The Decks and the Road
book 1- Freeborn
Chapter 13
Tayeton- Dread is a thing that shakes you from
the inside. If you’ve never been shook
that way, I would almost say for certain that life is plotting on you. My mom had a way of summing it up. She’d say, “Just keep walking.” When I was a kid, it didn’t pierce me. Now that I’d lived enough to really
understand what it meant, even to think on it gave me chills and could shake
me. I’d held up well throughout the
services, but the days after I’d buried my mother were dreadful. My date with Kat had helped to replenish some
of my hope, but I didn’t know where today would leave me. I pulled up to the outdoor storage unit my
mom had kept, and paid for even after she’d realized her deck was fading. It was the moment I realized that my mom had died
with hope still left in her. It’s the
only sensible reason I could find to answer the question as to why she hadn’t
given it up. Whatever hope she hadn’t
taken with her, it appeared that Kaylin had inherited it. She’d remained sturdy through it all. It was
a slow exit from the car for me though.
Perhaps she was too young to know what kinds of things could be found in
a storage unit, but I knew exactly.
Although my mom and I had gotten closer even than we had been, I still
felt heavy with the burden of going into the things she felt she needed to keep. I looked at the small key she’d given to me
just weeks earlier, then I glanced down at Kaylin, who looked at me with great
resolve. At that, I didn’t feel big
enough to wait a moment longer, and I unlocked my mother’s storage. I was surprised at the amount of space that
was unoccupied. It wasn’t the over stuff
space with webs everywhere. There was
actually room to step in and look around.
There were a couple of pieces of furniture with a few dark trash bags on
top on one side, and about six large boxes on the other side. In the middle I was overcome with the
presence of the large red wood kitchen table I’d done my homework at most
afternoons. In the past it wasn’t quite
as significant to me, but now it was. I moved in to examine the leg where I’d put my
initials, and I remembered how angry it had made my mother. What had brought tears that day; today
brought a smile. Kaylin had already
moved in on one of the trash bags, and was draping herself with my mother’s
scarves. Just then it became apparent to
me that she knew why she’d come. There
was a single night-stand among the furniture that called my attention. In the top draw there were all kinds of
papers; some old bills, a few food menus, a few pictures, and I even spotted a
card I’d given to her years ago. I sat
the card on top, and stuck the pictures in my back pocket. They were pictures of my mom and her
husband. Had Kaylin not been with me, I
would have torn them to pieces, but I didn’t want to call her attention to
them. I continued to sort through the not
so shallow draw that had obviously served as a catch all to my mother, and just
then I hit a sticky spot. There was a
bottle of nail polish—gold glitter polish—that had begun to spill out. Stuck to the bottle was a purple cat shaped
card. It also had tiny specks of
gold. I turned it over to examine it
more, and saw her name; Dr. Kat Shepherd.
My heart stopped, then it continued, then it skipped a few beats, and on
it went for the next few moments while I tried to collect myself. I pulled the card away from the bottle, and
completely detached the head. I stuck it
into my other back pocket, and glimpsed back to check in on Kaylin. She was now sitting on one of the boxes. All of a sudden, she didn’t look so strong
and resolved. I walked over, and without
a single word, I offered her one of the pictures I’d kept. She looked on it, and offered a half-hearted
thanks.
“How
you making out?”
“Okay
I guess.”
“When
you’re ready to leave, just let me know.”
“I
know. You think you can open this box?” Her voice was soft and curious, yet
commanding.
“Looking
for something special?” I then
remembered that some of her things must have been stored away too.
“No. I kept the things I wanted.” She continued to startle me. I quickly went back to the car to get the
scissors I’d brought. When I returned,
she was holding the bottle of nail polish I’d left behind. She was quick, and I didn’t know what to make
of it. After all the conversations I had
with my mother, it somehow felt as though Kaylin was the one with something
vital to share.
“Do
you think you can take me to get some polish?”
She continued on.
“Sure.” I opened the box, and left her to it. I went on to the next. In the next box, I found a round wall clock
wrapped in newspaper. It was also one of
the things I remembered from childhood.
I’d brought an empty basket with me from the car to carry the things
Kaylin and I wanted to hold onto, and I threw in the scarves, the clock, some
really cool bookends, and a small lamp with a shade. It was all I kept from the five other
boxes. I was pretty full with
consideration, and was ready to find a place to consider it all. When I returned to where Kaylin was, she was
holding on to two hard cover journals, and a staple bound booklet. She held them securely at her hip, and it
almost felt intrusive to ask about them, but I did.
“What
do you have there?”
“Some
of mom’s thoughts.” She retorted. I didn’t know how I felt about it, but we
were both entitled to her things, and she’d discovered them first.
“And
what’s in the booklet?” I’d hoped to
shelter her, although she didn’t appear to need it.
“A
book mom wrote.” She was so
nonchalant.
“What
book mom wrote?” I was completely taken
aback. I hadn’t known of my mom that
way. She hadn’t shared any of that with
me. I was more than curious about the
book.
“Can
I take a look?”
“Sure.” She handed it over, but kept her eyes glued
to it. It was unbelievable. There it was—“Thinking Outloud” by Nora
Rivers. I thumbed through the pages of
poetry, and stumbled on a picture of my mom and myself as a baby. I knew it was me—I had seen many pictures of
myself as a baby, yet I’d never seen this one.
“Can
I keep the picture?”
“Sure.” Kaylin didn’t appear to have any interest in
the picture, but her eyes continued to guard the book.
“Would
it be okay for me to read it sometime?”
I stood at her mercy.
“Okay,
but promise to let me keep it.” She made
me promise, and I did.
On the way home, she read. I didn’t know what she was reading, but my
gut said, let her be.
Chapter 13 continued...
Thicker skin is not something you go
shopping for. It’s not a new sweater you
get for Christmas. Thicker skin is a
feeling you wake up with. You go to
sleep with many things on your mind and shoulders, and you wake up and find them
all in their proper place. Not just
that, but it’s the moment you realize that they’ve lost their voice. It’s the moment their noises fall to the background,
and they’re no longer heard. It’s not
the skin you wear on your body; it’s the skin you wear on your ears.
I had gone to bed with my mother on
my mind. I wondered what had happened to
her to make her put down her writing. I’d
searched the name Nora Rivers, and found a lot of postings on her work. I searched and read for hours about the
shooting star she had been. Her words
were like walls; they didn’t go away easily.
Even if you’d break them down, you would have to carry them away. She spoke of things in unperceived ways. It was not for them who had not been
shaken. Surely, if they’d approached her
thoughts, they would have been crushed.
As I sat with my back up against my head board considering the moments
that had exposed my mother in a foreign light, I realized that her words had
helped to earn me the thicker skin I knew for sure I’d awakened with. It was a super bright day. The light coming into my room was menacing
and alluring at the same time. It made
me want to do more; be more. Suddenly, a
thought came to mind. My attention was
quickly turned to my laptop that had slept with me, and was still lying beside
me. I wanted to continue her
legacy. I wanted to ponder her thoughts,
and find my deepest thoughts at the same time.
I’d read many blogs, but I’d never considered writing one. Now I did.
Now I had something to blog about; something that had energy and hope
and a life worth mentioning. The name
was simple. It didn’t take much thought. It had not let me go since the moment I’d seen
it on the small booklet from the storage.
I typed the words “Thinking Outloud by T. Fisher” and hit save. It was official. I was blogging. My first post came also with great ease. “Notes from Our First Date” was the
title. There were only a few lines, but
I didn’t feel any pressure. Nothing
surrounding our first date brought any pressure. I typed, “I didn’t think I could gain
anything at a cemetery. Likewise, I didn’t
think there was so much to learn about ants.
I was wrong about both. She was a
fresh picked blossom, and apparently I had the unsuspecting strength of an
ant. Only time could tell what the ant
would mean to the blossom, and only time would tell what the purple cat had to
do with it all. “ signed T. Fisher—publish. Now all I had to do was invite her
to read it. I reached for my phone, and
texted her, “You’re invited to pick up my notes on my new blog, Thinking
Outloud by T. Fisher.”—send.
Freeborn, a novel
Freeborn
© Grace Call Communications,
LLC
Copyright © 2017
by Natisha Renee Williams
All Rights Reserved
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