2. Kazia
2
KAZIA
W here the fuck is it?!
Looking around the room, throwing the last shred of clothing over my head, I had to admit it looked like a tornado ran through here. My heart squeezed as I thought of her. She would never have let her room get like this. She would’ve popped up behind me with the items, saying she knew where they were the whole time.
I was lost without her.
A shaky hand combed through my hair, eyes watering for the tenth time today. I needed to get a grip. I knew I needed to grieve logically, but I didn’t have time for that. Taking a few deep breaths, reminding myself that she wouldn’t want me to be this way. She would tell me not to worry, that she was returning to where she belonged. That she was at peace.
A gentle breeze floats through my hair, smelling of flowers and sage. As long as you destroy my two items.
Her voice echoed in my head. My mind conjured her leaning against the door, her bright honey eyes sparkling as her dark hair was pulled up and wrapped with a scarf around it, flicking her hands at me to hurry up and collect the items. Her smile lit the dark room like the moon, elusive and mysterious. I had to make this right for her.
Wiping at the tracking on my cheeks, I went back to work. After another session of throwing things around the room, I finally found the small box peeking out from behind her dresser that had her headscarf. I opened the box, and my fingers hesitated to touch it because it meant so much to her. It was the gift her grandmother, the Puri Dai of her tribe, gave her when she told her she was to follow in her footsteps when she was ten years old. This scrap of fabric was the only tie she had to the family she left behind when she got pregnant with me and fled Armenia to the United States.
Handling it carefully, I lifted the silk red scarf, golden thread laced between the fabric, making an intricate pattern that matched the ever-changing night sky, giving it a luxurious look and feel. Leaning down, I closed my eyes and sniffed it. Her sweet floral and pine needle scent still clung to it. Filling my lungs so full and deep, it was like I was getting high off of it, just wanting to be close to her one more time.
Tears welled up again, and I scoffed at myself, reminding myself that she had raised me to be stronger than that for the millionth time. I needed to be the Romani daughter again and make sure she passed onto the Otherworld without fail, not the psych grad student who devoted her time to science and studies over learning the old ways. It was something my mom and I always fought about, even on the day she passed.
Today was not the day to wallow. Today was the day that I needed to get shit done, whether I believed in it or not. She did, with all her soul, and that's what mattered.
Kicking at the mess at my feet to get through the room, I went to the kitchen and opened the cabinet, ready to search for it. It didn’t take long. Right before me was the mug she used daily since we came to Los Angeles. It sat front and center, the queen among the others in its oversized multi-colored way, with a sizable wonky handle. It was the mug she made in a free nighttime pottery class while pregnant with me and was the second item that represented the essence of my mother.
Staring at that mug, I knew I didn't want to break it, didn't want to say goodbye, but this was what she wanted. Tears welled, and I picked it up, feeling its weight in my hands. I pictured her drinking from it, holding it across the kitchen as she gave me a small, knowing smile. Putting it back down, I shook my head. I didn’t want to destroy those memories.
Her voice floated around me like she was here and could see my dilemma. This is our way, little Kazia. Like her hand guided my own, it lifted, hesitating every inch before my fingers curled around the handle. My resolve solidified. This was for her, not for me.
Stuffing the mug and the scarf in my bag, I looked down at my wide-legged boho-style black pants, white crop top with a black chiffon kimono-style cover, and black boots. I'm a monotone kinda girl, but still a Romani at heart. Knowing my mother, she would still complain about me not wearing any color to celebrate her life. Returning to her room, I snagged a few of her golden jeweled bangles and slipped them on.
Opening her jewelry box, I saw the traditional silver coin necklace and knew she would love it if I wore it for this occasion. I already had rings on all my fingers, so why not go all out? Putting the necklace on, I looked in the mirror and chuckled. I looked blinged out, just like my mom would’ve wanted.
Just as I went to close the box, a bright glint shone, catching my eye in the corner. It was a small silver locket I had never seen my mother wear. Opening it up, there was a picture of a dashing young man. Emotions rolled around in the pit of my stomach.
My mother never talked about my father, telling me he was dead and in the past, so we didn't need to dwell on it. I don't know who this man was, and I don’t have a clue about his side of my DNA, but that would have to be another day's problem.
Remembering what I was set out to do today, I put the locket back, my fingers twitching to take it with me, but I shook my head, pushing it all to the side for another day. Today was about her. Moving like the wind, I grabbed her large cast iron pot, some matches, and some newspapers for kindling. Today was the day I would fulfill my mother's wishes for her soul, let go of the past, and finally begin to heal for the future.
Luck was on my side tonight. It was a clear, starry night with no one in sight at the cemetery. I purposely went in the dead of night and hopped the fence to avoid the prying eyes of people, since what I was doing had to be illegal. Last I checked, starting a fire in a public cemetery was a big no-no.
Crickets chirped as the wind howled, and the bright moonlit rays shined down, causing a glowing mystical effect to blanket the cemetery. Tilting my face up and closing my eyes, I let myself get caught up in feeling those moon-soaked rays. While my mother and I disagreed about how to live our lives, at this moment, I had to admit that there was something in my blood that was called to the moon. It felt magical, even if my mind told me it was impossible. My nerves calmed, and strength filled my heart, pushing me to move forward. To believe, for my mother.
Trudging my way over to her grave with a sack full of stuff, I scanned the area, needing to get this going sooner rather than later. As soon as I got to her burial site, I set my bag down and kneeled at her headstone. My voice cracked, “Hey, Mom, I got your items, and I'm going to follow your instructions, so don't worry,” rubbing my hand on the headstone like she could feel my comfort.
Getting back to work, I took out the iron pan first and winced, whispering to her like she was beside me. “It was the only metal vessel I knew I wouldn't burn a hole through. If I lit the cemetery on fire, that would be very bad.” She loved cooking in this pot and would probably murder me if she knew what I was doing with it.
Chuckling to myself, I pulled out her mug first and a hammer. “You know, Mom, people pay a lot of money to do this kind of stuff in a safe place.” Cocking that hammer back, I looked down at the mug, remembering all of the teas and tonic she put in that cup and gave to me when I was sick or sad. It represented my mom, and I was going to miss it.
Closing my eyes, I let it fly. When the crash sounded, I jerked back, cracking my eyes open to survey the damage. The mug broke perfectly into several large pieces, making it easy to collect and place them at the bottom of the cast iron pan.
Grabbing the scarf, I sniffed it again, rubbing the silk against my skin. So soft, so warm, just like her. Placing the scarf on the broken shards, my fingers scrounged around in my bag, digging for the lighter I knew I had.
“Fucking small little-” I paused as a chill ran down my back. The air around me grew thick. The feel of eyes on me, devouring me, made me itch, and I swiveled around, looking back and forth for its source. Darkness blanketed the cemetery; everything was still quiet. I couldn't hear anything but the rustle of the wind, then a thought hit me. What happened to the crickets?
Looking around again, I found nothing. Goosebumps rose on my arm, and the feeling of being watched didn't disappear. Shaking my head, I pressed on. I just need to hurry up and get this done. It's all in my head.
I dug deeper, fingers searching until they circled the lighter. “Got ya!”
With the lighter in hand, I closed my eyes briefly, thinking about my mom. The way her dark tresses had these perfect big curls. When she was making something, how fragrant and homey it felt. I pictured holding her face and telling her I loved her. Even when we disagreed about lifestyle and overall beliefs, she was all I had, my mom. The one who gave up everything for me. The only person who would go to the ends of the earth for me, face anything for me.
Thinking about her strength and how she always lit up a room when she entered it, I opened my eyes and lit the scarf. Fire crawled against the fabric at a rapid speed. My eyes glued to the red and orange flame that devoured the silk in an almost hypnotic state.
Large, wet tears rolled down my face at the thought that she was gone, hitting me in the gut as I burned her items. Things that she believed kept her soul tethered to this world. It's why I had to burn them so that her soul could pass on to the otherworld safely. And for a second, it felt like I was doing just that.
The wind licked at the flames, causing them to crackle and flicker, and something inside me shifted. Air swirled around me, the moon's magical rays sunk into my skin, and my rational thought left my mind. Before I realized it, my body moved from left to right, swaying with the wind. Words that my mother sang to me as a child came rushing forward.
Underneath the midnight stars, where the shadows gently play,
I gather close to my little one, and keep the fears away.
Oh, we’re running from the storm, where the shadows used to play,
But we’ll find our place in the moonlight, in the night’s gentle sway.
The past is like a shadow, it lingers in the night,
But I’ll shield you from its darkness, with my love as our light.
Through the hills and valleys, where the wildflowers grow,
We’ll forge a path together, where the gentle breezes blow.
In the safety of our journey, with your hand held tight in mine,
I’ll weave a spell of stardust, to keep the shadows confined.
We’ll travel through the twilight, within the sunlight’s gentle beam,
A Romani mother’s promise, to chase away your bad dreams.
Tears fell freely, her song sinking into my pain and grief, knowing that she would never sing that song for me again.
Letting go of my strength, I fell over, fingers clawing at the ground as I sobbed. My mom was my everything, and even though I know it's part of the process of grieving, I couldn't help the crushing feeling of being lost in this world. No one was at my side. No one will catch me if I fall.
Her face flashed in my mind, reaching me with a sad smile. I love you, Kazia. I’ll never fully leave you. I’ll always be here. Her hand went to my heart, and I mentally held onto that picture for as long as possible.
She shifted, taking her hand off me, and I gazed up at her, noticing her mouth pinched, and looked over my shoulder. There was nothing there, but when I turned back around, the world I had built in my head dropped away, and darkness covered the space she had taken.
Desperation hit hard as my eyes searched for her in the darkness. Her face came forward again, but this time she was clutching at her face, trying to smile at me but not able to hide the wince when she dropped her hand. One side of her ghostly face turned black and blue, her lip busted, crimson liquid running down her neck. She crumbled to the floor, tears streamed down her face as she told me not to worry, that everything would be alright. She would take care of it.
I remembered this. I remembered this look on her face from long ago. I was a kid, and she told me to forget about it. A time never to be spoken of again.
Squeezing my eyes shut, a pounding came from my chest, hurting as my heart pumped too hard, too fast. A cool sweat dripped down the back of my neck, and my limbs grew numb. My mind felt like it was cracking. No. No. I was not thinking about this. I was not going to remember her like this right now.
“What was that song?”
The odd accent broke through my internal despair. My eyes flew open as I flung myself up to see a man crouching before me, his tattooed fingers playing in the flames as he stared at me. You would think that would be what I focused on, but no, the piercing emerald green eyes with flecks of gold called to the depths of my soul. Something in those eyes screamed at me to look at them, to see them.
When I didn’t respond, he lifted a hand and wiped the tears off my cheek. “That song is soothing. The voices like it.”
His accent was thick, but his words were clear like he had been in America for a while. Just as his words registered, my brows pinched. Giving myself a little shake back to reality, I responded, “What voices?”
Taking his hand away, he smiled at me, those golden flecks in his eyes circling as he bounced on his toes, leaning further into the flames. His dirty blonde hair fell into his eyes, even with the sides of his hair cut short. It was the first time I noticed anything else about him.
My eyes followed the light of the flames, seeing he was dressed in all black, his neck and hands covered in tattoos, and his ears had medium-sized black gauges in them. The sharp angles of his face played peekaboo with the firelight, making the lit-up side of his face look almost angelic, while the shadowed hidden side left more of a sinister mystery.
He pointed to his head, smiling wide. “The voices in here. I hear them a lot. Telling me what to do, gabbing away at my choices…,” he drifted off, looking to the side with a frown.
I don't know if it was because of my heightened emotional state or if I was truly going insane, but I poked at the side of his mouth, lifting it as I whispered, “Don’t frown.”
His eyes flew wide, and I realized I didn't know this person. He was a stranger, and I touched his face without permission. A stranger told me about the voices in his head in the middle of the night. In a graveyard. Fucking hell, Kazia .
Heat rushed up my neck and face, and I went to pull my finger away, but his head twisted, and before I knew it, my finger was caught between his teeth. My whole body froze, not knowing what to do. A crazy person had my finger in his mouth! Do I yank it away? Do I politely ask him to remove his teeth from my finger when I was the one who instigated it?
He licked at the tip of my finger, and I gasped, jerking back so hard as I tried to tug my hand away from this stranger. I yelled, “Wha-,” but his hand circled my wrist, feeling more like shackles than the gentle touch it was. I winced when pain ricocheted up my arm, his teeth biting down hard enough to make a mark. Before I could scream, he snatched my hand and rubbed the bitten finger with his thumb, soothing the pain.
“I bite, it's mine, right? That's how the saying here goes?” His smile took on a deadly edge, and warning bells went off in my head.
I tried to snatch my hand back, pain be damned, but his grip tightened. He kept smiling, but his eyes narrowed, asking me, “Who is this woman to you?”
“My mother.” I grimaced. Idiot! Why the hell did you tell him that? You don't know him! Eyeing him again, I didn’t think he was with the police, and he didn't look like a cemetery worker. Did he come and visit someone? I looked around for maybe some sane person looking for their psycho brother or family member.
Gearing up to ask him if he needed help finding who he came with, he beat me to it. Tilting his head, his expression soft, almost childlike, he asked, “Then why do you have a different last name than this woman?”
Now, those warning bells were like sirens. How the fuck did he know my last name? This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Looking down at the iron pan with my mom's items, I noticed they had turned ashen. My duty for her soul was done, and I needed to get out of here and out fast. Thinking back to what I learned from my psych undergraduate classes, I knew that when talking to someone delusional, you needed to stay calm, non-confrontational, and empathetic to their feelings.
Taking a breath, I smiled back at him, trying to keep my body from trembling and my voice calm and even. “She said she wanted to keep me safe,” his eyes focused on mine, and I took advantage. “You said you hear voices… do they bother you?”
“Oh, all the time!” He scowled, sticking out his bottom lip before he nuzzled my wrist, still not letting go. He threw some leaves into the pot to keep the flames from dying.
“What do they tell you?” Leaning in further, I nodded like I understood. If I could learn some of his motives, maybe I could find a moment when he was caught off guard, and I could get away.
He threw his head back at my mother's headstone, still not taking his eyes off me. “Was she all you had? Your only family?”
I nodded slowly, trying to build trust so he would let my wrist go. Maybe he would feel bad for me since I was now an orphan.
His brilliant green eyes flashed in the firelight. A crazed sort of pleasure filled them, and my gut clenched. Dread filled me, and I knew I had made a wrong move when his voice purred, “Perfect.”
Jerking back, I opened my mouth to scream for help, but nothing came out. I felt a pin prick in my neck, and my limbs began to feel weak. I went to push him away, to run, to escape this man, but my limbs weren’t moving. They only got heavier the more I struggled. With my vision starting to blur, my heart rate went a mile a minute. What the hell was happening to me?
Before my eyes closed, his arms circled my body, and he whispered into my ear, “We’ll be your family now. The voices told me so,” and then my world went black.