Solstice - Of The Heart (20 page)

“Is that what you gave me? Their
energy?”

“Energy doesn’t belong to anyone. It
is of the universe. We only borrow it, use it, transfer it from one
object to another, one entity to another. It is neither created nor
lost. It exists and circulates like water from rain, to river, to
ocean and back to rain. Each droplet survives eternally in some
form or another. It’s the same way with energy.”

I had never heard Aaron speak this way
at length about anything before. It set me back on my
heels.

All I could mutter was, “E=MC
squared.”

“Yes, exactly,” he said. He reached
out his hand and laid it on my arm. “I do care for you, Julissa. I
only want to see you well.”

The tender touch, the heart provoking
words; they did what Aaron had said they would. They juiced me with
warmth and energy. How different was that, other than in degree,
from the hand holding and transference of energy I felt
earlier?

I wanted to believe in Aaron. I wanted
to know him better. Yet I was scared. Frightened at what might
happen. What if he grabbed me as Bernard had done Garl and, in a
fit of rage, sucked the life-force out of me? Would I die in his
arms? Or have to have Cherrie hide me as she did her grandfather in
a shack so no one would ever know it was Aaron who had killed me,
even if by accident?

Cherrie showed at the door, a
Styrofoam cup in her hand. Coffee aroma filled the room.

“Well,” Aaron said, as he stood,
“guess our date for tonight is off. You get well. I’ll see you in
school tomorrow.”

As I watched Aaron leave, KM, the
nurse entered the room.

“Who was that?” she said.

Cherrie tried to cover for me. “He’s
our brother.”

KM laughed. “I got to say, Sweetie,
you sure do have relatives coming out of the wood work. You’d think
you won the lottery or something. How are you feeling?”

“Excellent.” I sat up.

“You do at that. Must be
something to these relatives coming and going. Your color is back.
Your readings all look good. Doctor can’t make it in this morning.
He’s in surgery. But he did tell me I could check you out of the
hospital providing,” KM held up a finger, “you take it easy for the
next couple of days. He signed this release. No school until
Monday. Bed rest for the next two days.”

I reached for the
release.

KM pulled it away.

“Did you hear me, young lady? Bed rest
for the next two days. Agreed?”

“Yes.”

Cherrie steadied me as I walked out of
the hospital. I motioned her off.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I can walk on my
own.”

Cherrie backed off. “Yes you are.
Looks like whatever drug Aaron gave you, it’s doing
wonders.”

“He didn’t give me any
drugs.”

“I told you before. Don’t try to kid a
kidder. You didn’t heed my warning, did you? You and I both know he
gave you an infusion of something. And it wasn’t buzz
beans.”

I climbed into the LC. Cherrie got
behind the wheel.

“You’re not going to tell, are
you?”

“Tell who what? You keep quiet about
grandpa and I won’t say anything about Aaron or how he is drugging
you in more ways than one.”

“What drugs!”

“Love is a drug and that other thing,
well, I don’t know what it is, but it has some of the same effect
on you. I see it. You know it. Yes! Drugs. So? Deal?”

Cherrie was right about the energy
transference. I felt like I had been drugged, but in a good way,
one where, at the moment, I felt fully energized. You know the
feeling. You’re unstoppable. I felt I could do anything, including
convincing myself I was indeed in love with Aaron and he I.
Otherwise why would he wait up all night watching over me? Isn’t
that a love thing?

“Well?”

Cherrie waited for my
answer.

“Deal.”

14 MINNESOTA
BECKONING

I found Dierdra lying on the couch in
the living room, asleep when I got home. Pictures lay strewn about.
I had seen them before. They were of me and my parents, shots of
bygone times from when I was first born all the way through until
recently.

A glass lay on the floor. It smelled
of whiskey. I looked at the bottle of Makers Mark Kentucky Straight
Bourbon Whiskey sitting on the kitchen counter, a Costco buy, which
made it king-sized. A good portion of it was gone. How many glasses
had she drunk? One? Two? More?

Dierdra’s suitcase sat by the front
door.

I stepped through the pictures and
looked down on Dierdra. Her face looked drawn, tired. She had
kicked the blanket off and, because there wasn’t a fire, she now
lay cold, curled up in the fetal position. As I pulled the covers
up over her, she woke.

“Hi Baby. You’re home?”

“Yes, they discharged me.”

I went to work building a fire,
placing paper, cardboard, a pine cone and erecting kindling and
wood in tepee formation. I had Uncle Mickey to thank for my fire
starting skills. Although very young, I still remembered how he
laid up the building blocks to start a flame. It has never failed
me.

Dierdra sat up. She wrapped the
blanket around her and tucked in her feet. “It’s cold.”

“I know, Mom. I’m building a
fire.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

“How’d you get home?”

“Cherrie brought me.”

“I should have been there to bring you
home.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

“Cherrie’s such a sweet girl. I’m glad
you two are friends.”

“Me too, Mom.”

“She told me you’re like a sister to
her.”

“I pretty much feel the same way, she
being the older sister, of course.”

The fire took off. I closed the glass
doors and adjusted the damper. I sat down at the foot of the couch,
opposite where Dierdra sat.

“You been looking at pictures
again.”

Dierdra’s eyes welled up. She
struggled to control the upwelling of emotion.

“Yes.”

“Why, Mom?”

“I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t. I’m okay. Just a little
bump on the head is all. Not like the time...” I didn’t want to say
it. ...like the time Chuck Segovia and I went through the
ice.

“This could have been
worse.”

I didn’t see how, but okay.

“Yes, but it wasn’t.”

Dierdra leaned down and picked up a
handful of pictures. “I miscarried three times before I had you.
Did I ever tell you that?”

She had, of course. Numerous
times.

“Yes, you did.”

“You were our miracle
baby.”

She showed me a picture of me when I
was but a few days old. I looked scrawny, wrinkled, and some would
say, ugly. Dierdra held me in her arms and, although she looked
severely fatigued with her hair mussed and her make-up washed away
by the sweat of labor, the broad smile she displayed as a new mom
shone through like a bright star.

“Aren’t all babies miracles,
Mom?”

I had heard this stated many a
time.

“Yes, they are. But you are special.”
Look,” she said, as she handed me a picture, which showed me with a
fistful of birthday cake. There were three candles on the Snoopy
cake.

“Yes, Mom. I’ve seen all of these. Do
we have to do this now? I’m tired. I think I’ll go to
bed.”

I rose.

Dierdra ignored or didn’t hear my
request. She grabbed my arm, pulled me down beside her on the
couch, and shoved another photograph in my face.

The picture was familiar as were they
all. This one was special, even to me. I sat in dad’s lap, probably
at the age of five or so. I wore a ruffled dress. My hair poked out
from behind my head, done up into two ponytails. I hugged my
favorite doll to my chest. Dad’s face showed pride. He literally
beamed.

“Your father was so proud.”

Dierdra showed me another
picture.

I was older, ice skating at a rink.
Dad stood in the background, leaning against the rail, following my
every move, cheering my every antic.

In his mind, I was sure, he saw me
perfect in every way.

“Mom, you should get some sleep. I
should get some sleep.”

“You remember the time you were
sledding and you bumped your nose.”

How could I forget? There is nothing
more in contrast then red blood in the pure white driven snow. My
nose, gushing blood, left a trail from here to there. Naturally, my
parents overreacted. I wound up in the emergency room, where the
nurses, although polite, urged Mom and Dad to think twice about
using emergency services for frivolous injuries.

I pointed to the suitcase and, mostly
because I wanted to change the subject, I asked Dierdra what she
was doing with her bag.

Her reply?

“Do you miss Minnesota?”

“Well...yes. Some of it. Not the
bitter cold.”

“What do you think about going
back?”

Going back!

“Mom, what are you doing?”

“It’s just that I haven’t been very
well here.”

“So you packed a suitcase and you’re
going back to Minnesota? That doesn’t make sense.”

“No. To Redding.”

“Okay, Mom. I don’t understand what
you are trying to tell me.”

“I haven’t adjusted very well here,
Julissa. You know that.”

I got up. For some reason I started to
feel cold. Maybe the thought of going back to Minnesota and
spending another long cold winter in the deep freeze added to the
chill, but mostly I thought it was because I couldn’t fathom the
thought of never seeing Aaron again. I stood in front of the fire
and let the heat burn into my back.

“This was your idea, to move here. You
said it would bring you closer to Dad, because...remember? You said
his spirit lives on the mountain.”

“I remember. I do. But I still miss
him. It hurts.”

She broke into tears.

“I do too, but it’s been three years,
Mom. Don’t you think he would want you to move on? To be
happy?”

“I was. I was beginning to feel
happier, more content, and then last night when you were almost
killed...”

“You’re dramatizing, Mom. I wasn’t
almost killed.”

“We didn’t know that. And you could
have been. When I saw the boy hit you, I thought you were
dead.”

“You saw me get hit?”

“Yes. I saw you walking across the
street. I was going to meet you at the door and tell you I needed
to go to Redding to see my client.”

I’d had just about enough
with this client thing.

“Stop it!”

“What?”

“Your client?”

“Yes. In Redding.”

I sat down on the couch beside her. I
placed a hand on her arm.

“If you have something going on with
another man, that’s okay with me. Dad wouldn’t want you to be alone
for the rest of your life.”

“What are you talking
about?”

“You’re staying overnight in Redding.
For a client?”

“I am.”

“Since when does a psychotherapist
stay overnight with a client?”

Dierdra hung her head. She wrestled
with her hands. “When you’re the client.”

I sat back and thought for a second.
When you’re the client.

“You’re seeing someone?
Professionally?”

“Yes. I can’t do this on my own
anymore.”

“But you’re a
psychotherapist.”

“The worst patient is oneself because
we humans can’t break down the barriers we build for
self-preservation without someone else’s help. And I’ve built a
fortress.”

“But to stay overnight?
Why?”

“Observation. I don’t sleep well. I
have dreams. My doctor interviews me the next morning when my
subconscious is still fresh.”

“I’m sorry Mom. I didn’t mean to imply
anything.”

“That’s okay. I should have been more
forthcoming. I just didn’t want you to worry about me. You have
your school studies and your life to contend with.”

(Like I didn’t already
know something was wrong)

“You’re not really thinking about
going back to Minnesota, are you?”

I asked this with a lot of
apprehension.

“My doctor says it’s an alternative
and I should keep all my options open at this point.”

“What about being close to Dad’s
spirit and all that?”

“I don’t feel him close. I see the
mountain, but I don’t feel him. I’m not even sure I know what it is
I’m looking for.”