Day 33 Page 9

  Shortly after, Terry grew resentful of their father for banning Crystal from the household. He felt a strong connection to his baby sister and left the house to go on his own at the age of 19 before the ending of his fourth junior year. Reading on barely an 8th grade level, with no diploma, Terry ended up in the drug game, trafficking coke and heroin for a few gang members he grew up with. One warm summer night, Terry was caught in a bad deal, and was killed by a gunshot to the head, only three blocks from his family’s house. Terry had no ID and had begun dipping into his supply, which gravely changed his appearance. He was unrecognizable and at the time, the family hadn’t been in contact with him for over a year. Crystal heard of Terry’s death weeks later and fled to Mexico with the drug-dealing father of her second child, who eventually saw a fate similar to her eldest brother’s.

  The Reverend was born. With no siblings to turn to, Carl fell into the arms of religion. He was now stuck in a house where he was the blame for everything negative. There wasn’t a daughter to blame for the white laundry turning pink, or another son to blame for the grass being cut too short or the trash being piled too high. There was nobody else to host the weekly children’s bible study or cook for the choir practice on Thursdays while Momma Thomas cleaned the church for the weekend. Carl was forced to step up.

  The Young Reverend began following in his father’s footsteps and began studying divinity as an escape from the real world around him. The bible took his mind off his siblings and emotionally abusive father, who would scream in a similar fashion to what Carl would come to bestow upon his own daughter. He ordered his wife around for meals every morning and afternoon and would beat her every night.

  He’d have his poker face ready by the time the sermon began. Carl was subliminally and unknowingly taking notes. He could see the power his father wielded when he’d sway 100 people every week with words he hadn’t even written himself. He controlled all of the women around him, whether it was at home, or during post-sermon church meetings. The tithes paid for a four-bedroom home and a brand-new Mercedes Benz, polished shoes, gold watches with matching cufflinks, and Carl’s graduation gifted Ford Impala.

  Carl wanted this. He couldn’t control the fact that his brother was dead and that his sister was a broke, single-mother, refugee in another country. Hell, he barely believed he could even control his own fate. What he was sure he could control, was people, with the power of the Lord’s good word.

  Divination started off as Carl’s salvation, and later formed into his weapon of choice. He grew into the very man he hated. After high school graduation, Carl took over the weekday sermons for his father, while he went to tend to matters outside of religion like gambling and prostitutes. While Carl’s father cheated and lost hundreds of dollars received from his coveted church members, his mother began drinking and cheating as well. The church’s deacon became very familiar with Carl’s mother and was her escape from the pain caused by virtually losing her entire family.

  The scandals of what the couple did broke out within a few months, and Carl’s father was forced to step down. As a result, they lost their home and car. The Reverend, Sr. turned to hard addictive drugs while his wife started a new home with her deacon lover and his four children. Carl fled further south to Vivian’s hometown in VA, where they met on the B6 commuter bus. He assumed things would be relatively cheaper there, and with all he had saved from his year as a preacher, he couldn’t take any chances. Vivian was headed to a grocery store for sage to cleanse the house as she did every Saturday evening.

  Part of Vivian’s grief was her stepfather, Roy. He was very stern, which was unlike her mother to deal with, so it caused an extra strain between the two of them when he entered their lives. Roy was an eye sore to a beautiful family portrait that Vivian’s mother worked hard to curate during her daughter’s early formative years, but like most women of her time, risked that peace of mind, for an undeserving man. When Vivian turned 17, her mother met this new “husband” and moved him in after two months of sporadic dinner dates.

  Roy’s strong exterior made him seem scarier than his height would normally allow. His Napoleon Complex caused a lot of heated debates. The time slot that was once occupied by Vivian and her mother’s baking of fresh breads and cakes, was now taken by a nightly heated discussion about bills or dinner being late. Every Sunday, Vivian would clean the house from top to bottom, while her mother and step-father argued in the background. This was her way of making the home comfortable enough for her to get a full night’s rest for once. The special sage she used to cleanse the air could only be found downtown at the larger privately-owned market. She’d take an hour-long bus ride into her town’s version of the city, every Saturday night. Vivian did whatever she could to maintain the peace, much like she would end up doing with The Reverend.

  Carl boarded the bus with one duffle bag and a worn leather-bound bible, wearing a hat that was soggy from the current thunder storm and a gray trench coat that dragged its belt alongside his ankles. He sat next to this beautiful girl with the long, loose, wet-set curls, as she sat focused on a paperback book about herbal remedies. Her legs were crossed and her bag was tucked snuggly between her knees and book. Vivian’s face was pure and smooth as a mahogany molasses. Her eyes were wide and her lips were plump and glossed, but not too much.

  Vivian’s innocence bellowed through the bus aisle the same way it did in the high school hallways, and Carl caught a whiff as soon as he set foot on that bus. He made sure to make a loud shuffle into the seat next to the thin bodied young woman. His skin was a deeper brown and a little less smooth, but his eyebrows were prominent and his goatee added an extra touch of handsome maturity. Carl offered Vivian some of his half-eaten trail mix that he’d bought from the bus station’s vending machine. She politely declined and returned to reading her book.

  “You a doctor, or something?” Carl bluntly interrogated the poor girl. He was never very polite, but being young and good-looking allowed him to speak to most women however he wished. Besides, that was the only example Carl had ever seen in his household. Vivian, however, was different. She didn’t necessarily play hard-to-get as her reactions were never planned, but she was so sure of herself, she didn’t need to answer him right away. Vivian was focused and had a purpose for being on that B6 bus, Carl was not a part of that purpose. Vivian ignored him and continued flipping through her book.

  “So, you don’t hear me talking to you?” Vivian was taken aback.

  “I do, but I don’t care”, She rolled her eyes perfectly over top of the brim of her reading glasses back onto the page.

  “Who broke your heart this morning? I can fight them if you want me to”, Carl noticed his usual asshole tendencies weren’t quite working.

  “You couldn’t fight a firefly”, Vivian said, noticing Carl’s tall, thin, lanky build.

  “I’m stronger than I look.” He flashed a smile. Vivian knew exactly what Carl meant by this statement. It was intriguing enough for her to look up from the book. Carl’s handsomeness grew on her with his persistence and humor. Vivian had never had a boyfriend and didn’t take much interest in the guys she grew up with. Most were immature and Vivian had been groomed into presenting herself more like an adult.

  Carl had already graduated high school and was basically a full-time preacher. Although his approach may not have been the most politically correct, Carl had an aura of maturity surrounding him to which Vivian had never been introduced. She honestly never thought much about dating. She had spent so much time studying or learning to take care of the home, and when Roy moved in, it added more to her schedule with the ritualistic meditation and cleansing she did weekly.

  Farming and cooking from scratch occupied her evenings. Reading and learning about herbs, grocery shopping, and long walks occupied her weekends. So, what did this man have to offer? Maybe it was time for a change. Vivian decided she’d meet Carl in his motel room after she finished shopping.

  She never returned hom
e to her mother and stepfather.

  Evita opened a second letter. Kasha continued painting her toenails while subtly gazing over to Evita’s side of the room. This envelope had a small bag of dried rosemary from her grandmother’s herb garden. “A reminder of love” she wrote on the front of the bag. Her letter explained how rosemary attracts love to those who carry it on their person in some way, shape, form. As Evita continued reading, she could remember the first time she read this letter.

  It was four months after her mother passed and things around Evita’s home became darker and drearier. The Reverend had been very stern for a long time, this was nothing new, but now the house was becoming cluttered and carried a stench of defeat. Clarice hadn’t become accustomed to cleaning such a large house and catering to so many guests on a weekly basis. The smell infiltrated Evita’s nose in the present day and drew a tear from her eye. She coughed and put the letter down.

  “Are you okay?” Kasha’s go-to sentiment was beginning to wear a little thin.

  “I’m fine! I’m fine, Kasha.” Evita wiped her eye and continued reading her letter. Vivian’s mother wrote of a wine festival she entered where she won second place prize for a concoction they created during Vivian’s late teenage years. The letter described a large grass field that spanned for acres, covered in tents, blankets, tables and chairs. There were stands with spices, which is where she got the fresh rosemary, fruits, vegetables, and handmade clothing and jewelry.

  Kids ran around with kites, streamers and water guns. Older women sat in their lounge chairs knitting, wearing visors to protect themselves from the strong summer sun. Evita’s grandmother wrote of how Vivian would’ve never wanted to leave this place and how she hoped to take Evita with her one day. The sky was perfectly clear and the breeze calmed the temperature.

  “Do you want some more tea?” Evita couldn’t even hear Kasha over the vivid descriptions of her grandmother’s pen.

  That night, Evita stayed on Kasha’s couch. She curled up in a fleece blanket and stared at a white ceiling wondering when all this would end. All Evita wanted to do, was sleep. Would she ever be able to close her eyes again after this? The dreams were becoming more vivid; this was deeper than just sounds and colors and was becoming embedded with fears and emotions.

  Evita would wake up crying, sweating, panting; every night there was a different side effect to the REM dream world. She tried to stay active, but as the hours flew by, bags grew under her eyes, a gray film covered her face, and the white spaces in her eyeballs were now a pale pink. There was a pain in the pit of her stomach day in and day out. Soon, Evita would have to return to the Slam office, and knew her midday naps would no longer suffice as a supplement to actual sleep. Besides, the naps had been plagued with nightmares too.

  Things with Brennan initially seemed like the bond would strengthen, but with Evita spending her past few days with either Diana or Kasha, that was no longer the case. Brennan would leave to give Evita time alone and stay away for his own good, and Evita could barely stay in the presence of her own home. Brennan felt strange, anyway, invading her sleeping space. Evita never complained because she needed this alone time so desperately. It had been her first few moments in solitude since her mother first passed away.

  Evita had even been contemplating whether it was time to put a pause on visiting Diana. Ironically, her visits were too frequent for her own peace of mind. She felt like she couldn’t continue facing Diana without some real progress being made. It was also beginning to feel as though Evita was prolonging the solving of the mystery by using Diana’s home and office as a crutch. But she remained on the fence, because Evita knew that once she found out the facts of what happened, there’d be no turning back.

  Evita knew there was an infinite amount of information she had left to uncover. Without Vivian, Evita had lost all sense of direction in establishing her own identity, and everything she believed was spoon-fed trash from her father and his church companions. This was the first time Evita decided to journey out on her own self-discovery. And technically speaking, Evita had it “all together” according to the status quo. She had a college degree, a good paying fulltime job, a monogamous relationship, her own place and car. It was the American dream, right?

  After tossing and turning on Kasha’s couch for hours, Evita walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. She stared at her reflection in the refrigerator door. She looked older, not in terms of age, but maturity. The innocence was gone from her eyes. Her afro had been shrunken to her scalp and dried from Evita not having much care for her own appearance lately.

  Evita then viewed her reflection in the glass of water before taking a gulp. This time her features were distorted in a way that felt more comforting. It was best not to recognize herself at all. Evita didn’t want to be in this body, this position, this life anymore. She was tired and wished she could switch places with literally anyone. She closed her eyes and took a sip of water. As she slowly raised her head again, she simultaneously opened her eyes and caught a glimpse in the refrigerator of the gray-haired lady, now recognizable as her grandmother, standing behind her and smiling.

  Evita’s heart dropped and she closed her eyes again, repeatedly whispering to herself “calm down, calm down”. When she reopened her eyes, the reflection was gone. She took a deep sigh of relief and slowly turned around. There directly in front of her face, stood a frowning version of her grandmother’s face.

  Her brow lines were engraved with rage as her braids slowly swayed from side to side. Her wrinkled, dry face held a slight smirk that complemented the lines in her forehead. Mud was again, caked between each crevice, and gray despair filled her pores. Evita screamed at the top of her lungs and dropped her glass. The sound of the shatter woke her up. There she was, still lying on the couch as Kasha rubbed her back, aware she had been dreaming again, due to her squirming.

  DAY 24

  “WHAT else do you have for me today?” Diana asked as she flipped through her notebook. Last night’s occurrence made Evita realize she actually did need Diana’s assistance after all, and she called for an emergency visit. Evita reluctantly brushed the dust off of another photo album she found in her basement. After waking up in a pool of sweat, she left Kasha’s and continued her search. She uncovered a few more photo albums in the basement.

  “This one is more recent. I was born, I was three”, she handed the book over to Diana and initiated a staring battle. The doctor was persistent in getting Evita to be more proactive about her own mental health. Evita was reaching a breaking point and was tired of doing so much “mental” work. The same curiosity that once lingered in Evita’s eyes had turned into resentment.

  Evita had already resented her father for kicking her out of his home, demoralizing and possibly harming her mother, and for even hitting Clarice. And who was Michelle? It was all becoming too much to bear, and Evita hoped Diana could finally do some of the work for her.

  Diana could sense Evita was becoming fed up, grabbed the book from her arms, and plopped back down into her seat; the level of professionalism between the two of them hadn’t been very well maintained, which was actually a good thing for purposes of a process like this. Diana began flipping through the pages and reached the halfway mark.

  “Evita!” She found something. The doctor jumped up and ran to sit next to Evita on the chaise lounge. “Is this you?”

  There she was, young Evita, aged three, with three pony tails, two in front and one in back, wrapped in pink silk ribbons. She was smiling from ear to ear, standing next to a stream filled with yellow and pink Lilly pads, swarmed with teal dragonflies.

  “That’s her!” tears from both women flooded the room as their pupils viewed an even younger, happier version of Evita’s grandmother. Her hair was long and brown with only a few strands of gray and shared similar texture to Vivian’s youthful curls. Grandma wore a more form fitting dress that they could tell was still hand made with care. It was covered in purple and yellow stripes
, and she wore a flower headband at the forefront of her skull. She held Evita’s hand with such care, that Evita could almost feel her wrinkly palm against her own. Diana immediately slammed the book closed.

  “How many of her letters have you read?”

  “Just a few, maybe two or three, but nothing is telling me anything that I need to know.” Evita slouched over and began searching her bag for a few more unopened letters while wiping her tears of excitement from her cheeks. Each envelope was neatly sealed and addressed to Little Miss Evita. Evita stared on in amazement. She wondered how she could forget such sentiments.

  Diana grabbed the remaining letters from Evita’s hands and proceeded to read. This one was dated five months after Vivian’s passing. At the time Evita was still very much sad, of course, but was becoming more accepting of the fact that her mother was gone. She had recently become close with Kasha and their friendship was blooming, so at least she had someone to talk to again.

  “My Darling E, please do not wallow in sorrow and know that your mother cares for you and is protecting you. Although she is not present in the flesh, she surrounds you with high spirits. But also, My Dear Evita, please know that you come from a long line of beautiful, intelligent, and strong women who have always managed to lose their powers at the feet of men. Do not do this. Never relinquish your power for false interpretations of love. Yes, you inherited your mother’s smile, nurturing abilities, and quick wit, but you also inherited our will power, or lack thereof, which has been the downfall in our homes for generation after generation. I thought I prevented Vivian from having this trait, but I could not. However, I wish to be able to help you. I’ll continue writing you with guidance and love. Remember, above all else, protect yourself and your gifts.” Diana placed the letter back in its envelope.