Imagining Gifts #2
My Noma was magical. A sorceress who saw things a small boy of ten could never fathom. Her soothing nature eased aches and heartache better than any balm.
Thank heaven she knew what little boys needed more than we did.
Sadly, no longer taking heavy pain pills, nightmares quickly distracted me from dreaming of the girl in the water.
I was relieved to be awakened early in the morning to get back on the road after sleeping at a shady motel that preferred cash.
If Noma didn’t wake me, gasping for air from a night terror of motorcycles would.
Even awake, the sound of a bike would cause me to be alarmed.
I worried we’d be chased down and Noma would crash. Then we would be shot like my uncles.
Motorcycles weren’t the only thing that haunted me, though.
Water did, too.
One morning, around four a.m., we were back in the car, with me in the back seat staring at the rain dripping down a passenger window. As we would pass under streetlamps, the light shined off tiny dancing water stars.
My eyes slid shut with the ache of longing for a girl with green eyes. I felt as if I were missing a part of me I hadn’t known was crucial for my survival. Since I was told she didn’t exist, there was so much confusion for such a young boy.
I shut my eyes in an attempt to block the stinging sensation.
That only helped me fall back to sleep. Hence, another frightening nightmare.
Though this one was different. I had tried to swim back up to the surface after the bridge explosion, but Dad’s bike was weighted to my leg, dragging me down.
My magical friend had come to help me, but then the drowning tether evaporated from around me and suddenly appeared around her.
Around her fin. The bike’s weight was now dragging her from me, tugging her to the ocean floor.
Her little hand reached out to me as she screamed.
No sound escaped, but air bubbles rose from her distressed mouth as she disappeared into the darkness of the bottom of the sea, a little boy frantically following her down.
What did the dream mean? I had no idea at the time. All I knew was fear.
Grabbing my chest while trying to catch my breath, I sat up, asking, “Why are they after us, Noma?”
Noma only reached between the seats and held my hand with a strong, loving squeeze.
“What’s going on?” I tried.
She sighed. “A contingency plan that was put in place long ago.”
“By Dad?”
“No. Unfortunately, your dad didn’t heed my warnings. This was all your grandpa’s doing.”
I loved hearing about Grandpa, but didn’t remember ever living with him. He was gone before I was a certain age. Details of what happened to him were always kept from me.
I asked, “So, you know where we’re headed?”
“I do.”
My breathing seemed to refuse to settle. These distant answers weren’t calming me.
Noma read me like a book, as they say. “Did I ever tell you about the day your dad got his first bike?”
My spine straightened, a nice memory attached to bikes being so welcomed. “You were there?”
“I was.” One hand on the steering wheel, she smiled back at me, as bright as the rising sun. “Oh boy, he was always a prideful one. That bike was beat-up and had a few rust spots, but that young man, only sixteen, sat on it as if a king.”
Although he wasn’t her biological son, she spoke of Dad as though she adored him. Somehow very connected to him.
Staring out the windshield, her head tilted as if seeing the memory clear as the day it happened.
“Good God, his soul was already full of life. Every ride seemed to give him air beneath his wings. He loooved those wheels. He loved the rumble of his pride and joy, of the chrome he’d polish every day… ”
As she spoke, I began to understand what I had also seen, his true love for a bike. The freedom it offered. As it had been shown in my nightmare, that bike, or any other, wasn’t chained to him as a weight. It was a pair of wings.
I took a deep breath, suddenly not as afraid to hear another nearby rumble.
Noma’s hand pulled away to search a large duffel bag full of cash in the front passenger seat. I guess she felt in plain sight was the best hidden spot.
After rezipping the bag closed, her hand returned to me with an offering. “I was told you fought to keep hold of this in the helicopter.”
It was Dad’s yellow skullcap.
An explosion of pain mixed with utter gratitude burst from every part of me. I clutched the material to my chest… and sobbed, for a long time.
Tears flowing, I leaned my head back and stared out the front windshield with Noma. The sky glowed due to the sun rising behind us as I pictured my dad, smiling on his bike.
Deep inhale…
Speaking from a profound part of my soul, I told Noma, “I will miss him for the rest of my life.”
Noma was crying too, now. She didn’t swipe away the tears or hide them.
Barely able to swallow, she nodded. “Me, too, baby boy. Me too.”
“I wish I could’ve said goodbye.”
She choked down a sob. “Me, too.”1
The cry had been therapeutic for the both of us. Although we both seemed tired afterward, I felt calm, as if the storm inside was taking a break before building again.
In a motel, I sat in a tub of water, resting my tired head on my knees, tucked cozily up to my chest. Humming serenely, Noma slowly scrubbed my back with a cloth.
Yes, I was old enough to wash myself, but I had only one hand that could get wet.
Plus, even though I was in need of getting clean, this endearing moment seemed to be needed, for both our sakes.
Staring at the water, I was seeing stars dance again.
I exhaled, surrendering to the possibility it would be all I saw in water since the accident, possibly for the rest of my life.
As concerning as that notion could be, Noma’s presence made me feel grounded.
That feeling seemed to pay it forward. The more ease I felt, the more she became relaxed.
Deep inhale…
My cheek still leaning to my knees, I stared at my grandmother. “Noma?”
“Yes, baby boy?”
“Why don’t I call you grandma?”
Her own exhale felt like she was fond of the memory she was about to share. “When you began to learn how to talk, we tried—”
“You and Dad?” Now that he was gone, Noma was my only living resource of who the man was.
“That’s right. And Grandpa.” Noma continued, “Me, your dad, and grandpa tried to teach you, grandma, after you learned ‘dada’, but you kept saying mama instead.” Tenderly, she wet my hair with a cup of water, chuckling.
“I kept telling you, ‘No, mama’, because you had one of the best. I was not a replacement. I was only an addition. So, I kept correcting with ‘grandma’. But, you seemed to like the ‘no’ part since you knew that word so well.” She laughed so loud it bounced off the bare bathroom walls, warming them.
“And the ‘ma’ part, blending them together on your own.” She squeezed a bottle of shampoo, letting a glob drip to the side of my hair she could reach.
Then teased, “Who the hell was I to correct your stubborn ass?”
Seeing her in a different light—a different stage of my life—I smiled at her. “Why do you always like what most parents hate? Stubborn streaks.”
She scrubbed my hair, forming dripping bubbles. “Ah, that’s because to be reminded you have a fighter on your hands is a blessing. Not a curse.” She playfully smacked the back of my head. “Tilt up so I can reach.”
I lifted my head and looked forward, happy my neck wasn’t as tired. I guess you could say smiles and love can heal any broken heart. Or at least give it a reprieve from pain. “Will you ever tell me what happened to Grandpa?”
Before I finished my inquiry, she was nodding. “Yes, baby boy. I haven’t because I wanted to protect you, but… well…”
I understood what she meant. I was now well aware of the violence a club could bring. Nonetheless, putting her through more painful memories wasn’t what I wanted for this caring woman. “It’s okay. When you’re ready.”
I could feel her brown eyes gleaming at my profile while her hands stilled on my sudsy head. Then, swiping bubbles from my forehead, she slanted her head adoringly. “A gift indeed.”
I tilted my head back when she motioned so she could rinse my hair. “Noma, do you believe… in magic?”
She refilled her cup. “What kind of magic, baby boy? Like tricks by a magician?”
“No.” I wasn’t sure how to make the crazy sound normal, so I didn’t try. I only tried not to look down at the water around me, which had dancing stars. “The kind humans aren’t supposed to see.”
God may have left me with only one family member, but He picked a sacred one. She courageously told me, “I believe if it has been seen, it is real.”
I exhaled, so long, so hard, staring at this brave woman. “You don’t think the tailed girl was a part of my imagination or head injury?”
She placed the cup on the floor. “Do you understand that speaking of her may sound… odd to other people?”
I admitted, “It sounds ‘odd’ to me, too.”
It wasn’t an ironclad promise to not speak of my magical friend to anyone else, but the message was clear.
No more discussion needed about the warning, Noma confessed, “Imagination or not, I’m glad she was there.” Resting her arms on the side of the tub, her eyes bored into mine. “I will forever be in her debt.”
There was a shift in her energy at that tender moment. It would be some years before I’d understand, but acceptance is welcomed, by me, at any stage of growth.
“Noma, is there another one of you of mine?”
“Do you mean your daddy’s mama?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve never asked about her before.”
“I’ve never lost a dad before.” I wasn’t trying to sound cruel.
Luckily, Noma understood that. But, she didn’t have good news to share. “You did. I never met her, but… it seems you and your daddy were to share the same fate.”
Dad’s mom died while delivering him, also. I was sad for him and hopefully asked, “Did he have a Noma to take care of him?”