Weeping Cherry

By Kemi Santos-Omanukwue

When fifteen year old Meredith Hart decided it would be best to disobey her mother by taking a school trip to Ireland, she never imagined what the repercussions were going to be. A good grounding would have been foreseeable but nothing that would mean paying with her life, uncovering her hidden family history, delving into the sea world,only a few story books had told her about. She confronts her confl icting nightmares and tries to live her life, love a Merman and save what she now knows of her family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483618876

Kemi Santos-Omanukwue

Kemi Santos-Omanukwue lives in Canada with her husband and sons. She is a lawyer, a Member of the Nigerian Bar Association and a Certified Paralegal, Member of the Law Society of Upper Canada. She loves to write by the ocean, and was inspired by her late grandmothers love for books and for the environment. She spends her time with family. Weeping Cherry is her first published work.

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Copyright © 2013 by Kemi Santos-Omanukwue.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 09/13/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgment

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my mother Maudlyn Ikeotuonye Santos.

Words can’t adequately explain your immense worth.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I thank my husband for the many times he said, You can do it! Those were the magic words. You are my Champion and although you said very little, your life shared with me taught me a lot about the kind of person I should be. I was once told of a Prince Charming and honestly, the child in me believed. I believed and it happened to me—you happened to me. Thank you so much. You remain my best friend, hero and Only True Love.

To my sons… I don’t know what the future holds, so I write for today. I hope of the many versions you see of me, what will stand out the most is that I love you both more than I do life. I hope you learn, live and love. Thanks for giving mummy the quiet time she needed to write.

And finally, to my only sister, who remembered something that life had compelled me to forget. Thank you for truly reading my childhood scribbles. Thank you for being the perfect cheerleader. You opened the door to this book. And you were right, I felt so much better when I was done.

A list of the Author’s Other Books

Weeping Willow

Weeping Blood

CHAPTER ONE

Another Friday evening, the inline skates slid against the Goderich’s largest Hockey Court barely smooth concrete surface. The friendly match was between Ridden High and the neighbouring school Mallow High. Ridden’s Viking support group held the blue and white banners with the Viking helmet and axe beneath. Ridden students, family and supporters took their seats towards the right of the indoor rink; the screams of admiration rang through the court, the blue and white painted faces exuded a solidarity that would have put any professional cheerleader to shame.

On the other side, the Mallow High supporters waved their hands wildly with their light green and brown, an ugly mix of colors that were positioned as banners. I was certain if I closed my eyes and opened them really fast, the colors would look like vomit. I was getting tired of the screaming and hyped excitement, it was an obvious win for Ridden, they hadn’t lost a game in five years, and today would be no exception.

I waved my Canadian/ Goderich/ Ridden flag weakly in feigned support, earnestly searching for something else to do. I had promised her that I would be here physically—my mind however had taken a different route. I went through the faces of the opposing ‘friendly’ team, caught the eye of a happy-go-lucky face, then I crossed my eyes inwardly and stuck out my tongue to the shock of the teenage brunette across the rink. The upset brunette rose from her seat and gave me the middle finger.

As the unstable instigator, I laughed at the challenge. If time permitted after giving her a fisted ‘finger’, I was going to raise my hand to make a fictional throat slit, passing off a message that the Mallow Bears were dead where the Viking Riders were concerned. A fighting shout went out from the chair beside me, the gaze in the brunettes eyes shifted; then I turned to see Arcana Yow raising both her middle fingers in the air, with her slate gray eyes almost turning coal. I knew the war had begun.

It seemed the expensively dressed brunette had friends too, as they rose from their chairs as well, a broad chested boy decided to join in on the theatrics by throwing invisible punches, another slowly exposed his behind, another played the car crash end.

Son of a… A male voice said behind Arcana and I. As we watched the burly man sitting behind us, with deep blue and white colors stretched out vertically from his head to his exposed belly button, rise to his feet and let out an angry yelp so loud that even the players looked up. There was a moment’s silence. Simultaneously a whistle from the coach went out from the rink, louder cheers and the games began.

An hour thirty minutes later the games were over and Ridden conquered again.

*     *     *

Once again, I found myself tired of waiting for her, so I opened the door to the house and slammed it on my way out; hoping the bang would send a fresh message, other than my repeated calls. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to scream, it wouldn’t work so I whistled instead. I let myself into the Mercedes M—Class my stepfather, Peter A’ Hearne had bought my mum Scilia Hart. I looked up and smiled at Peter who stared back at me from the master bedroom window above of their bistre coloured roof and blizzard painted walls. He signalled that mum was going to be down soon, by placing one hand over the other on his chest and asking for my patience. I smiled back at him, set the car key in the ignition and turned it. The engines started and I waited, sent the window down to let in the cool air in. I looked at my Dad’s old omega watch which had been mine for the past fourteen years, then into the rear-view mirror to examine my face and hair.

After a deep breath, I played something that drowned the thoughts that I sensed were coming, the deep and sometimes partially-shakeable sadness that I felt every Sunday by two in the afternoon. My favourite rock band was playing—so I soaked in the music.

Although the bushes to the left side of the house had been trimmed perfectly; they crawled out of their space to the walls of the house stopping at the window of the first floor. The garden house’s sprinkler came on by 2.15 pm and would run for twenty minutes. I heard the door to the house open and shut quickly, Mum got into the car, the routine signal wave to the top of the house and automatic smile was the start.

The drive was silent holding the unsaid comfortably in its grasp, true to each person’s character on a day like this. I had heard or read somewhere that there was no need to speak of anything that could not be solved, made better or improved upon. Life didn’t have to be about speaking or haggling; sometimes letting things be was a preferred solution. For me, the visit was not one of anticipation and there was no regret or shame attached to the circumstance at hand, it was peaceful.

Here, within the guarded walls of Plus de Reve’s Home for the Mentally Challenged, people were true to whoever they were or are, they said what they meant or they didn’t mean and if it was either of the two, you would never know. Almost like everything else that was said in the world.

I walked behind mum as she passed the wide hallway knowing where our host would be sitting, the same place that he had sat for the past fourteen years of my life. He would be smiling into the sunlight, his short and silver blonde hair combed neatly behind him, his large green eyes wide open letting the sting of the flaring ball in the sky burn into his eye.

I’d watch him; see how he handled things out here on his own amongst the unwilling and drugged boarders. Mum without warning rushed to his feet like a child, she would be true to the affections that she had played out every Sunday for years; he would never know that we were here no matter how hard I hoped. Mum was still and would always be in love with my father Cameron Hart.

First, she would hug him tightly. PAUSE. Close her eyes. PAUSE. Kiss him. PAUSE.

Second, would be her emotional gaze staring down into his blank eyes. Another PAUSE then tears.

Third, would be her entire being vibrating with the intense emotions she placed under control during the week. Sometimes, I looked away allowing the short lived lovers the needed privacy. Today, I let my eyes wander. There was a loose mind sitting on a chair in the corner not far from where my father sat, with a game board at his feet and a woman by his side. His brownish-black hair had been sleeked back, probably by the devoted partner before him, his shaky hands played the game and his eyes wondered. The friend, wife or sister was obviously tired, but she was in a routine that would not be easily unhinged, her eyes wandered elsewhere too.

A piercing scream came out of the building, followed by a ghostly pale-looking woman running out into the sun, she was telling of the many loves of her life as if they were all still there listening to her. She started laughing, laughing at the thought of how she enjoyed the taste of their hearts and intimate parts. She caressed herself to the whistles of some of the other patients and the embarrassment of their visitors. The young, blushing and inexperienced attendant who was running after her raised the blanket over her exposed body but not high enough to shield his eyes. He called for some assistance but he didn’t call loud enough. If I can’t hear you, who can? Still, help came from a more mature dark skinned and rounded woman, with a hard and still lower lip, and raging eyes. I had grown up knowing Nurse Tessie Barnes and from where I watched, I could see the nurse’s strength overpowering the clearly tormented woman. She snatched the blanket from the now blushing ward and covered the raving woman. Who knows where they go? Who knows the demons that plagued them?

The barely clad one warned that she would have more of everything she wanted, raising her hands high in the air as if in an attempt to clasp the sun. She shot down to her toes and grabbed the grass beneath her feet. The burly nurse lost her footing, and fell to the ground with the blanket still in her grasp thereby exposing the victim’s body once again.

Then the insane blonde laughed, a hearty laugh, and then she stopped. That had brought her back, away from the world where the demons had taken her, dropping her carelessly in the world where she belonged, with no explanation just embarrassment and the eyes of disgust from the watchers. She pleaded for assistance as she covered her body, for warmth more than exposure. She asked for an explanation as to her clothing and environment. Tessie began to speak but there was no answer wise enough to satisfy the confused woman. She covered her face probably to hide the shame or the judgemental looks. Then she looked at me, with her tousled hair in her eye and mouth, I didn’t have any answers for her so I looked away.

I walked up to my dad. Hi Daddy. I said to him staring down into his bright green eyes, something I inherited a bit of.

I’ll let you two have some time together. Mum said then walked into the building.

How are you? I asked. You like the weather? Same questions like I asked the week before. Are they treating you okay? I placed my hands in his. There sat my own hero, this was how I always knew him, here within these walls, no words, white robe-like clothes, speaking eyes and chapped lips.

Cameron Hart had rushed into a burning house on my first birthday to save me, a gas explosion sent us flying into the street, and his body became a human shield to protect his only child. He suffered a concussion and had not recovered from it ever since. I took the gloss out from my pocket and moistened his lips. Complaints about the chapped lips would be irrelevant now but I was going to make one anyway.

Who was to say that this wasn’t enough? No response was necessary. I knew who he was, I shared in my mother’s memories, pictures, letters from associates, friends and the only family who used to come over at Christmas. I knew that at fifteen he was an acrobat, at sixteen he played football at seventeen he wanted to be pilot and at eighteen he wanted to have a cruise ship. After he saved for ten years, he bought a small tour boat, and in his eye a captain was what he had become. I knew that he had good taste in clothes. He also liked music; he had an extensive classical collection, he didn’t go for the famous and greats alone but the hidden talents found with the unknowns. Years later some still remained unknown.

I squeezed his hand to alert him as I looked up at the wings of the butterfly that fluttered by, then I looked back at him. He was going to say something today; he was going to snap out of it today, everyday held a new possibility. It’s a new day, a new day for a miracle, a new day to usher in this breakthrough.

His hands broke free from mine as he tried to hold on to the butterfly, then he clapped quickly to maybe a song I couldn’t hear. I reached out to hold him close to him; put my hands round his waist and squeeze him tight. Tight enough to stop the claps as they always worried me. He stopped clapping. I had his attention but not for long.

In that space of time I had to let him know he was my hero, once again. He was my friend, my best friend; that no one had taken his place and none ever would. I wanted to show him that I would be back every Sunday with my own share of a prayer, a heart full of any faith I could find. I had grown stronger in the days that had passed since we last saw, that I had been a version of goodness, and that I would not cry myself to sleep. I let him know that I prayed for him even though I had very little faith left. I love you more today Dad, than I did when you left! I whispered then lifted my face quickly, stood up straight, my eyes closed to the sky but my tears fell quicker than I could stop them, they fell into my ears I wiped them dry with my hand.

Hey, you two! Mum called, wiping the dust off her bright blue jeans where she had been sitting watching dad and I. She walked over quickly, excited to give him another hug, then the pause. She told dad of how she had tried to convince me to pick up playing any musical instrument, even if it was just for fun. An idea that I was sure wasn’t my mother’s completely but Dr. Rupert Bear, my anger management ‘counsellor’. Surprisingly, my mother who had never played any music in or out of the house, was now an advocate of my doing so for the past year.

Mrs. Hart? A young voice called. It was the male nurse who stared at the naked woman. He gave me a toothy grin.

Yes? She responded with a dignified hiss.

I’m sorry but we have to take him in now. He said.

Had two hours passed by so quickly?

Now? Mum asked.

She always did this, the same thing every Sunday. She asks the question, then she begs for another minute or two. She begs like she’s giving them the option but they know that the choice still rests with her. They either took it or Mrs. Hart was not going anywhere.

I can wait a while. The young man said unsurely, tapping his fingers behind him to appease the bobbed brunette who was already beginning to act unstable.

After fourteen years of the visits, the same routine played out every time for a man she knew like no other could. She loved him so much, it was a painful sight. She said she needed a second or two, so once again I stepped back out of their way, keeping my eyes firmly to the ground away from the attendant’s finger snaps. He wanted my attention for some reason. Who cares for him, I had my own plights to deal with.

As we rushed home to the man who was now in our lives, I wondered why Peter had never come with us in the years before and why I didn’t resent him for it. It was not a new question—just never asked it out loud. It was obvious to anyone that Mum was still in love with the man at Reve, and that she also loved Peter. He had been there, making up for the absence, filling in the position that we needed.

I didn’t understand how Peter could have my mother love him this way, to be content with taking what was left of her love when it was clear by the way she looked at Dad, by the kisses, the pause, and everything else, that there was nothing left for him.

*     *     *

Ridden’s Principal Nigel Wilkes congratulated the school and the home team on the friendly kick-ass win, he welcomed us to a new week at school. It was a thirty minute talk that went on forever. As I took a slow look around Ridden High School’s gym which sometimes was transformed into almost anything to suit the event, my eyes scanned the hall for Arcana, she was nowhere to be found. I took a look at the poorly done end of the room, celebration banners, and the drinks to the end of the gym, the school’s faculty members which sat across from the students.

I studied Nigel and his happy face, he had an acceptable disposition. There wasn’t a day he didn’t have a smile on his chubby bright red face, a shine on his balding head and a pocket full of sweets. It was endearing to some, to other not so much. His doors were always open to the students, although everyone had to go through Mrs. Emily Borden; she was never trouble as long as it was important—convincing her that it was important was the problem. She was the longest serving person at Ridden High, about sixty-five years old but looked good enough to pass for forty or less, five feet two inches tall, dyed her hair black (like there was any one her age in this world with no grey). She was probably the oldest person I knew would refuse to wear glasses or contacts. Squinting all the way to the bathroom and back… She hated bullies and anyone who broke the rules—I had been on her bad page once and I don’t think I was off it yet.

Ridden had exceptional students and embarrassingly dull ones too. We excelled in hockey and every year for the past twenty years in three subjects—Math, Science and Chemistry our students had won The Peter Dyakowski Scholarship to study anywhere in the world. For three consecutive years since he came to Ridden, Robin Alexander Lake had won all awards breaking the records placed in each field. Today he was celebrated but was not present to receive the praise.

Nigel encouraged the students to give this end of the semester, the best they could. It seemed like the academic announcements were coming to an end, when one of his famous grins found its way to his lips, as he looked up from where he stood. All breaths were held, it was time. Rumour had it that there was going to be an exciting trip coming up in a few weeks’ time; it would be costly of course, so that meant a lot of the students weren’t going to bother. I had no plan of going either way.

The trip was scheduled for Dublin in two weeks. It was about six hours away by air—I had researched some weeks ago and as promised, a wonderful time awaited any participant. All interested students were to pick the application/permission forms for their parents from Emily. The assembly was dismissed. I walked slowly towards class still searching for Arcana, passing ‘squinters’ office, I wondered how the queue became so long in moments.

Guess the refreshments were bad. Then again, that was how it always was with something exciting and new; everyone rushes to get the form, they put the fees together and before they know it, no one is able to afford the trip. Then it drops from an exciting, eager and ready to go hundred students to terribly restless fifty and finally still eager to go thirty students.

Excuses start to fall in from the parents; with their fears for the safety, health, then the distance, then the fact that some psycho killed some kids that were at a camp a few years ago—that was a terrible thought and of course allergies. How could I forget the allergies or maybe someone would get really sick? It could be anything. For me, the main problem was not the cost; of the varying problems first on my list was Mum, who hadn’t left Goderich since I was born. Another excuse was my brand of acute arthritis which had plagued me all my life. I didn’t feel like travelling with medication.

Suddenly, there was a burst of energy in the halls, I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t understand the excitement until I overheard the conversations about the trip being sponsored completely by the Ridden Alumni, and this would be a first in the school’s almost hundred year existence. I guess the economy was not that bad this year for some.

As I opened my locker, I immediately wanted school to be over, I needed a break. Native Studies, I sighed, pulling out my textbook. This was the quickest way to sleep. I felt someone’s cold hand slide down my back, descending to the curve that was my butt. I gasped, quickly snatching the hand from my lower back before turning round. There was only one person who would attempt that, I thought as my books fell from my hands.

Arcana.

Jumping… I squealed. Stop! I said, pushing her hands away. To get revenge I tugged hard at her black hair.

When she was tired of being the poster child of seriousness, her high pitched laughter rang through the hallways, oblivious of whoever stared at her. It would start out fast and slow down, dramatized like she was aspiring for a role where she had to play the part of a witch or something evil.

Ouch… She paused, her head tilting to the side. I like that. Do it again. She said with a wicked smile and then laughed again. This laugh was much better.

Where have you been? I asked as I picked my books from the floor.

Other than a deep fondness for flowers and jeans, we had almost nothing in common. I had started dying my hair when I turned fourteen, replacing my brown loops for the red and green rough strands stopping just a few inches beneath my shoulder, my eyes were bluish-green. Arcana’s hair was naturally black and straight; curls fell all the way to the middle of her back with light grey eyes—she had worn contacts for as long as I had known her. I had never seen her without them.

I excelled in private horticulture and every love story or film ever made. Arcana had a book and aquarium fetish, keeping six different ones in her house to the comfort of her guardian. Her parents lived in Wales and she visited them quarterly.

I got you a form. Arcana announced excitedly. And I know you are going. She added quickly before I let her in on my plans. We have got to get some nice lingerie, make up, perfumes…

It’s camp. I reminded. "You need nets, insect repellants and bug sprays—weapons."

She smiled. Oh, yeah we are going to get that too. Then she frowned for I was interrupting the jungle love fantasy she was having.

Honestly, I don’t think I’m going, babe. I’m not going. I said trying to think of a real excuse to give her as she saw that her ideas weren’t sinking in. I don’t want to. My dad, I don’t feel like going.

Arcana leaned forward. What does daddy have to do with it? She asked as she pulled out her nameless gloss and rubbed.

I don’t think we’ll be back in time. I said foolishly.

Well that’s because you didn’t read the form. She informed. We leave on a Monday and we are back by Friday.

I needed another excuse fast, and although I had it, it wasn’t one I wanted to share with her—at least not right now. Before walking into class, I searched the halls for him, he wasn’t here.

We settled down into class and she ignored me continuing with the list. Mrs. Oreille Whitead had just walked into class and had begun to write on the board. Apparently, the five foot eight, two hundred pounds of academic authority didn’t bother Arcana and so on she went getting through her list.

. . . shorts, skirts.

The teacher threw a disappointing look in her direction, coughed loud enough to get her attention. She did.

I am looking forward to the trip we would be having, there are a lot of rare flowers that we would be seeing around our camp site. Whitead explained. Ireland is a very beautiful place, she added quickly before anyone could utter a word of protest. Our very generous alumni have provided one of their very beautiful hotels for us to stay in and of course we will be treated to many beautiful sights, tastes and sounds of the Leenane community.

Leenane. I whispered to myself.

As she spoke, two students walked into class slowly. As they handed her a form, I realised they both had similar facial features. They had to be related or maybe not. The girl sat down to the left side of the class but first checking to see if the empty seat behind her belonged to anyone. She stared out of the window while the boy took the seat behind her. She was dark skinned, wore a white ankle-length skirt and a yellowish high cut top, her face was round, dark tiny braids held in a pony-tail. It was the scarf around her neck, it fell loosely on her back and that caught my attention. It was white silk, the edges were laced with golden snakes, and there was a tiger or what seemed like it in the middle. The animal kingdom in a dance, I thought. Something else caught my eye; it glistened against the sun coming in through the window. It was a golden bracelet, hanging loosely on her wrist. I leaned forward to get a better view of the face, and then a familiar whisper startled me.

Because the alumni out of their generosity have offered to pay for the trip, it will have the pleasure of choosing who would be lucky enough to go. Whitead continued.

Who is he? Arcana asked noticing my smile and twitching her mouth in the direction of the ebony skinned male but he was not the object of my gaze a few minutes before.

No? I shook my head trying to correct the impression she had. I don’t know? I whispered back, leaning back in my chair and gazing at Arcana’s eyebrows raised and then widened in a so-what-are-you-smiling-at manner. She settled into her chair and faced the teacher before us.

Meredith Hart, would you mind reading the last chapter please? The mature British voice standing before the class asked.

Yes Ma’am. I responded and then rose to my feet.

The boys seemed to relate well to the gruel stories of war and blood. Our finals would be taken when we got back from the trip. The first period’s bell rang.

Let’s go! Arcana called out to me.

I smiled back at her, pulling back my badly colored hair in a bun.

Let your hair down! You look so much better with it down. She advised, snatching the band from my finger tips and letting the hair fall down past my shoulders.

CHAPTER TWO

Ireland? Scilia Hart screamed. Are they crazy?

Mum took off her jacket and handed it to me, then her flat soled black shoes. Headed toward the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a cold beer and tomatoes. She stuffed her mouth with crackers and mumbled something else beneath her breath but I could hear. I had waited for her to get home from Florae’s Haven her flower shop before revealing my intentions.

Yes Mum. I answered in response to the first question. I guess it was being stuck in the car with Arcana on the way home or that I was just plain tired and wanted to do something different or the fact that Mrs. Whitead kept saying that we should try doing something different that caused me to change my mind about the camp. It’s a camp thing. I said trying to convince her and myself that there was something really cool about what I wanted to do.

Why Ireland? She asked me. Her temperament at the news was partly expected. She stared at me waiting for the answer. She was starting the ‘scary overbearing mother’ thing. Where she tries to break you with her eyes. I was so used to that look. So I smiled. What are you smiling at? I don’t want you to go.

I want to go, I’ve never been outta here, and I want to take this trip. I said and realised that her coat was still in my arms. I took them to the closet across the living room and hung them there.

Where in Ireland? She asked. No, it doesn’t matter. She said quickly, continuing with her chopping.

I pretended not to hear. Not sure, Leenane Galway. I’ll check the form later. I already told Peter. I lied.

Mum huffed. You did… Did you? She asked sarcastically.

I was going to tell him immediately he got home. Make sure you get to him before she does. This was so out of character for me, I didn’t want to go to the damn thing anyway.

I’m going to get you Arcana.

I’ll be right back. I said, walking passed her, up the stairs and into my room. As I opened up my door, I heard something move on my dressing table. It was my phone. Hey.

Talk of the devil.

Hey, what’s wrong? She asked.

There was no need denying anything that I knew she was going to get out of me eventually. Mum. I replied.

Nothing Mister A’ Hearne can’t fix babe. She assured me. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that… she began.

I have to call him now, gimme ten minutes? I looked at my watch it was 7.15pm.

Five! She scowled.

I’ll take it. I hung up and quickly dialled his number. It was busy. I prayed silently and hoped that mum hadn’t gotten through to him before I did. I didn’t need the stress, I looked at the time, and it was a few minutes past seven. I hadn’t taken my medication. He was probably leaving the office.

I redialled and while I did, I thought of the many miracles Peter had brought into our lives, the things he had made possible or tried to. He had come at a time mum described as her ‘outta mind’ period, a friend of her past, remained loving and kind, always bending over backwards to please us in any way. He never relented in his affection, his help, and his kindness. Although they never married, Peter adopted me when I was two.

Getting older, I didn’t see mum look at him the way she looked at dad every Sunday, her eyes never filled up with tears for him, I never saw her squeeze his hand or kiss his eyes the way she did my father.

Hello piranha. The deep bass voice said.

Hi. I responded. Heading home?

Yes I am. Is everything okay?

Yes. I took a deep breath; deep enough to make sure all that I wanted to say was said in one swift and very simple manner. I would like to go on this trip at school and it’s coming up soon. It’s not dangerous or anything but I would really like to go and mum is giving me hard time.

Isn’t it short notice? He asked.

Well yeah, we were told last semester but I had no plans… then. I replied.

So why change your mind?

I paused. You’re sounding like mum?

He laughed. Am I?

I was so sure that he had a smirk on his face. So sure that he was smiling, not at my frustration but that I had compared him to the love of his life.

How long is this trip? He asked.

A week. Five days. I responded.

And where is this week long trip?

Ireland.

He had to be pleased, he had an Irish heritage and I could find the accent there on some occasions but he was silent.

Oh! He said, like he would if he snatched a fly buzzing about his ear. I dropped to the ground and lay on my back, tired of the games that hadn’t began to play out. I needed to stretch, so I did, and then wiped my face accordingly. I put him on speaker, placed the phone on my chest and then stretched again. I felt a lot better when I heard the crack in my knee.

Why oh? I asked. What’s wrong with Ireland?

Nothing at all. He responded smoothly.

Please. I just need to relax. I begged. That ought to get him. Dr. Bear said it would be good for me! What he had actually said was that a relaxing time out with family would be great but this meant the same thing. It would be a relaxing trip out with friends.

Did he?

Yes. I paused. Arcana is going.

Is she? he asked. I’ll discuss it with her when I get home. He assured.

Who—Arcana? I joked.

He laughed. No, your Mum.

Score! I smiled. Thanks.

I blew a kiss into the speaker and waited for the return. It came and the line went dead. Looking at the dark blue roof of my room and self-painted white stars above me, I smiled. I got off the floor and onto my bed, slipped in the DVD into the player. It was a compilation of a hundred love stories to watch courtesy of Arcana, fifty in black and white and another fifty in colour. It had taken up so much of my time but I was addicted to them. It was by far the best present I had gotten from her.