20/20 Vision
I awoke to an orange cross emblazoned upon a fiery ball, rolling up to my window. My bed sat low, and the ground was hot, so hot I smelled burnt flesh when I touched the floor to run. All around me there was acute darkness, and licking flames.
First thought, was: Find mom! Mom was always up early no matter if it's Monday or Sunday, she was the early riser, while dad kept me and my little brother Jacob during the day. Mom was a business Executive and she was extremely good at what she did.
Back to my fiery morning-I knock on the first door down the hall (I presume because it is very dark and I can no longer see my own hands before me). The heat was quite stifling as well.
"Mom! Open the door, ma!" I bang and yell. Afraid to go downstairs because it was extremely pungent down there. I kept knocking. Hopefully, she has already come up to get dressed for work when this happened. My glasses were fogged and nearly melted on my face, but I kept them on for assurance.
Never know when I may see light.
I pulled off my glasses and banged again on the door until I heard my father's grumble. The bed groaned, and the door creaked to allow me inside. I rushed into my father's big, strong arms and stayed there. Little Jacob was in their room.
Something wasn't right.
*
The windows in the back of the room showed sunshine reaching in, and cast a gold light on Jacob's blond hair. His back to me was an indicator that he was engrossed in some television show. Mom was ironing a pretty blue blouse, while dad still hugged me tight.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
"F-Fire! There's a fire in this house, it is dark out there and, oh my God!"
"What did I tell you about taking the Lord's name in vain, Danisa?" Mother unplugged the iron and slipped on her shirt. Her matching skirt was long, covering her ankles and she had a simple, nice string of pearls around her neck dad got her for Christmas last year.
"I'm not crazy! Go out your door if you think I'm lying!" I said. Jacob momentarily turned from the television. A quizzical look on his angelic face. His X-men pajamas were faded, worn thin, but he wouldn't wear anything else to bed, or he would pitch a Holy fit.
"Honey, if there was a fire, we would be smelling smoke right now and the alarm hadn't gone off." He brushed a strand of my hair away from my face. "Bad dream?"
"I suppose." My head began to hurt as I recalled the rolling ball of fire, with the orange cross attached to it.
Mother picked up her briefcase from their huge four poster bed and whisked by me with a simple kiss to the forehead. I barely felt it.
"It must be adolescence kicking in," dad said pulling on his socks and shoes to head downstairs. He asked me and Jacob what we wanted for breakfast. I suddenly wanted anything that was cold. I normally hate cereal, but said I would fix it myself. Some Cinnamon Toast Crunch and that's all. Jacob wanted dad's famous chocolate chip pancakes.
Dad turned off the television while Jacob was engrossed.
"Daddy,that was a good part, please?"
"Come on downstairs and you can watch it while eating those pancakes."
I scratched my head,my glasses were brand new, and already I was sleeping with them on. I put them in the breast pocket of my red pajama top, and held dad's hand. I know he felt my hand trembling. Ma didn't mention smoke or anything; she just jetted out the bedroom and downstairs to her car.
Would we encounter the heat then?
I braced myself.
Jacob was five, but even he could sense something was wrong. He grabbed my other hand and looked up at me with his cool, blue eyes. His bottom lip trembled.
"Dani, you okay? You are scaring me." In his squeaky voice he called me by my nickname, I wanted to show him that his big sister wasn't afraid of stuff.
"Yep, you bet I'm okay!"
I stepped outside the door and nothing happened.
-
Dad was an anomaly. He was big, tall, and muscular everywhere, yet he was gentle and great with children. People, who knew him, said he should be on Nickelodeon or something, or create children's programs.
So, each day after he has fed us and gotten himself together, he would retreat to the extra room in the house. We had three bedrooms upstairs and two more downstairs.
*
I would sneak in on him from time to time and find him busily typing on the computer, and once, he even asked my opinion about a children's story he was writing. I would help him best as I could. I'm basically twelve, practically an adult now so I don't know about too much kid stuff.
He did it again today. Things seemed to be normal for us. No fire, no smoke and hot floors and me panicking. We sat at the kitchen table together and ate our food. Jacob retreated back to television, while I dunked my head in a Seventeen magazine. Father, checked on us and then went back into the office.
The day was a normal Friday, we were out of school for a Teacher's Workday. Mom won't be home till around 6 or 6:30 so I busied myself working on pre algebra assignments and writing a short fiction piece for my English class. We were making books in Mrs. Jones class. I hate creating something! Give me Science or give me death!
Meanwhile, dad never emerged from his room. I didn't hear clicking or typing- but sobbing noises?
Before entering, I pulled on my new glasses, tucked a blonde strand behind my ear and touched the door. It was hot.
"Jacob?" I called. It was noon, so Jacob was probably upstairs napping. So I tapped on dad's door.
No answer.
*
The sobbing grew louder as my hair stood on end. Flashes of the rolling ball cycling towards me, and me bolting from the room, only to find everything was surreal made me almost ball over. I wanted to yell, to shout, and to hit something.
I hit the door.
"Daddy!" I banged again. Respecting his privacy was all he asked. Even when I used to help him with his writing, he would let that be five minute teamwork and send me out. This time, I took a hair clip off the table by the door and picked the lock.
The knob was a ruby red but I was still able to touch it, singing my hand a bit. Dad sat at the computer, fat tears rolling down his wide face. Rarely have I seen him cry. Kids at my school used to pick on me because they said dad was a sissy for staying home with babies. They said mom must have a "man" in her blood because she certainly wears the pants in the house.
Never in a million years have I seen daddy cry.
"Daddy? You crying? Why?" I felt angry and sad. Anger because he was supposed to be strong, sad because he was strong- for us. My father is a creative genius and has millions of books published; he works part time in the summer at Sears. He is a great dad.
"Danisa, sweetheart. I know now, why your mom has fallen out of love with me. Just don't ever get your heart tangled with someone. Never!" He shouted the last part before shoving his 6'5 frame from the swivel chair and crunching his hands in his hair.
I was breeding a ground of hate for mother. When I removed my glasses to wipe the tears from eyes, I was aware that father was sitting back down at his computer, clicking away at some story. He was not crying either.
"Dad? When'd you stop crying?" I asked him. The television I could hear now. I couldn't before? Why?
"Cry?" He turned to me, his eyes dry, yet a bit red.
"You hugged me and told me that ma hurt you and-"My father, took his left thumb and forefinger and tilted my chin, until my eyes were level with him.
"It's not cool that you are messed up in your head. Your old Uncle Joe was like that, and they put him in with the loony bin."
I let that sink in. Well, I did wake up this morning thinking I was going to hell, and now I am seeing father crying because mom hurt him. Could it be I am creating these worlds inside my head? I may have the gift of writing fiction like my pops after all.
*
When mom came back home, she found me furiously writing in a small tablet. I smelled her Paris Hilton perfume before she hit the door. I stopped writing and contemplated saying hello. I felt her presence anyhow. Tall, and serious- blocking the entrance.
"So you're not going to say hi to me?"
"Hi mom." I scribbled some more. The small lamp on my desk was providing enough soft light for me to write. The light hit all the small dents, and markings, and ridges I hadn't noticed before. It's funny how parents buy stuff and say they are new, only to find out that it was from a thrift store and only "gently worn"
"How are the glasses treating you?" She asked me, invading my privacy, looking over my shoulder. I slapped the tablet closed.
"They are fine."
"Do you see well?" Her liquid green eyes were lined by long lashes, caked with mascara; and pretty sea green eye shadow. She was very beautiful.
"Much better than perfect. Crysta clear." I wanted to say something else, yet my eyes were trained on hers and the slight smudge of her lip-gloss. Her thin lips were shiny with coral coloring. At that moment, my little brother burst through the door.
"Jacob, baby come here." Momma opened her arms and invited Jacob into her warm scented hug.
"Can't I get any privacy in here?" I yelled. I got up and stormed down the steps. Forgetting my glasses, I raced back up to find mom at the landing's post holding out my bifocals.
"This cost me and your father some money, so it may be best to keep them on at all times." Her face was blank and blurry because of my eyesight. She was a giant Amazon in a suit.
I took them from her and put them on. The scene slowly swirled before me. I became dizzy.
As I walked down the stairs I began to feel woozy, and pictures formed in my mind. I saw Jacob all grown up with mom's light hair and father's eyes. I saw dad alone, fishing like he used to do when I was a little girl.
I finally hit the ground falling into plush grass, with a rocky purple mountain in the distance. A blue lake was before me, with bright white ducks floating. I never took meds and I don't get high, so I can't explain how I even arrived at this Nirvana.
The feeling of peace overtook me, and I sat down in the grass. The sun was bright but not hot. As I sat there with my legs tucked under me, I felt words. Words of encouragement floating in my head; I'm not sure of the language, but it was like whispers and I knew I may need it for what I was about to face.
Two days later, as I was writing at my desk at home, my premonition about dad's tears came true. I heard a noise, like tables moving across the floor. Jacob came into my room, his eyes runny as well as his nose. He was red about the face. I stopped what I was doing and scooped him into my arms.
"Jacob, what happened?"
"Mommy and daddy" he sniffled out those two words. I brought him to my chest and kissed his cheek.
"Let's go and see what's up." I put him down and he grabbed my hand. We walked together downstairs where I heard mom swearing and dad yelling.
Dad yelling was as foreign to me as learning Arabic.
I approached the kitchen and saw ma dressed in tight fitting jeans and a pink tank shirt and dad sporting a five O'clock shadow, blocking the back door. Mom stood before him with hands on hips, and the place looked like a pure mess.
"I've watched you do nothing but sit and type! Sit and type! My God, would you ever get up and work. I want to relax as well!"
"I work Lenora! You are just too manish, to manipulative, and and much too blind to see that. I watch the children, I work part time and I cook. A little appreciation would be nice."
"More money would be nice, Stewart. Think about it. Yes we live comfortably, but living near mother will be best. I haven't seen her and she hasn't seen the kids in two years!"
I kept Jacob beneath my arm. Mom smelled great as usual, dad looked worn and his shoulders rolled over in defeat. They couldn't see us, but I didn't doubt that dad could "feel" us.
"Is that why you're sleeping with him?"
"Stewart," Mom relaxed her hands. I began to shiver with hate for her. Jacob's body was shaking with small sobs. I hugged him.
"I don't know what to say-"
"Makes more money than me. Of course, since he's your boss. I guess you just needed someone to boss you around a bit. If I hadn't cared so much about you earning your freakingMBA, and doing this job, you wouldn't have been able to do this to me."
I felt terrible for dad. I knew then that if my parents were to split up, I would be happy. I loved my mom, but she was like an untouchable Barbie doll that is kept on a stand for so long and really doesn't care much about you. She was selfish.
That night when I put my glasses on to write, I smelled brimstone and fire. I heard imps laughing, and thunder claps. Jacob was asleep in my bed.
Mom was among them.
In the morning when I greeted her. She didn't smell like smoke, but of a cheater.
She looked guilty.
I didn't need corrective lenses to see that.