thankful Gram hadn’t cleaned it for me. She knew I needed to see for myself what damage I had done.
My section of the room was on the north wall. My bed had not been
disturbed by my night terror. The purple bedspread was in place, and the lime green pillows had not been touched. My small, black lamp sat on my white
nightstand. Perched up against it, undisturbed, were a little stuffed wolf and a tiny lamb. Gram had given them to me when I was younger, to comfort me when
I was scared.
I followed a small trail of blood around my bed to the corner where it pooled.
Pulling out a fresh rag, Gram's homemade cleaning solution, and a large paper bag from the bucket of supplies, I set to work. Taking care not to cut myself, I
put the broken pieces of glass into the bag before I scrubbed the dark blood off
the floor. With it as clean as possible, I sought my next project.
My long dresser was bare since everything had been thrown onto the floor.
Most things were still in good condition. They just needed to be wiped off where
the blood droplets had dried. As I cleaned each item, I put everything back into
the correct place.
Wiping down my black and white polka dot makeup bag, I realized it held
more cosmetics than I would ever use. I always find myself wanting to try new
things, I thought with a gentle shake of my head. I ought to throw half of thisstuff away without bothering to clean them. Of course, feeling extremely clingy to my things, that’s not what I did.
In complete contrast to the bag, my white, porcelain jewelry box was less
full. I placed my silver earrings, rainbow bangles, and barrettes back into the container. I replaced the lid and set it on the dresser, where I stared at the box for a moment. I felt like I was seeing it with fresh eyes. I knew the flower's half petals, which decorated the case, had represented the four elements. However, I
never really understood how much they were around me.
“Thank you for always being here for me, even when I didn't know you
were,” I said to the elements. The arch-shaped petals each came to life for the
briefest moment and danced in front of me. It was as if they said, “You're welcome.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the broken picture frame that injured me. I
took the color photo of my parents from it and threw the rest into the garbage bag. I loved this image of my parents.
My mother's hair was pulled high on top of her head with large curls
cascading over her shoulders. Always stylish, she had chosen a short, dark green
dress, and white thigh-high boots. The four-inch heels matched her height to my
father, Elliott Stone.
They were a beautiful couple. While my mother was fair, he looked sun-
kissed. The contract was aesthetically pleasing.
My father’s blond hair was short and spiked. He stood six feet tall with a slender frame. He wore a matching dark green shirt and a light pair of khakis.
His soft green eyes were joy-filled, and a big smile was on his face.
At first look, they seemed so happy, but as I continued to examine the
picture, something felt wrong. I could not put my finger on exactly what was disturbing me. Perhaps it was the darkness in Eliza’s eyes, which I had never noticed before.
I initially found this picture after my mother left. When I showed it to Gram,
she told me it was taken on the day Eliza found out they were expecting me. I
was so excited to have the first family photo.
Now, holding it in front of me, I wanted to tear it up and erase her from my
memory, forgetting she existed. As I contemplated destroying it, I found myself
examining it more carefully. My gut told me I was missing something, so I continued to search for the answer.
