Far From You

here she comes

Muffled voices outside my door that October morning woke me and took me from a peaceful place to one I'd come to hate.

When one of them stepped into my room, the hallway light landed on my closed eyelids, urging them to open like a hand pulling on a doorknob.

"It's time," Dad said.

I didn't open my eyes.

I didn't move.

I didn't speak.

"Ali, you awake?"

I gave a little grunt.

The event wasn't worth wasting breath on.

"We'll call you later.

When she's here."

Pause.

"I love you," he said quickly and quietly.

It's pretty sad when you have to think about it before you say it.

just breathe

The clock read

4:13 a.m.

My dog, Cobain, slept at the foot of my bed.

I changed directions and curled up next to his warm body, feeling the rhythm of his breathing.

I stroked his golden fur, and my heartbeats s o f t e n e d.

He breathed.

I breathed.

Soon my breaths were slow and steady, in sync with his.

Cobain.

My oxygen tank.

He breathed.

I breathed.

The garage door rumbled open beneath me.

They were gone.

Gone until they'd come back with her.

Then there'd be me.

He breathed.

I breathed.

They knew her name.

But they wouldn't tell me.

It'll be a surprise, Victoria had said, like a surprise is a good thing.

My stepmom.

Victoria.

She reminded me of a chameleon lizard, with her annoying habit of curling her tongue up just slightly, and touching her top lip, when she was concentrating.

A chameleon.

One minute sweet as chocolate cake.

The next, sour and possessive, like an old banker.

Once upon a time he and I were close.

Dad.

We'd cook together, watch basketball together, and make up silly jingles together, since advertising is his line of work.

Things changed.

Victoria moved in.

He changed.

It's like he tried to move on to greener pastures, but the tractor in the barn, once adored, became a nuisance and kept him connected to the painful past.

I squeezed in closer to Cobain.

He breathed.

I breathed.

I could see Dad holding his new baby girl.

Smiling.

Happy.

Totally in love.

He'd breathe.

She'd breathe.

Then there'd be me.

the short version

Mom got cancer.

Cancer sucks.

She died.

Dad remarried.

The end.

our time is now

After a while

I got up, showered, and put on my favorite jeans, a white shirt, my black jacket, and my combat boots.

I grabbed my battered, scuffed-up guitar case and headed outside.

The sunlight streamed through the tree in our front yard, lighting up the yellow leaves, creating a brilliant golden statue that moved magically when the breeze blew.

Amazing.

I love fall.

Fall in Seattle.

The season of warm colors.

I thought about calling Blaze, to see if I could talk him into going, but he likes church about as much as the queen likes profanity.

It's the one thing between us that feels like a tiny splinter in your foot.

Painful and annoying, but difficult to remove.

Blaze and I met at a concert last spring.

Our eyes locked just as Mudhoney took the stage, and it was like a rocket blasting off into space.

I felt heat and my body trembled and forces beyond my control pulled me to him as the music ripped through our bodies.

I didn't know his name.

He didn't know mine.

And yet, it was like we'd known each other forever.

My best friend, Claire, was with me, and she kept trying to pull me away, like she was afraid for my life.

Silly girl.

Nothing to worry about.

If anything, he sparked a fire inside of me, making me want to live again.

the peace I need

I pulled up in my old Nova.

Claire got in wearing a long, flowing purple skirt and a silky, smooth black blouse.

She makes all of her own clothes.

Fashion is her passion.

I think she should be a singer.

She's the voice to the music we make at church.

Like hot cocoa and a soft blanket and fuzzy slippers, warming you up top to bottom.

Raspy and sweet all at the same time.

I used to envy her, but then I decided to just be thankful for making incredible music together.

My music was complete because of Claire.

She got in and threw a CD in my lap.

"Your turn to listen."

The church we go to,

Center for Spiritual Living, makes CDs of the sermons and the music.

After I backed out,

I looked at Claire, but my smile didn't want to come out and play.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

She knows me like a druggie knows his best vein.

"They went to the hospital.

Early this morning."

She gave a nod of understanding.

I drove in silence.

That is, until she reached over and popped the CD in the player

Blaze had installed for my birthday.

We listened to her sing the words:

Pain in your heart.

You're playing the part of a human in need.

You beg and you plead

Wash it away.

Wash it away.

Give me the peace, the peace I need.

I wrote that song.

Funny how time goes on, things change, and yet, some things stay exactly the same.