2. Wrinley
Wrinley
Three Years Later
Freshman Year of High School
“ H oney, you did amazing!” Mom preens, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m so damn proud of you.” Before I can respond to her praise, she’s pulling me into a tight embrace.
“Diane,” my father interjects, patting her gently on the shoulder. “Let her breathe a little.”
My parents are… a lot. Despite their best efforts, I’m an only child, so they’ve taken to being a little too over protective with me.
They’re both guilty of it, but mom is worse than dad by a mile.
She brings new meaning to the term ‘helicopter parent.’ They’re both strict about safety and ‘growing up too fast'. It irritates me sometimes, but it’s not lost on me that despite that irritation, I have the best mother a girl could want. Many late nights have been spent bonding over crappy snacks and old movies. Or sometimes, we’ll spend hours talking…
about the future… or boys… or nothing at all.
Not everyone has a mother they can talk to and confide in about anything.
My mother is everything to me and aside from Ari, she’s my best friend.
“Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad,” I tell them both as mom releases me from her arms to wipe a proud tear from her cheek. “Where’s Arabella?”
“I’m right here.” I hear as I turn and see her rushing around the corner. “Sorry, I was trying to make a call. Seriously, bestie. Great freaking job. I’ve seen you do that routine dozens of times and that was the best you’ve ever done.”
I’ve been dancing for the better part of the past eight years.
My parents thought I needed some type of non-school activity.
Thankfully, they were willing to let me choose, but I did have to choose something.
Mom used to dance and I remember seeing old videos of her moving across the screen like a fairy.
It was an easy choice to become a dancer, too.
It took a minute to convince them I really wanted to dance and wasn’t doing it out of obligation, but all I ever wanted was to be like her…
as good as her. I train at a studio, but over the years, mom and I have spent a lot of time dancing together. Coaching. Practicing. More coaching.
I have to train in all the styles, but contemporary is my favorite.
I love the feeling that courses through my body when I’m dancing to the music and letting it flow through me while I tell a story with my body.
That’s the style I competed in today, coming in second behind a senior at my school.
She’s literal perfection and everything I strive to be as a dancer.
A freshman placing in the top three and moving on to Nationals, is unheard of.
I’m happy and grateful to advance to the next level, but the pride written all over my mother’s face is worth every late night and sacrifice I’ve ever made.
“Arabella, can you come home with us for dinner? Or do you need to get home?” Mom asks.
“I should get home, Mrs. Jaymes. But, thank you for asking.”
“Alright, well then… come on girls. Let’s get you home.” Then she looks to dad. “Meet you there, David?”
He gives her a sharp nod with a smile followed by the sweetest peck on the forehead. “Of course, Darling. I just have to stop at the office on my way home, but I won’t be far behind.”
Jesus, they’re disgusting. They think I don’t see the googly eyes they shoot each other when they separate… or come back together. Gross.
As we walk a mile to get to the car, I elbow my best friend in the side. “Who the fuck were you calling and why are you being weird?”
“I’m not being weird. I was calling Axel, but I had to leave a message.”
“What’s going on that you need your dick of a brother?
” I question, annoyance lacing my voice.
Axel Bradley is a jerk and a bully. At least when it comes to me.
I’ve always wondered what I ever did to make him be so mean to me.
He’s shoved me, tugged at my pony tail, and don’t even get me started on his annoying nickname for me.
Every time he calls me Wrinkley, I want to punch him in the face.
She lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Oh, you know. Mom stuff.” She doesn’t need to explain. I know all about her mom’s issues. I also know that when it gets bad, she calls Axel in for reinforcement. Although, I struggle to imagine him in any kind of supportive role.
“Ah.” I grab her hand as we finish our trek to the car. “That’s why you can’t come for dinner? It’s that bad?”
“Yep,” she answers, popping the p. “I’m trying to get him to come home and help with some stuff, but he’s being very… Axel.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as we approach the car. “I’ll sit in the back with you and you can vent all about it, if you want.”
“Thanks, Wrin. I don’t know that there’s much to say, but I’m always happy to have you with me, you know that.”
She was right. She really didn’t have much to say. It’s fine though, because while my parents are a lot, her mother is a lot worse. At least I know mine love me, even if they hold on a little too tightly. One day, I hope she finds her peace.
It’s quiet in the car, aside from mom’s favorite 80’s pop music bouncing lightly through the speakers.
Arabella and I are both in the backseat, her staring out one window and me staring out the other.
The bright rays of the afternoon sun warm my skin as mom maneuvers the busy freeway.
It’s an unusually bright and sunny day but I’ll take all the sunshine I can get before the cold hits.
I notice our exit in the distance, when the sound of glass shattering pulls me from my thoughts, followed by the sudden, aggressive twisting and crunching of metal reverberating from behind us.
Unfortunately, my damn seatbelt chooses now to lock up on me, preventing me from turning to see what all the commotion is.
“What the he–”
The car jerks forward in a sudden, abrupt movement that has our windshield shattering and my head thrusting forward, banging harshly against the back of mom’s seat.
Shit.
Something just exploded and it sounded way too close.
Everything is happening so fast.
What is actually happening?
I turn my head to look for Arabella, but something just hit us again.
My head is pounding and there’s a ringing sound making it hard to hear anything else.
“Mom!” No response.
My vision is cloudy as I try to assess my surroundings. My leg throbs. Fuck.
“Mom,” I cry, my voice coming out weaker than before. If I could just get her attention.
Maybe if I squint, I’ll be able to see what’s happening.
“Wrin?” Ari groans. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I have to get to Mom. She’s not answering me.”
My seat belt releases and I slide to the middle of the seat, leaning forward to get my mother’s attention, but she’s not moving.
“Mom!” I shout while crawling into the front seat to get to her, despite the searing pain running through my leg. As soon as I make it to her, I see the pool of red.
“No, no, no, no, no, no.”
“Wrin?” Arabella calls.
“She’s not breathing. Call 9-1-1!” I shout.
Everything around me slows to a halt as I try to recall what I learned in middle school about safety and basic first aid, trying desperately to find her pulse.
When I can’t find a single beat, tears begin to fall and I’m pretty sure I feel my heart crack in two.
Grabbing her around the chest, I pull her into a tight embrace.
Her head falls onto my shoulder and I see the glass embedded in her neck and her head still gushing blood.
Placing my hand on her cheek, I rub her face as the tears continue to fall and violent sobs wrack my body.
This can’t be happening.
“Momma, please no,” I beg. “Come back. Please. I’ll do anything.”
“They’re trying to get to us, Wrin. We’re in the middle of a massive pile up,” Arabella says, trepidation lacing her voice. “They’re working as fast as they can.”
I can’t even find the words to respond as I hold my mother’s lifeless body in my arms. It’s already too late.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The steady rhythmic sound is all I hear as I sluggishly open my eyes. The sunlight is aggressive and assaulting and despite everything being blurry, I can kind of make out the shape of someone sitting across the room.
Where am I?
“Dad. Is that you?”
He doesn’t answer.
My head aches. I press my hand to my temple, attempting to soothe the constant, dull throb that won’t yield when the memory of where I am and how I got here hits me like a freight train at full speed.
“Mom.” Oh god.
We were on the freeway.
An accident.
Hospital. I must be in the hospital.
Maybe that means I was wrong. Maybe she’s okay.
“Mom?” I shift my body attempting to sit up and hiss when an unbearable pain shoots up my left leg. “Fuckkkkk.”
I can hear my blood whooshing rapidly in my ear.
No words come, only the sounds of my fear expressed as grunts and groans.
Footsteps.
The sound of footsteps fade into the distance, and then there’s a voice.
“Wrinley,” a gentle female voice soothes. “It’s okay. You’ll feel better in just a second.”
And then… everything goes dark.