Imagining Gifts #3
As if wishing things could’ve been different, Noma shook her head. “No. He had a club of men, though.” She giggled. “Can you imagine that? A bunch of brothers trying to raise a boy?”
“You did.”
This time, she laughed as she gently touched my cheek. “I sure did. And I tried to help with his stubborn ass once I entered their world.” Before I could ask questions, she added, “Sometimes a mom can add a much-needed touch of patience.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, then asked, “Do you think my mom would’ve… been patient—would’ve… loved me?”
She shrugged as if refusing any guilt for my beautiful notion.
“I’d never seen a woman, so young, already love the baby in her belly so irrevocably as she did.
” She grabbed my chin, her eyes welled to the brim.
“That special soul chose your life over hers. Your survival was all she begged for in those mere last minutes.” Tears fell down Noma’s face that was aging by the hours of being on the run.
Remembering the past was as haunting as the roads we traveled. But these were answers I could only get from her now.
Even with the pain of such memories, I was full of gratitude. “Thank you. I didn’t know how to ask, but always wanted every detail.” I swallowed as I dared to ask more. “Did she—did she know what was… happening?” That I was losing her?
Noma swallowed, too. “She spoke of crazy things toward the end.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “I was too distraught to remember them all, but I’ve seen death with my job. And I’ve seen recognition in a patient’s eyes.”
My heart raced with realization. My mother knew she was about to die.
Noma appeared lost in the memory of that fateful day. “Her awareness, it was as if Death was presenting her with a last-minute gift. One of knowledge and understanding most of us can’t comprehend.”
I sucked in air. I knew that gift well.
Hearing me gasp brought her back to the present. Her lightly tanned skin paled in an instant as a definite comprehension took root. She mumbled to herself, “Resuscitated.” She leaned closer to study my eyes as if a soul reader. “You know what she—what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
Almost petrified of this intense moment because of what it meant, I could only nod.
Her brows bunched together, and she seemed to be hanging on by a thread. “Is that— You mean—The little girl?”
My breathing picked up pace. “I’m not sure.”
She spoke so fast. “Talktome, babyboy.”
“It was… the water… blue… then—sparkly.”
Suspicious, her head drew back, making her neck wrinkle. “Water—sun reflections. That doesn’t seem so far-fetched.”
“What if every bit of water I’ve seen since—”
With me pausing, she leaned in inquisitively. “What if every bit of water, what?”
Without looking away from her stare, I gestured to the water in the tub. “What if… every bit… of water… now… sparkles?” I even gazed at her wet glittery cheeks.
Her mouth fell open as she gawked at the water around me. “Right now?”
Struggling with this admission, I answered, “Even when it rains.”
“But, but… not until the accident?”
It had not been an accident, but I understood her meaning. “Not until after.”
She fell to her butt, mouth ajar. “But… how could you—” As if something locked into place in her mind, and there was no denying it, she covered her mouth.
I was figuring she was regretting taking me from the hospital, but then she asked with so much heart, “What else did you truly see in that ocean?”
My throat threatened to collapse with emotions.
Speaking of my new friend out loud for the first time since the hospital was overwhelming and frightening.
“A sad little girl. With green hair and a tail like a mermaid.” Now that I was finding relief in being able to speak of her, I couldn’t seem to stop.
“I miss her, Noma.” Someone had to know of my internal anguish. “And I don’t even know if she’s real.”
A silence so thick I could hear it hung between us.
Then…
Noma rushed from her knees and yanked my upper body to hers, soaking her shirt. Petting my wet hair, she said, “Shhh. It will be okay. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”
My grandmother never made a promise she didn’t keep. Her word was iron. That meant I was going to eventually find myself in a mental institution where I could get proper treatment or would someday find my way back to a figment of my imagination.
Until then, she would do her best to offer any peace possible.
After I dried off and was back in fresh clothes, I felt clean.
Refreshed. A little more whole than I had been before my bath.
I was sitting on the motel bed, my back resting against the headboard, when a knock came at the door.
I jolted. Noma, already at the window, peeking around the thick brown curtain, raised a hand to me, a reminder to be quiet.
She quickly sighed, then went to the door to crack it open, retrieving something while whispering, “Thank you.” A maid smiled before walking away.
Relocking the door, Noma then faced me, clutching a plastic bag.
She inhaled, very deeply, then confessed, “When I lost my little girl, my world shattered, but at least I was able to say goodbye.” Her shrugging shoulders held a touch of hope laced with incredible pain. “Maybe we can create the same tonight.”
I sat up straight, sensing another gift being delivered.
As if welcoming my hunger, she came to me, hungry herself, sitting in front of me. The bag tighter to her chest, she promised, “Like how you and I together is always home, saying goodbye—speaking to someone who has passed, maybe can form a connection we can call on when needed. Understand?”
I thought of water. Maybe it was a connection, too.
Nodding, I held my breath.
Noma reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a white candlestick and a lighter. Holding it between us, she lit it. “Who do you want this for?”
A part of me wanted to speak to my mother, but, in all honesty, I never knew her. Dad, however, being gone was a gaping hole in this little boy’s chest.
Hoping my answer wouldn’t hurt Noma, I quietly said, “Dad.”
Quivering lips smiled. “This is for your dad.”
We sat in silence because I didn’t know what to do next.
Noma offered, “Want me to go first?”
Shyly, I nodded.
“Okay.” She exhaled and closed her eyes. “Lennox Gentry, thank you so much for entering my life. You are someone I will always treasure. Don’t worry about your son. I will love him enough for the three of us.” Her last words cracked. Then, she opened her eyes, slowly handing me the candle.
Holding it, I stared at the flame, praying my words would be heard. “Dad… I’m not sure… how to live without you. It wasn’t every day that I got to see you, but I loved it when I did.” I swallowed. “You seemed to like me so much.”
A hand rested on my folded knee, encouraging me to say more.
My jaw moving from side to side, I finally added, “I’ll never regret our ride.” My eyes welled and my throat choked me. “Only that it got you killed.”
Noma’s other hand covered her mouth.
I meant it. “If it weren’t for my birthday,” tears fell, “I’d still have a mom and a dad.”
“Maddox, sweet baby—”
I cried. “I’m sorry, Dad.” I lifted my chin. “And I’ll kill those who killed you.”
Noma’s hand fell to her lap. Whatever she saw on my face spooked her to the bone.
Getting us as far as possible from the East Coast, Noma took us to the most western part of the U.S.
in Northern California. There were beautiful tall trees, but lots of dreary weather.
It was like the clouds had followed us, or we’d found the perfect clouds to hide under in hopes no enemy bikers would find us.
On the outskirts of a little town that felt slightly behind the hustle and bustle of the rest of the world, was a tiny two-story cottage Grandpa had paid cash for many years ago.
Noma said it was for protection. A place for her to hide if danger ever got past his lines of defense.
But it quickly became clear this was also a sanctuary they had retreated to in the past.
Hidden on a narrow dirt road, our new-slash-old home had two bedrooms. One on the main floor, and mine that was more of a loft with an A-frame ceiling.
The whole place couldn’t have been over a thousand square feet, but Noma loved it.
She said a calmer lifestyle was a ‘quality’ one.
However, I think she felt closest to the man who bought it for her.
It was as if Grandpa were here with us. Maybe he was part of the clouds.
The clouds that would shelter the woman he adored and her baby boy.
And for a time, it did.
1 ? “Always Been You” — Katie Hargrove & Harry Baymiller