Chapter Nine
The past
Clayton
Wrapping Elsie’s gift carefully, I have prepared it for a week to make sure it turns out perfect as she is.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t realize that her friends are only tagging her along cause she is so forgiving and pure.
I never told her the truth
I simply couldn’t understand how her eyes shine when she talks about them. She even looked over how they treated her the first day she came to school. I never understood why she kept coming back. But, she always said that she doesn’t want me to be alone.
Mr. And Mrs. Beaumont kindly let me stay the night and accompany them in decorating.
They always seemed too perfect as a couple and as parents for Elsie.
They obviously love her to death but Mr. John seems off.
He narrows his eyes at me when I get too close to Elsie, his eyes warning me that it might be my last step.
I understand as a normal father he should be protective, that’s not the reason I feel something is wrong.
I can know dangerous people by simply their presence.
His arm tattoos are a bunch of scrabbles from afar, but if you look closely, there is a small tattoo in the middle of the number 77.
It looks simple, too simple.
Elsie told me before that John got a ladybug tattoo for her, since she has been interested in insects and how they all develop.
His tattoos have meaning.
After I have done some research, there is only one place in the world that tattoos their people by numbers.
The Russian prison.
He knows that I’m aware he isn’t the perfect man and clearly Elsie knows nothing about it.
I won’t tell her, she looks up at her parents as her backbone.
At least one of us gets to have that.
I won’t ruin it for her.
The front door of the Beaumont’s house opens for me as a girl flings herself to me in a hug.
“You’re finally here, come in!”
I chuckle as Elsie pulls me inside as I close the door behind us. Annette greets me with a kiss on my cheek as usual “I’m glad you’re here with her, Clayton.” her voice soothing like the warmest cup of tea I have ever tasted in their house.
Elsie’s mother is the second nicest person I have ever met, not that I have much reference but she accepted me without any judgment.
Her short platinum blonde hair frames her heart shaped face, her features soft yet there is a hint of sharpness. Her blue eyes are darker than Elsie’s. Her French accent gives her a slight edge.
“John! Can you please come down and help me with the gifts.” she calls out, walking towards the table filled with gift bags that they got for Elsie.
The stairs creak as John walks down. His eyes land on me as they harden, but softens slightly when he looks at Elsie and winks at her.
“Clay, come look at this.” My attention immediately turns to Elsie as I walk towards her. She holds pink plastic cups “Mom got these, they’re so pretty. Do you think the girls will like it?”
I don’t think the girls will even glance at them.
“Probably.”
Her smile means that was the answer she wants to hear. She is focusing too much on what her ‘friends’ would like, not what she would like.
“Kids, come help me bake the cake before everyone arrives.”
Elsie runs ahead of me and I walk behind her.
I take the chance to appreciate how she looks, her dress is a knee length pastel pink that compliments the white of her hair.
She has her hair down, it has gotten so long lately to the point it reaches the middle of her back.
Her lips are glossy and her eyes sparkle with hope.
I have told her hundreds of times that she’s beautiful. Each year I find a new word to describe her.
We stand beside each other as we work on the batter and I wipe off the splatters from her face every minute, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss them away.
My feelings for Elsie become harder to resist each day. I know she loves me as a best friend and I would do anything to always have this honor. But, there is always this hope that someday she will see me as more.
Until then, I will keep clinging to every moment I can be with her, till I prove that I’m hopefully good enough for her.
We decorate the cake to look presentable as much as we can. I can feel Annette’s gaze on the horrible cake but she keeps her words to herself as she notices how much Elsie loves it.
A variation of colored strings decorate the walls and balloons fill the floor. Elsie stands in front of the door, her eyes not leaving it for a second. I glance at the clock on the wall as I sit on the couch with my hands in my pocket hiding my gift.
The guests should have been here for the past twenty minutes.
My leg taps as my blood boils, I keep looking at Elsie.
She hasn’t moved an inch for the past hour.
Annette's eyes tear up as she stands beside the staircase, John puts a hand on her shoulder in assurance as she rests her head on his shoulder and looks up at him, shaking her head. They have a silent conversation with their eyes as John sighs “bug, why don’t we start together already. Maybe your friends are still on the wa—”
“No, I gave them the invitations I drew. They are coming.”
Annette moves forward and takes Elsie’s hand as she kneels down beside her “Elsie, I don’t think they’re com—”
Elsie sobs.
Annette pulls her into a hug as Elsie cries in her chest. John joins them as they embrace each other, letting their daughter cry in their safety.
I stand aside, fidgeting the gift hidden in my pocket, scared if I breathe, it will break their spell. They will probably forget that I’m here.
Elsie didn’t want to celebrate even after all her parent’s persuasion. I asked her mother if I could walk with Elsie for a bit and she approved.
“Where are we going?”
“We are almost there, hold on.”
I hold her hand as I lead us to the edge of Grimridge, to a place no one bothered to step foot in. The air is more foggy and dense here. The smell of death spirals around our senses.
“Now, you can look”
She opens her eyes and gasps as she reads the molded sign.
The Grimridge Graveyard.
Hundreds of graves scatter in front of us on the dirt ground. Not a single person is close by as I step forward, each gravestone is engraved with a name and death year. The flowers are withered away as mold eats away the stones. Moss grows around them as the veins that once bumped in their bodies.
“Clay, why are we here?” She whispers as if she would wake them up from the dead.
No one escapes their fate.
I turn around, facing her as I hold her cake in my hand. “Come closer.”
She walks towards me as I move further into the graveyard, glancing behind me to find her following me as she looks at each grave in sadness.
I stand in front of a grave and she stops beside me as her gaze follows mine.
Patricia Morgan.
“I heard she was a very well known seamstress, she made all the royal family’s gowns. She never had any kids due to infertility, but she had money to drown herself in. She died of a dangerous disease.”
Ford Haskins.
Another grave reads as she listens to me intensely. “He was a great general in the wars, he was homeless and fought for his country with a loyal heart, he made a loving family until he got amnesia and forgot who he was and killed himself.”
She listened to each story with an open heart and some we discovered written on the gravestone.
She sits on the ground as I face her “To answer your question, I wanted to show you that all these people have met their fate. Each one of them had a great role in their lives and now look at them.” she looks at the graves then back at me “They’re forgotten, no one steps foot here to appreciate their stories or cherish their floating souls around. Does that mean they’re not worth it?”
She shakes her head.
I hold her hand “Exactly, you’re like them. You’re a great person and some people just won’t appreciate your greatness even if they forgot or didn’t even bother. You’re still the same pure soul that I want to celebrate every year.”
She smiles as I hold up her cake. She takes it from me and holds it for the grave.
“Hello, Mr. Ford, I’m Elsie, and this is Clay, we really appreciate your services and hope you have a great birthday next year.
” She crawls on her knees to the next grave and looks over their birth date then wishes them a happy birthday.
I followed her as we spent hours talking to every dead soul.
At the middle of the graveyard stands tall an angel statue, carved with precision, showcasing the wings details and the body of the angel draped with silk. My eyes spot Elsie sitting underneath it, resting her back on it and the word sparks into my mind.
I stand before her and kneel down “Aren’t you going to make a wish?”
She smiles, closing her eyes as she wishes and blows on the air.
“You never told me, when is your birthday?” She looks hopefully at me.
“I don’t know.” I answer truthfully.
Her eyes widened as I explained “my parents didn’t register me when I was born. Or even cared to pin the date. But, it’s not that big of a deal.” I shrug
She holds up the cake for me. “Make a wish.”
I hesitated, “but, it’s your cake, your birthday.”
She shakes her head “well you don’t know your birthday, we can share the same day. Since you're two years older, now you turn 13.” She beams with happiness and I can’t help but feel honored.
“Thank you.” I lean in.
I wish Elsie would stay with me.
I blow on the air as I open my eyes and look into her light blue ones.
I grab the small gift from my pocket and hold it up for her. The moth is held onto a small white frame, its wings light green and clipped to the frame. Her eyes fill with wonder as she holds the frame in her hands and looks at me “My favorite Insect. Thank you, Clay. I love it!”
I grin proudly “It took me a week to dry and preserve but it will always be with you.”
She hugs it to her chest as I look up at the angel statue then back to Elsie, noticing how the wings of the angel surrounds her. The word immediately speaks in my mind.
“Elsie, I have decided what new word to describe you.”
Her gaze turned back to me, excited.
“What is it?” She inches closer.
I hold her hand, whispering “Mon ange.”
“Happy birthday, Mon ange.”
My angel.