Swirling Signs #2
As she said the words, rays of soft light appeared, spearing through the windows to bathe the table and everyone around it.
Those bright rays did their best to chase away the cold fist around my heart and even though I knew this day would be the worst I’d ever experienced, as awful as my tenth birthday, I also knew the people in this room had seen similar horrors and experienced pain as deep and cutting as my own.
There was something to be said about shared suffering.
That was even more clear as the sun’s rays shone on my sweatshirt.
The one I slept in. The one I last hugged Noma in.
I couldn’t help but think of the night in the motel room.
The candle... Noma's soft words after that bath in the motel room, encouraging me to honor my dad's life and his love for me.
When Noma passed, I never said goodbye. I did the opposite. I wailed and begged her to stay. Now it was time. And, respectfully, there was no way I was going to do it dirty.
Fighting thick emotions, my jaw clicked. “May I use the restroom for a shower?” 1
In the bathroom, door locked, I shed the clothing that had last touched Noma. Holding the material to my nose, I inhaled, wishing this moment wasn’t so pathetic. But it was. Never had I known something so trivial could become so epic.
Sweatshirt folded neatly on the counter, because I wasn’t sure I would ever wash it, I faced the shower. Trembling, I reached out to turn on the water. I could only face one goodbye today.
Please be with me.
I held my breath as the water began to flow…
Nothing. The water was normal. No dancing stars.
My body seized. Noooo.
Lungs sucking in air because I had forgotten how to breathe, I found myself begging for the second time in twenty-four hours. “I need you.”
I was not the secret keeper of the mystical ways of the world, but what I can say is that it is not as mysterious as we believe.
It can be simple. It can be merely asking for help, for a connection to take hold again.
Maybe the disconnect is our own fault. Pain causes us to shut down without even being aware of it.
And just like that, she found me. Illusion or imagination, she was there.
Falling forward, I exhaled in deep relief when the water began to sparkle.
Leaning against the wall next to the shower, my hand hung in the stream of water.
“Thank you.” I took a deep breath. “Thank you.” My chest eased just a fraction.
I could breathe again, with pain-filled but working lungs beside an equally aching heart.
Dressed in the funeral attire Noma had bought for me—that infuriated me because it was morbid—I stood in disbelief. It was raining. I could see the heavy downpour through the panes of the large bay window in the living room as Dale grabbed his keys.
Rain? Today?
For real, of all the things to endure and suffer, I felt like I was about to bury Noma in a blanket of tears, not all my own. That made me feel cheated. This was my Noma. No one else’s. No one else was to shed a tear. They didn’t know her. She didn’t raise anyone else but me—
That was false. She raised a daughter. She helped raise Dad.
Shimmers and sparkles of the rain dripped down the window.
The green seafoam color swirled in the air as I tried to release clenched fists against my hips.
Reminders of pretty glowing green eyes somehow made the ache in my chest even more prominent.
Every minute was bringing me closer to one of the hardest moments I would ever experience.
Rain was about to dance upon my skin, trying to encourage me to keep moving forward.
But it hadn’t touched my skin yet. Therefore, my heart felt like it would burst.
I can’t fucking do this.
I didn’t know what I needed, but remembering the shower, my heart cried out for more connection. Could my friend reach out a second time like she did earlier today?
A hand slipped around mine. “Johnny?”
Sarah. I’d learned her name as we cleared the table. Not my friend from the ocean, but at the moment, she provided a comfort for which I yearned.
“I think you need this now.”
Yeah. I did. With a sigh, I let her walk with me to the dark green van parked on the dirt driveway that looked to be a few years old, only pulling my hand free once I jumped inside.
The interior was clean with a few faint stains, but it held enough seating for everyone.
The rest of the foster kids piled in, with Dale in the driver’s seat, and Harmony beside him.
“Kristen is meeting us there since we’re all going together,” Dale informed me. “Hope that’s okay with you.” He waited, as if saying no was an option.
“That’s fine.”
No one said a word as Dale nodded and backed down the driveway. I tried not to notice how everyone wore black except me and Finn.
He caught my curious gaze. “I don’t like black.”
I didn’t ask why and he didn’t say the reason.
The rain pelted the windows and slid down the glass, sparkling even as my heart began to pound harder and my lungs struggled to pull in air.
Every rotation of the tires was bringing me closer to the inevitable, the finality that Noma was gone and never coming back.
I knew that, but my heart still wanted to argue what my head knew to be true.
When Dale parked outside the cemetery, I exited the van, trying my best to ignore the warm raindrops on my skin and the shimmer that hovered in the air. I walked ahead of everyone else, far too caught up in my thoughts to notice more than the casket and a pastor as he stood beside it.
Noma had made friends in the four years we had together, so my worries had been unfounded. Nearly a dozen people attended, scattered around her final resting place.
No. Not final.
I wouldn’t allow that. This was fucking temporary, only until I could move her back home.
When a throat cleared beside me, my head turned, spotting Kristen. She approached and stood to my right, giving me space but not too much, like she didn’t want me to feel like I was alone. “Hey, Johnny.” She held an umbrella, clutching it like she could feel the pain I could never hide.
I didn’t have a clue what to say, dropping my chin slightly to acknowledge her as I heard Dale and Harmony speaking in low tones to one another.
Gage, Seb, Caleb, Sarah, Ethan, and Finn joined us.
They stood around me, offering a silent support system that somehow felt more real and grounded than the social worker, the pastor, or the people gathered around the casket.
The other foster kids knew what I felt on a level none of the adults could fathom.
That punch to the gut, the despair, the ache of loss, the uncertainty, and the unfairness of having to leave all we knew behind because either an adult left us or failed us.
I guess it didn’t matter which, since it resulted in the same conclusion. Alone. Foster care. No one left that gave a shit or fought to claim us.
The pastor began to speak, but I couldn’t focus on his words. I stared at that brown casket above the ground, hating the moment was nearly here when I would have to watch them lower it into her grave. It wasn’t fucking right!
All beliefs and dreams shattered in the reality of hopeless life, my chest heaved, and my nostrils flared.
Rage nearly colored my vision red. I was so fucking angry at her for leaving me.
Seemingly out of nowhere, emotion surged in my chest, and I sucked in air, giving my lungs the oxygen they needed.
My fingers curled into my palms, and I felt my nails bite into my skin.
The right hand couldn’t close as tightly because of my severed finger, and it made me seethe with renewed ire.
I probably looked like a drowned dragon, puffing hot air into the misty sheets of rain.
Just when I thought I would burst, I felt the warmth of small fingers wrapping around my damaged hand. Sarah. She didn’t say anything, just stood beside me as raindrops soaked into our clothes. She blinked against the drops that fell on her face, squeezing tighter when I fought against a sob.
It built in my chest, pulsed beneath my skin, and threatened to boom from my chest in a pathetic display of weakness.
That was when I felt another hand add weight upon my shoulder.
Bigger. Rougher. I glanced to the side, spotting Ethan.
His long dark hair was plastered to his face on one side.
His vivid blue eyes met mine, and he stared into them, brushing the hair away until I saw why he kept that hair so long.
Gage’s scars were nothing compared to Ethan’s.
Ethan’s skin was a mixture of red and a paler color that contrasted sharply with the unmarred side of his face. The leathery, rough texture was raised and bumpy in spots. One area by his cheekbone was indented from loss of tissue.
Fuck. He’d been burned. Badly.
Exactly one half of his face looked like it had been intentionally scarred.
My eyes rounded in horror as he held my gaze, knowing that I realized the truth.
He didn’t flinch. Never ripped his gaze away as his chin lifted.
As if he were trying to send me an unspoken message, one that rocked me to the core. I copied his movement.
A small nod followed.