As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) (6 page)

“
What does that mean?” I asked quizzically, wrinkling my nose.

“
Senior?” she questioned—I nodded yes. “That means he was twenty-one years older than me.”

“
Wow, Grandma he was almost an old man. I mean—sorry.” I felt terrible as soon as the words slipped out.

“
Oh, it’s okay. He looked like a young man. One day you’ll understand forty something isn’t old at all.”

“
Hmmm, well, actually, I like older boys, too. They’re more mature, right?” I asked holding her gaze.

“
Yes...they can be, I suppose.” She paused then added, “Your grandpa was the love of my life—still is and always will be. I miss him so much. I wish he could’ve met you; he sure would’ve loved the dickens out of you. What a shame, he would’ve made a wonderful grandfather.”

“
You think?” I’m not sure why I questioned her.

“
Oh yes, of course. He would’ve gotten a kick out of you.”

“
Cool,” I said with a giggle.

“
The two of you would have gotten on so well together. You’re mother had the best times with him you know. He was such a great father. They would play checkers for hours and chase our little puppy around the yard—what a sight they were.”

“
Wait, Mommy had a puppy?

“
She did.”

“
What happened to it, she never told me she had a puppy?”

“
I’ll tell you someday but not today. Okay?”

I shrugged. “Okay.” A quiet moment passed between us. The puppy topic shifted the mood. I wondered why? “So Grandma, you really miss Grandpa, huh?” Even though she had told me she missed him already, I didn’t know what else to say.

“Every day. He was the best husband a woman could wish for, and the smartest doctor around. Do you know he used to tell me that one-day people would be walking around with telephones in their pockets? If only he could see it now.” Her eyes glazed over, filling with tears. She wiped them away quickly.

“
I’m sure he misses you too, Grandma.” I placed my hand over hers.

My grandfather died long before I was born when my mother was eleven years old. I had never even seen a picture of him. Everything my grandparents owned had been lost in a fire. They weren’t able to salvage even one single photo of their lives together. It seemed so unfair to me. Shortly after the fire he’d passed away from smoke inhalation.

Grandmother decided that day to tell me the details of how my grandfather died. First off, an old flame of his started the fire out of shear meanness and jealousy. I’d say a little madness too. The woman was never convicted of the crime because back then forensic proof didn’t exist, so she never paid for the tragedy she caused. Grandmother said karma would one day catch up with the woman.

My grandfather’s actions were none other than brave during the fire. He risked his life for theirs and, what I didn’t know was he’d gone back into the house to save my mother’s new puppy. Now I knew why my mother never wanted me to have a dog. She probably felt it was her fault that her father had died. The long exposure he’d suffered from the thick smoke, searching for her puppy, had damaged his lungs beyond repair. It all made sense to me now why my mother never wanted to talk about his death.

Their house ended up burning down almost to the ground. After my grandfather’s death, months later, my grandmother had their home restored exactly as it was before the fire; still so much was missing, mainly my grandfather. All their personal belongings went up in smoke. There wasn’t anything left of him to remind my grandmother that he was ever there...all she had of him were the pretty pictures in her head and their daughter.

“
I don’t know why God took him from me.” Seeing my grandma with tears in her sparkling blue eyes caused my heart to constrict.

“
Someday I want to marry a man just like Grandpa Stephen,” I confidently announced. My grandma’s eyes were distant, and filled with such remorse. I wanted her to remember happy times so I asked without thinking, “So, the only man you’ve ever kissed was Grandpa, right?”

“
I kissed him all the time,” she proudly said. Still she seemed very sad.

“
How did you know Grandpa was the one?”

“
Brielle, if you feel it in your heart; then you feel it all over your body,” she said, crossing her arms over her heart and then glided her hands down the length of her body to her knees. “Don’t worry you will know when the time is right.”

“
I wonder who I will marry?”

“
Do you want me to read your future?” Grandmother asked as she pulled out the deck of tarot cards from beneath the kitchen towel. Reading cards made her happy I’m not sure why my mother was so against it. I glanced around, making sure she wasn’t spying on us like I had on them.

“
Sure.” I smiled broadly, feeling the rubber band on my braces stretching beyond its capacity. The band popped out of my mouth and landed on the cards. My cheeks flushed with heat.

Yikes, hope she didn’t see that.

“Awe, a bit of you christening the deck.” Grandmother smiled and picked up the tiny plastic band—I’m surprised she could see it—and tossed it over her shoulder, and we had a laugh. As she laid the cards out on the table, I watched tentatively; she seemed to know what she was doing.

“
This card says you will grow to be full of grace and beauty.” Grandmother closed her eyes. “I see you—someone is taking beautiful pictures of you. There are lights shining down on you, and I see a halo above you.” She smiled, opening her eyes. “That’s because you are my little angel. Look at your gorgeous hair.” At that point I was suspicious of her words. Everything she said sounded too good to be true. Grandmother sprung one of my tendrils.

“
I hate my hair,” I spat out as I flattened it with my palms.

“
Never say anything negative about yourself or it could come back on you.” My grandmother warned.

“
Okay. I’ll try not to,” I reluctantly said and sighed.

“
See this card?” She pointed to the card with a beautiful lady in a robe with men sitting at her feet.

“
Yes,” I answered straight away, peering hopefully at the bedraggled cards.

“
When you are older there will be men, lots of them, all around you. You are dancing; I can see you flying through the air.”

She flipped over another card. “Hmm, not this one,” she whispered as she studied the card. Her eyes flashed to me, and then she quickly smiled, laying down another card. “This is a good one. Many men will try to steal your heart, but you will love only one of them.”

“That sounds good to me. Is he cute?”

“
Oh heavens yes, he is most handsome.” She beamed. I was happy too, as much as a tween could be. I listened closely as she went on.

“
What about my books, Grandma? I want to be a writer when I grow up. Do you see anything about that?” I asked anxiously.

She smiled fondly. “Well, let’s see what the cards say.”

I wanted to ask my grandmother what she really thought about the voices that I heard in my head. Instead, I bit my lip and kept the promise I’d made to my mother years before. I also relented because the voices and I had a pact and, so far, it was working out pretty well.

I felt sorry for Grandmother Katie. My mother sometimes treated her as if she was a tad off her rocker. Who knows…maybe she was. Regardless, I loved her silly predictions. It didn’t change the fact that I didn’t like the conversation I overheard between my grandmother and my mother. At the time, it was hard for me to comprehend some of my mother’s concerns about the voices. To me, she was overly protective. My grandmother called her a worrywart.

Despite what my mother had said, I felt fine, and I thought I was pretty normal most of the time. Nonetheless, there was a part of me, deep inside, where I couldn’t help but worry. What if my mother was right, and the voices would eventually hurt me somehow? Not on purpose, but accidentally. They seemed to care for me, greatly—actually one particular voice seemed to care the most. This didn’t mean that I was under some misconception about the voices. After all it was abnormal to hear voices, but one thing I knew they were not otherworldly entities like ghosts. Otherwise, as a child I would’ve been scared to death of them—even an adult would’ve been afraid. Although I’d never actually seen a ghost, I knew who the boogeyman was, and I didn’t desire to come face to face with one. Besides, who in their right mind would want to talk to a ghost?

***

Was hearing voices really so awful? I had to know why this was happening to me. Why did my mother consider it a curse? Under the circumstances, I couldn’t come out and ask her though. That would’ve made her freak out all over again. Trying to suppress the voices from the entire world, as my mother demanded, was no longer doing it for me either. I wanted to share my experiences about the voices with my close friends and family. It was too much to keep a secret.

Months later, I decided to bite the bullet and speak to my grandmother about the voices. I had no one else I could talk to. She was my only hope. After all, she secretly read my cards, palms and horoscope—all things that my mother would disapprove of. Grandmother was so wrapped up in these strange things. She owned tons of books, mostly ones that had something to do with the supernatural world. I found them hidden under her bed and read them too. My favorite books were the horoscope books, reading my horoscope was a fun pastime.

It turned out my grandmother was the one person who understood whom and what the voices were. The day I finally mustered up the courage to ask her about them she confirmed what I already figured—she communicated with them too. Just to be clear, she didn’t speak to the voices in my head, but she had her own voices, ones that spoke to her. The voices channeled messages through her, or at least, that was what she said. I had no reason to doubt her.

Grandmother claimed that they were the voices of angels—
guardian
angels, precisely. We all have at least one angel watching over us she explained. I couldn’t help but wonder why the voices didn’t tell me this themselves? Nonetheless, I bought her theory.

“
If you’re one of the lucky ones there’s an entire army of guardian angels guiding you.” And, she told me I was one of the lucky ones. As much as I thought this could be a good thing, it could be a very bad thing too. I couldn’t imagine having an arsenal of angels residing in my head, constantly whispering and directing my every move. Would I ever have a moment of privacy?

My grandmother advised me to only listen to the voices and to avoid having conversations with them. She added if I ever chose to talk to them that I should keep it a secret from all adults and, really, even from my friends. This would inevitably include my parents. She didn’t have to explicitly inform me of that. Basically, she gave me some of the same old jargon my mother said but with a twist.

Her advice came a little too late. I had been talking up a storm with the voices for years. My conversing with them had never done me any harm, so her advice left me more confused than ever. Although it really wasn’t complicated, it was simple. My grandmother didn’t want me to talk to them, even though this was contrary to what she did. I’m sure the conversation with my mother influenced her to give me such vague direction.

Simply...do as I say not as I do...

“Just listen to them—but if you do talk to them, don’t tell anyone,” were her final words regarding the angels.

What?
My head was spinning. I guess my guardian angels were spinning in my head too—if they were angels at all. One day I aimed to find out.

-4-

A Storm in My Head

Eventually, the voices disappeared. All of them seemed to have vanished except for one of the three that I’d become aware of. Ironically, he was the loudest guardian angel of them all. I could distinctly decipher his one and only voice. This was when I learned it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the oil, translation, the one who wins out.

When the others vacated their chambers in my brain it was such a relief. It became easier to communicate with real people since there were no longer three voices fussing about and talking all at once.

Before the voices dwindled to one, they always argued terribly amongst themselves. This drove me utterly insane, especially when I was trying to sleep. I assumed that the voices didn’t know the difference between night and day because of the way they would go on at any given time.

In fact, there were times that I would put my headphones on to drown out the rude buzzing between them all. In doing so, I discovered that they liked music more than they liked arguing with each other. They didn’t exactly like my choice of music though. Nevertheless, the music kept them silent for a while. However, sooner rather than later, they began to complain that my music selection sucked.

I had to find a better way to shut them up so that I could get some peace. So I experimented with some different genres of music, and this worked like a miracle. I discovered that the voices loved music from the nineteen-thirties and forties. Jackpot. With just a little musical experimentation, I learned how to silence them.