Turning Point: Dandelion Soul, #2

By Dee Dee Covas

Kelly's emotional imprisonment prompts rebellious behavior, taking her life in an unforeseen direction. She pays for her sins, but turning points pave the path of reconciliation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dee Dee Covas
• Release date: Jul 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9798223254720

Book preview

DEE DEE COVAS

CHAPTER

1

W hat happened to your face? As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish they hadn’t. Sometimes, I imagine unzipping myself right down the middle, and a different me falls out, one that doesn’t always make people so mad.

You think I’m ugly! Annie wails with her fists in a ball.

No, I don’t. I think you're pretty. I was just wondering what happened, that’s all.

The red pustules on Annie's face and arms start to ooze, discharging infectious yellow pus. My hand goes over my mouth in reflex as I begin to gag. They aren’t always there. They only appear when she’s mad.

Her yellow ribbons hang loosely from her lopsided pigtails as she bounces in a fighting stance with protruding eyes, You're mean! She cries, I don’t want to play with you anymore.

I'm sorry, I murmur with my head down. Scooping my Barbie dolls from the square electrical box in front of my house, I walk toward the carport. The truth is I don't really like playing with Anne anyway. She can be mean sometimes, like when I don’t play the way she wants me to play. But still, I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.

Wait, don’t go, Annie pleads.

I have to go inside now, I glance back quickly to make sure she isn’t following me. Sometimes she follows me.

Fine, leave me like the rest of them!

Who’re you talking to, Kelly? My mom asks, passing me with her gardening tools.

I was talking to my friend.

What friend. I don’t see anyone.

My friend Annie. I sulk past my mom, going straight to my room. Sighing heavily, I place my Barbie dolls neatly in the container on the floor. Blowing a giant bubble with my pink bubble gum, it pops, and I suck it in, blowing another. This time, when it pops, the deflated bubble catches in my hair.

As I cut the gum out of my hair with safety scissors, Mom storms into my room, still wearing her gardening gloves stained with dirt.

Kelly, what is wrong with you? Why would you deliberately stomp my flowers?

I shake my hands defensively, It wasn’t me, I swear. She’s sad. I feel it in my heart. Why do I make everyone sad?

Mom crosses the room and leans in so close I can smell her morning coffee breath. Then who was it? She calmly asks.

I sigh, It was Annie, I explain reluctantly. She doesn’t like flowers there because they attract the bees.

My mother’s face turns three shades of red. She’s so mad she starts stuttering, We...we do not tell lies in this family, young lady. Her gloved finger flops in my face, Stay in this room and pray about what you’ve done until lunchtime. Grabbing my Barbie dolls, she shuts the door behind her.

This is a thing in my house, getting in trouble for things I didn’t do. It’s alright, I’m used to it. And besides, I like being in my room. It’s pink, my favorite color.

I peek out my window to see Mom bent over her trampled flower bed, pulling smashed daisies, lavender, and daffodils from the dirt. I cringe when I notice the giant sunflower she was so proud of flopped over. She looks so pretty, though, with her blond curls flowing down her shoulders in the sunlight. A smudge of dirt is the only flaw on her beautiful face.

But my eyes aren’t on my mother anymore. They’re on the bee buzzing around her head, and the angry little girl with the bee stings standing behind her.

I told you not to play with her.

I jump, startled when Faith speaks from behind me.

You have to tell Annie to go away, Kelly. They go away when you tell them to. She’ll keep coming back if you don’t.

I plop back on my bed and blow my bangs out of my eyes. Okay, I sigh in agreement.

I mean it, Kelly. She won’t go away unless you tell her you don’t want to play with her anymore.

I blow a giant pink bubble and suck it back in, Okay.

MY HAIR FLOATS GRACEFULLY, swishing back and forth across my face as I sway my body slowly from side to side. A drop of cold water drips from the faucet onto the top of my wrinkled toe, a welcoming contrast to the rest of my body sunk below the hot bathwater. The muffled pounding and voices do nothing to break my trance because I’m deliberately blocking out the sounds. When I’m under the water, I can do that. I can block out the world around me. When I’m underwater, the voices are distorted, the ones on the outside and the ones on the inside, too.

My lungs are starting to give. They always do. Just a few more seconds, though, and I can recreate that sensation. The stifled pounding is louder now. I should hurry. My lungs are aching as bubbles escape from my nostrils. My cheeks are puffed out, and my eyes are bulging, but I won’t give up. I gotta recreate the feeling I got when the preacher held me under the water.

They don’t usually baptize kids so young at my church, but they made an exception for me on account of...you know. It was a strange sensation, being born again. The preacher had his large palm on my forehead, holding me just below the water's surface. His hand was so big that I could feel his pinky finger resting over my mouth and nose. When I couldn’t hold my breath anymore, and everything was starting to fade, that’s when it happened. That’s when the Holy Spirit entered my body, and my sins were washed away.

It wasn't the first time this sensation happened. And also, I wasn’t alone under there. Someone was with me. Someone familiar was whispering' in my ear. It’s the same person from my dreams. I just can’t remember who it is when I’m awake. I wish I knew who it was. Wish I could remember the words. The water was comforting, too. It felt like a warm blanket swaddled around me.

When I woke up, a bunch of church people were standing over me, and my parents looked troubled. I think maybe the preacher must’ve held me under just a little longer than most people, just to be sure the demons are gone. Anyway, I need to recreate it now. I need it to happen again because it didn’t work right. I still see them. I still see her.

I can’t hold my breath anymore. Finally, I bring my face out of the water and gasp for air.

If you don’t get out of that tub, I will break down this door. I’ve already called Mom. You’re in big trouble.

I’m intentionally ignoring my oldest brother, Michael, who’s always yelling at me.

Just leave her alone. She’ll come out when she’s ready, My other brother, Mark, tells Michael sternly. Mark always sticks up for me.

Flipping onto my stomach, I turn and float forward a few inches to face the shiny, round metal drain plate. I can see my reflection in it, but it fogs up when I breathe. A cold drop of water trickles from the faucet, plopping on my forehead, making me giggle. I wipe the fog away and stare closely at the warped reflection of my own eyes in the smooth metal. Sometimes you have to do that, you know, to make sure you’re still in there.

She’s been in that tub for, like, forty-five minutes. What’s she trying to do, drown herself? Michael bellows angrily, Get out of that bathtub before I break down the door.

He is such a liar because, according to the clock on the wall, I have not been in the tub for forty-five minutes; I have only been in here for thirty-four minutes. Mom hung the clock on the bathroom wall so we could time our showers. With three kids using the same bathroom, we only get fifteen minutes each to get ready for school.

The clock is shaped like a brown owl sitting on a branch. I named him Arnald. The clock matches the owl patterns on the shower curtain and the toothbrush holder. The bobble eyes of Arnald follow me as if he’s watching me, so I usually drape toilet paper over the eyes while I’m going to the bathroom. I find myself using the clock to time everything: three minutes to brush my teeth, two minutes to floss, thirteen minutes to go number two.

I was underwater for forty-two seconds this time, only ten seconds more than last time. It'll work if I can make it just ten more seconds. I hold my hands up in front of my face for inspection. My alien fingers are pale and wrinkled.

She’s just a little kid playing in the tub, cut her a break, Michael, just go use Mom and Dad’s bathroom, Mark says.

No, that’s not the point. I’m tired of Kelly being so weird all the time.

I hear something metal poking into the door handle. Taking a deep breath, I look at Arnald’s second hand before plunging myself back under the water again.

With my owl pattern towel tight around my body, I step onto my pink bedspread and twirl the stick to close my blinds with my fingers, still wrinkly from the bath.

I pull the pink lacey curtains closed and then turn off my overhead light by the switch. Grabbing my clothes from the dresser, I slip into the closet and close the doors behind me. Dropping my towel, I dress quickly.

Why are you in the closet? I hear Faith say from the other side of the closet door, but I ignore her. I’m not supposed to hear her anymore because I’m born again now. If I ignore her and pretend she’s not there, maybe she’ll go away.

I’m relieved when several moments of silence fill the small closet. Maybe she’s gone. But then my heart fills with sadness. I miss her already. She’s my only friend.

Why did you close the blinds?

Startled, I jump. I can’t hear you, I lie.

And the light, why did you turn the light off?

I squint my eyes tight. Shhhh, I beg. I can’t talk to you anymore. I’m baptized now. They told me I’d stop seeing you now that I have the Lord Jesus in my heart.

Faith giggles, You have always had Jesus in your heart, silly. You were born that way.

Silence fills the closet for so long again that I think she may have finally disappeared.

I peek through the slots in the closet door, but she’s still curled up on my pink bean bag, examining her sparkly fingernails. So, are you going to answer me? Why are we in the dark? Faith asks.

I finally snap, It’s not even dark because it’s daytime, so it’s still kinda light in here without the light on. Now, please just go away! I say, but I panic. She said they went away when you told them to. Oh no, what if she’s gone before I can say goodbye.

Faith? I crawl out of the closet on my hands and knees and plop down next to her on the pink beanbag. She immediately starts combing my wet hair with her fingers. Fine, I’ll tell you, but then you must promise you’ll go away. I sigh sadly, I closed the blinds because they said Jesus is always watching me, and I didn’t want him to see me naked, I admit, embarrassed.

I always felt that way at Christmas time, too. Santa Claus is watching, so you’d better be good. He knows when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’ve been bad or good. Now, I have to be good all year long because Jesus is watchin’ all the time. Plus, Daddy says Mommy has that heart condition, so I have to be good from now on.

Faith stops combing my hair and places her delicate hands on my cheeks, Did you ever stop to consider maybe you’re supposed to see me? Like, maybe I was sent here to protect you, to be your friend? She wipes the tear off my cheek. I turn my face away from her to stare at the small metal cross hanging above the light switch by my door.

I don’t want you to go, but they say you have to go away, I whisper sadly. I’m born again, so I’m not allowed to talk to you anymore. I don’t want to be bad anymore.

Without looking at her, I crawl back into the closet and close the door. Being in the closet, in the dark, is the closest feeling I can get to being underwater. I can block it all out. There are no shadows in the dark.

Alright. But I’ll always be here for you, Kelly. Faith whispers from the other side of the slots in the closet door. You won’t be able to see me or hear me out loud anymore, but if you talk to me in your head, I’ll be there. And don’t ever let them tell you that you’re not good. Do you hear me, Kelly? You are good.

I don’t speak. I nod my head as tears stream down my cheeks. They don’t think I’m good. They think I’m bad.

She breaks into my thoughts as though she’s reading my mind, Kelly, you are not bad. It’s not their fault. They just don’t understand you’re special. Always remember you are special.

THAT SERMON REALLY hit the spot this morning, Mom says as we pull out of the church parking lot. I’m squeezed between Michael and Mark in the back seat of our gold Cutlass Supreme. Dad bought it from a used car lot a few years ago; it smells like feet.

It was a powerful sermon, Dad says. Mom always scoots next to him in the front seat, and they always hold hands.

They’re asking for help with the new youth group, so I signed us up to volunteer. I think the kids will love it. I’ve already put them on the sign-up sheet.

Why do they always talk about us like we’re not here? I turn my head to Mark, looking out the window, resting his chin on his fist. Mark, I whisper. Do you want to ride bikes after lunch? He shrugs. I turn my head to Michael, but he’s already shaking his head no.

The smell of pot roast fills my nostrils as soon as I walk in the front door, making my tummy rumble. Our house isn’t big, sometimes it’s not big enough for our family of five. The living room, dining room, and kitchen are one small open area as you walk in the front door. The kitchen and dining room are combined in a small area to the left, with the living room to the right. The dining room table is wooden with six ugly chairs that Daddy bought from a garage sale. It’s too big for the small dining room, so it also takes up some of the living room. We spend a lot of time at that table between family meals and game nights. We play a board game together at least once a week.

Why is this chair always turned around? Michael rants.

No one has an answer.

It’s an extra chair that came with the dining set. All the other chairs are tucked in the table when we go to bed at night. But every morning, that chair is facing out toward the living room. I once overheard Michael tell Mom, ‘Kelly keeps turning the chair around.’ To which Mom replied, ‘I know.’ I don’t even bother defending myself anymore. So, I try to make it out before anyone else in the early mornings to turn it back in. Sometimes, it happens at other times of the day, too, like today. Maybe when Dad bought it from the garage sale, it still had someone in it.

My family holds hands to say our prayers before we eat. With one hand wrapped in my mom's hand and the other in Mark's, stretched across the empty chair, we say our blessing before diving into pot roast.

Dear Heavenly Father, we ask that you bless the food you have provided for our nourishment today. We thank you, Lord Jesus, for your blessings. And we ask you to continue to bless our family and protect us from evil spirits. Amen.

Our prayers always end with that line, ‘Protect us from the evil spirits.’ I never really thought about it before recently. What do you mean by evil spirit? I ask.

The question lies between my family like a thick fog as they look at each other.

Dad clears his throat, Kind of like a bad...er... ghost. He looks at Mom for approval, and she nods.

Is that what keeps turning the sixth chair around? I ask.

Mom gives him a sideways look before she gets up to pour more milk into my glass, Don’t drink all your milk yet, honey, or you’ll be too full to eat.

I nod, looking back at my dad to finish his explanation, but he’s already on another topic with Michael.

CHAPTER

2

W ho do you think Faith was, Kelly? I mean, do you think she was an imaginary friend or what?

I contemplate this question before answering. I’ve never talked about this with anyone before. I think...I think she’s my guardian angel. Even though I haven't seen her since I was little, I feel her sometimes. I think she's still around.

I look at Dr. Andrew with squinted eyes to gauge his reaction before continuing, The other day, I was waiting outside for my dad to pick me up from the library, and a dragonfly landed on my finger. I sat there with that thing on my finger for, like, fifteen minutes, I swear. I think it was Faith, you know, like in another form or something. I squint my eyes at him again, daring him to disagree.

The orange tabby cat jumps to the third shelf behind him and curls up behind a dusty decorative vase. The corner of its ear twitches as a gnat buzzes around its head. I’m slightly allergic to cats, so I’m glad it usually stays away.

Faith seems like an appropriate name for a guardian angel to have, Dr. Andrew says.

A few minutes of silence pass as I start peeling my fingernails and dropping them to the floor, trying to decide if he's patronizing me.

Finally, I look up at him, That’s probably the name I gave her. I know he doesn’t believe me, but still, it feels good to finally talk about Faith after all this time. I probably made her up. I was just a stupid kid.

Dr. Andrew clears his throat, You’ve been coming to see me almost every Thursday for several years now, Kelly...

Since October 9th, 1980, to be exact, I say.

Uh, OK. You have been coming to see me for five years now. I’m curious. Why haven’t you ever talked about this before? He seems disappointed. I hate disappointing people.

Well... I say in a high-pitched voice. Ever since they ‘fixed’ me by baptizing me and sending me to a shrink...no offense, I tried so hard to be who they wanted me to be for so long. But now I feel like I can’t hold myself in anymore.

Dr. Andrew raises an eyebrow, and I shrug, I can’t help it. Sometimes, my temper flares up over little things, and I blurt things out at inappropriate times. So, I was hoping you would diagnose me with...with something. So, they’ll just be like, Oh, that’s just Kelly. Don’t mind her. She blurts out nonsense because she has Tourette’s. Or maybe a bipolar diagnosis, Don’t mind Kelly’s little temperamental outburst. It’s not her fault. She has bipolar disorder. I shrug, You know, if I’m diagnosed with some type of personality disorder, then they’ll think the way I act isn’t my fault, and they’ll finally accept me for who I am instead of thinking I’m bad.

I see Dr. Andrew trying to hold in a grin. He shakes his head, You don’t have a personality disorder Kelly. You are completely normal.

Ha! Normal. I blurt out. I didn’t know you were a comedian too. But, part of me is relieved to hear him say this.

You’re just on a different level than most people. That’s why they have a hard time understanding you. You are good, Kelly.

I clearly remember the last words Faith said to me, ‘Don’t ever let them tell you that you’re not good.’ I’ve often repeated the words to myself over the years, just one of my mantras to help me control my temper.

I enjoy my time with Dr. Andrew. I look forward to our weekly sessions. I’ve been seeing him so long it feels more like hanging out with a friend. He’s young, maybe in his late twenties, I would guess. He has a baby face with pink cheeks, making him seem younger, though. I feel like I can tell him anything, and he won’t judge me. I hate feeling judged.

I know what you’re going to say, Andrew. You’re gonna say that it’s normal for small children to have imaginary friends, I roll my eyes and continue, I have always seen them, though, the spirits. I’ve just never told anyone until now, I look away, embarrassed.

You can tell me anything, Kelly. Dr. Andrew says gently.

I know.

We usually discuss my daily activities like school, church, and family. He knows I have a hard time being accepted at home, I tell him all about that. He knows everything about me, but I’ve never talked in detail about this.

Some people have the gift of seeing uh...

Ghosts? I pause and continue reluctantly, My mom... I stop and bite what’s left of my pinky nail nervously. It’s raw from chewing on it all the time, but the pain is comforting for some reason. My mom has one. It follows her everywhere. It’s a shadow. I’m not sure, but I think it’s a little girl. Maybe it’s my sister, or would have been. My mom never told me about her. She never told me she lost a child. I just know. When I was real little, I guess I was around three. I remember splashing in the tub with my little friend. Mom scooped me out of the tub, ‘Who were ya talkin’ to, silly girl?’ I remember pointing and getting upset that they didn’t see what I saw.

Dr. Andrew waits patiently as I stop talking to snap my gum repeatedly before continuing, I think that’s when my parents started seeing me differently. The look in their eyes used to scare me. It made me feel like something was wrong with me. They had the preacher come to the house and pray over me a lot.

I stretch my bubble gum out and twirl it around my finger, Seriously, maybe you could just prescribe some medication that would help me be more like they want me to be.

Dr. Andrew reiterates, There is nothing wrong with you, Kelly. Just be yourself. Your family loves you very much.

I flash a sarcastic smile, knowing he doesn’t understand. If he understood, he wouldn’t have said I was normal. It’s not his fault. They love the person they think I am and want me to be. That’s not the real me, though. And I just don’t think I can pretend anymore.

He leans forward. Are you the real you when you’re in this room with me, Kelly?

I take a few seconds to snap my gum while I think about that, Yeah, I think I am.

He smiles and sits back in his chair. Do you think Faith was your Mom’s shadow?

I think about the possibility of that for a long time while digging a paperclip into my raw cuticle. Nah, I don’t think so. Faith would have told me if she was my sister.

MARK AND I INTERRUPT the quiescent silence of the Baptist church as our shoes reverberate up the steps to the second floor. The long hallway leading through the empty Sunday school rooms echoes with our approach.

This is my favorite time to be at church. When it's empty, it seems more spiritual to me. The brick walls and stained-glass windows are filled with sanctity until you fill it with pretentious hypocrites like Michael. I mean, they're not all pretentious hypocrites. Take Mom and Dad (not pretentious hypocrites) for instance. They’re so spiritual that you feel it oozing out of their pores when you stand next to them. Being in their presence makes you want to be a better person. But then others just show up because judging people is their hobby.

Mom and Dad are downstairs now. They’re in charge of the older teenagers’ youth group. Michael is the only one of us old enough to be in that group. That’s ok with Mark and me. Of course, we are supposed to be using one of the empty classrooms to do our homework, being that it’s a Tuesday night. But we try to finish our homework in school so that we can play hide and seek and run around the empty church.

Wednesday nights are the younger teen youth group that Mark and I attend. Michael is our counselor because Wednesday nights are Mom and Dad’s Christian couples retreat nights. It must make for a strong marriage because I never see my parents fight. They’re always hugging, kissing, and saying they love each other. I’m surprised I don’t have ten brothers and sisters the way they act. A family that prays together stays together. It’s their favorite line, so it must be true.

I’m pretty sure being in charge pumps up Michael’s power trip. It’s obvious he’s just trying to show off for Karen. I don’t know what she sees in him. He sucks the fun right out of our youth group.

Mark and I make the most of our free time on Tuesday nights because we don’t get much freedom at home. When we’re not in school, we’re at church or home doing chores and studying.

My only free time away from everyone is at the library. I go there after school a lot. I love to read and do research on random subjects. It makes me feel smart to be able to cite facts about subjects most people don’t know about.

Last one to the water fountain is a rotten egg!

Our shoes squeak across the freshly mopped vinyl floor as we race down the long hallway and slide to the water fountain, leaving black skid marks with our shoes.

Mark taps me on the head, Tag, you’re it. He barely gets the words out before he’s running back down the hallway the same direction we came. I catch my breath and race behind him, but he’s down the stairs three at a time and through the front foyer across to the other side of the church.

I see him turn down the far hallway, so I cut through the other hall to cut him off, where they meet at the back of the church.

Turning the corner, I skid to a halt when Michael comes out of the bathroom. He always has his shoulders arched back and his chest out like he thinks he’s cool or something. His fresh haircut makes his forehead look big.

Michael frowns at me with squinted eyes, We do not run around church, He scolds me like I’m a toddler. Grow up, Kelly, you’re thirteen, not six. When he gets no reaction from me, he throws in, Don’t be so disrespectful to God.

My shame turns to anger. Who does he think he is, judging me like that? I hate being judged.

I lift my angry eyes to meet his, I’m almost fourteen, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun. At least I don’t act like you, seventeen going on sixty. I start running again, but not before a quick flash of my middle finger.

I turn the corner at the end of the hall and run into Mark, giggling. Tag you’re it. But don’t go down that hall, or Michael will lecture you. I take off and look back to see Mark just standing there. I know he’s afraid to get in trouble. Don’t be such a rule follower, I taunt as I run down the hall and round the corner. The overhead lights create a shadow on the dingy linoleum floor that seems to be beckoning me. I can hear Mark's footsteps behind me, so I pick up my pace, happy that he started running after me despite his reluctance.

Come on, slowpoke, you can’t catch me!

I follow the shadow out the church's front door, laughing, but we’re not supposed to leave the building, so when I look back, Mark’s face is up against the glass window of the front door.

Rule follower!

I know he won’t come