of me, I wouldn’t dare yell at them again. Sometimes, I could hear them chatting amongst themselves in the corners of my brain, and their words were sad, morose and filled with pain. So to holler at them would have been mean and cruel.

I contrived a simple plan. The voices and I made a pact that they could hang out in the rooms of my mind, on one condition—they couldn’t talk to me when my family and friends were around. They agreed half-heartedly. From that point on, I learned to coexist with them, and they lived by my rules. Hey, it was
my
head. Poor things; I was a bossy kid.

I never asked them why they existed in the first place, at least not during my learning years. At the time, it just didn’t seem important to me. In the end, I liked them and they seemed to like me. They became a part of my daily life. However, as the years passed by, there were times they made it easy for me to holler at them, and I did. They could be moody, disruptive and devilish. But hey, it takes one to know one. I could be an angel or the dickens too!

***

Often, I was bored with nothing fun to do and eavesdropping became one of my favorite childhood pastimes. Actually, eavesdropping was something I continued to do most of my life. I found that I could learn a lot about people when they had no idea I was listening. It became a sneaky occurrence that I mastered. I believe that this was what quickened my passion to write mystery books years later. It became my favorite genre, along with romance of course.

From the dining room adjacent the kitchen, I hid behind the door, barely breathing, so that I could listen to a conversation between my grandmother Katie and my mother.

Grandmother Katie, my favorite and only grandmother was my mother’s mom. My father’s mother passed away when he was seventeen years old.

While I typically loved listening in on conversations I wasn’t intended to hear, this was a conversation that I wished I had missed.

“
Mom, I caught her talking to them again. I can’t deal with this again...once was enough. I begged her to stop years ago. It is now apparent to me that Brielle has the curse. The same one you have and the same one—” My mother’s words suspended in mid air.

The same curse as whom? I wondered.

What the heck was she talking about? I had inherited a family curse. That was what she called it.

A sudden feeling of guilt swept through me for spying on them in the first place. But, just as much as I felt guilty, I wanted to burst through the door and demand to know what the curse was. Instead I waited quietly, hoping that I would hear more.

I felt very confused. My mother was crying and it hurt me terribly to see her crying again over me. I thought I had hid the voices from her pretty well. Apparently, she had a bad case of spying on me too, so my guilt subsided, somewhat.

From what I could overhear, she feared that if people knew that I talked to unknown voices in my head I would be labeled a freak, crazy, or, worse yet, that I would be locked up one day. I’d heard most of this from her lips before, but I had never heard that I was at risk of being locked up.

“Brandy, she is not cursed. How can you say such a thing? And neither am I.”

“
You know how cruel people can be, Mom. You’re an adult and know how to deal with this and how to hide it from others. Brielle is different. She has no filter. She’s outspoken and too curious about everything. She’s different than you. She’s open and talks too much. Times are different now. Mom, when you were a kid you knew how to keep certain things to yourself—she just won’t—and doesn’t. She even tells on herself when she does something wrong. What kid does that?”

“
True.” Grandmother nodded, batting her lashes. “You’re right—and wrong about this though. People aren’t as judgmental as they used to be. They understand things of this nature nowadays. There’s a whole other world out there, a spiritual one. People are open to the idea of this—and Brielle is innately connected to something really powerful—she’s special. My wish is that you would finally just accept this, sweetheart.”

My mother just shook her head.

Grandmother Katie calmly continued to explain her point of view. “You know there’s no such thing as a curse—this is not the case—there’s absolutely
no truth
to what you are saying! She paused and shut her eyes for a second.

“
Truth?” My mother questioned rather loudly and incredulously.

“
May I have some more tea, dear?” Grandmother lifted her teacup slightly from the table. “And please, lower your voice, someone might hear you.”

My mother sluggishly retrieved the teakettle from the stovetop. “What did the truth get us when we—oh Mother, they will say she is practicing witchcraft or, worse yet she’s mentally ill...like—” My mother’s words shattered into tears. Her hands shook as she filled their teacups.