1. ONE
ONE
brEE
November, 2016
"Leaves fall,
Snow melts,
Everything ends,
to begin,
Again." — Unknown
The first snow had fallen, that kind of snow that covered the world in silent stillness, muffling the chaos of the city. Years had passed since I had seen such snow, and its beauty took my breath away. Each flake seemed to dance before settling on the ground, adding to the white expanse that stretched as far as my eyes could see.
I sat on a worn-out wooden bench, with peeling paint and creaky slats, holding in my hands a steaming cup of coffee. Heat seeped through the frozen fingers as the biting chill clung to the air. With my legs crossed over, I exhaled strongly, my breath rolling upwards into the air in curled wreaths before it broke. Closing my eyes for just that moment, allowing icy silence to wrap me up. When I opened them again, motion, like a different life, unfolded before my eyes.
People were hurrying, scarves and coats wrapped high, the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. A woman slipped, flailing her arms, catching herself with a nervous laugh. Children shrieked, their laughter carrying through the stillness. Two girls crouched by a snowman, their cheeks red with cold.
The older one yanked a striking scarf from her sister's head and threw it around the snowman's neck. The tiny one giggled, pushed askew a bright hat upon her head, and positioned it on the top. The little gloved hand fixed in a wayward smile on the grim iced face of the picture; two twig arms rubbed on either side into their frosty giant. I couldn't help but smile. At that moment, it was almost as if the world had condensed itself into something so pure and simple. And I almost envied the children who bring joy to their world, untouched by the weight that obscures it. I shut my eyes again, trying to catch my memories, but they all slipped away, melting like snow. My childhood is a blur, hazy at best; pieces missing, edges frayed. Who was I? Some shell, a shadow of the person that I once wanted to be yet could no longer remember.
I opened my eyes, and they fell upon the cup of coffee cradled in my hands. The dark liquid rippled where my fingers had slightly moved. My eyes dropped down to my wrists, where old scars carved across like faded whispers of a pain I wanted to bury.
Two parallel lines, remind me of nights when the darkness had promised to swallow me whole. A lump rose in my throat, and unwanted tears spilled out, running down my cheeks and the sudden warmth shocking my cold skin. Memories washing over me. I set the cup carefully down on the bench which groaned under the weight of the cup, and I tugged at my sleeves to cover the scars, as if to hide them from everyone. My hands rose to my face and rubbed off the tears that clung to my chin.
"I'll be fine," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I promise."
I reached into my handbag and pulled out my notebook, its leather cover smooth to the touch from a thousand moments like this one. Its earthy, brown surface seemed to stare back at me as if it held secrets I was yet to write. My fingers were trembling, flipping it open to a blank page. The cool paper felt fragile under my palm.
A tear broke free, unnoticed until it splashed onto the corner of the page, oozing outward in a small, uneven stain. The date spilled from my lips in a whisper, anchoring me.
"November 6th."
The pen hovered over the page before pressing down. My handwriting, shaking, carved through the silence around me. Date: November 6th. Mood: Fine. Thankful: For life.
I slapped the notebook shut, the leather spine softly snapping in the air. I pushed it into my purse and mashed the flap down like I was sealing away what was inside.
My hands clasped together, fingers lacing, thumbs pressed side by side. I bit my lower lip, the sting grounding me, my thumbnail digging into the soft skin of my other hand. The faint pain distracted me but wasn't enough to block the tide of nightmares and memories that crept in.
"I am fine," I muttered to myself.
The words left my lips like a mantra, though my chest tightened with the fog of flashbacks. Fragmented and fleeting faces that I could not name, voices humming just beyond recognition; impossible to discern which were nightmares and which scenes from real life that I had elected to forget.
Then, the touch on my shoulder, when I least expected it. I opened my eyes, my breath caught in my throat.
A voice came, soft and familiar, though distant. "Bree, are you ready?"
I blinked at her, my mouth opening but no sound coming out. Then, as if drawn by instinct, I whispered, "Mom?"
She smiled a small, hesitant smile, the sort that carried more questions than answers.
"Yes," she said simply, her fingers slipping into mine.
"Why did you change your hair?"
She blinked, startled, and then chuckled low. Her hair was deep, almost jet black, not the golden blonde I was used to and had grown up seeing every day. It was pulled back into a high ponytail. The contrast made her look like a version of herself I didn't know.
She stared at me, her face searching, like I'd struck upon some secret she'd never intended to reveal. Her fingers toyed with a stray lock of hair, twirling it over and over.
"You don't like it?" she asked, her tone casual, yet hesitant.
I didn't want to deflate her, not when she already seemed so unsure of herself. Forcing a smile, I softened my tone. "I do like it. I just… have to get used to it."
A small, relieved smile curved her lips and she squeezed my shoulders reassuringly. "Yeah, me too."
We walked across the parking lot together, the thin snow crunching beneath our steps. A car came into view, Dad sitting in the driver's seat, his red baseball cap tilted low as he fiddled with the radio. In the back, my sister sat silently, her head turned out the window, watching something outside in the world.
"You two done chatting?" Dad called out as we approached. His tone was sharp, impatient. "Get in. We're late."
Mom hesitated, then leaned closer to me, her voice a whisper that carried more weight than I was prepared for. "Maybe we can all start over," she said. Her eyes, dark and hopeful, lingered on mine.
I nodded, unsure of what else to say. "It'll be fine."
Fine. That one word had become my shield, my answer to everything. When nothing was fine, I said it anyway, hoping repetition would make it true. Maybe if I said it enough, I could trick myself into believing it, into feeling whole. Maybe then I'd be enough. Maybe they'd care. But we all had our masks. From the outside, every town we moved to, every dinner table we gathered around, painted the picture of a perfect family. Inside, we were splintered, each of us silently searching for ways to escape—through tears, through alcohol, through others—but never truly leaving. We were trapped in the illusion of perfection, our four walls painted in lies and cracks no one dared to acknowledge.
We were far from perfect. We were fucked up. And we knew it.
I opened the car door and slid into the back seat, crossing my arms over my chest to lean against the cold window. My eyes strayed into the rearview mirror and locked with Dad's. He shook his head slightly, small but with tons of unspoken emotion attached to the gesture. I could feel his disappointment, which came from him in heavy waves.
My sister sat next to me, still watching the world blur past outside. She didn't speak, hadn't, not since the accident. Her silence hung in the air between us like a weight. For a long time after, I hadn't spoken much either. But where I'd found my voice again, hers remained lost, stuck somewhere in the past, playing the same day on an endless loop.
I reached over and let my hand drop onto hers. I squeezed it gently, silently promising, "I'm here. I'll stay. For both of us."
That's why I didn't run; that's why, when the urge to leave seared through me like a fire, I hadn't left. I couldn't leave her behind.
With the humming noise of the car and nothing but silence between us, I watched as the world changed through the window: snow dusted hills and tall trees gave way to small towns and their dimly lit streets with shadows passing.
Two hours in and the fog thickened over the road, settling heavy like a veil. Darkness closed in and the landscape darkened as if trying to swallow the car into the trees that leaned near. It was gloomy outside, and the heaviness in us was mirrored by the heavy shadows of all that we would carry.
I felt the weakness pulling me down, the darkness closing over me and luring me into sleep, until I saw the light again. It cut across the void so brightly that it stung, and I raised my hand to shield my eyes, the glow flickering across my face.
"Come," the voice whispered, soft and far away, pulling at something deep inside me. A small hand reached out to grab mine, tugging me forward. I had dreamt of this before. A woman, her eyes as endless as the sea, her hair white like freshly fallen snow, spun me in circles, her laughter ringing through the air. She whirled and danced, her hand gripping mine, pulling me into a world that was nothing but the sound of children's joy and the shimmer of golden light.
I had no idea who she was, or who the little girl was whom she spun so effortlessly in her arms. All I knew was, that in those dreams, I was happy. And somehow, I never wanted to wake up.
But dreams are not life. They are illusions, glimpses of the world the way we wish it could have been. I am a dreamer, clinging to shadow, refusing to accept life, colder and harder than that. Yet, in my dreams, I was alive somehow, in a way I would have no words for.
The light shifted, pulling me back, the sun knifed through fog sharp and gold, and my eyes flew open. Turning my head to the window, I watched the car speed past a small, wooden sign, letters worn, but still readable ; írafoss, Iceland.
The GPS voice finally spoke in a low hum: "You will reach your destination in forty-three minutes".
Forty-three minutes was all that remained until it started all over again: a new town, a new life; another mask to wear, another set of lies to tell. Another perfect picture to paint over the fractured reality we carried with us. I wasn't ready. Not yet.