Between Then & Now || Currently Editing for Wattys 2022

34.

I found a few hiking trails nearby. I guess I ended up in Brecksville, Ohio. A part of the Cuyahoga National Park lies near the outskirts of the town, so I set my GPS as far to the middle of the town's parks as I could get and ended up in some gravel lot. It's different from all the others I've slept in over the past few weeks. But, at this point, it's the same.

I take a deep breath in, letting my body mold itself to the yoga mat underneath me. I hadn't opened the books I had bought yet. My mom's voice has been ringing in my head nonstop, telling me to just meditate. So, I did. But it's hard to focus on not focusing on anything right now. So, I've resorted to just staring at the trees. Again.

Suddenly, something flutters across my vision, and I turn my head sharply to catch it. What could it be? My eyes scan the trees to my right, trying to focus on the small, flittering object but then a ruffling comes in my left and I turn my head again before a small pressure appears on my left hand.

When I look down, I see it. The tiny bird with the long, black beak. In the sunlight, its green feathers glimmer, and I'm careful not to move so as not to scare it away.

How beautiful.

The hummingbird cocks its head to the right, appearing to be listening for something. In the distance, a melodic squeaking makes its way out from between the trees and, after a moment, the bird on my hand opens its beak, mimicking the noise. Then, it turns its head again, listening, and I try my hardest to remain completely still. But Thelma oafishly waddles up, trying to smell the bird like some tree, and it flutters away.

"Thelma," I groan and lay down on the mat. She just comes and lays down right next to me. For a moment, I don't move. Then, I roll over on my side and pet her. She raises her head and sniffs me before licking my chin. Her breath is rancid, and I wrinkle my nose. "Alright, okay. Thanks for that." She tucks her head as if she understands me and I giggle.

Part of me is still angry with Dante. And Jo. But the other part knows that they were just some people who came into my life for a fleeting moment, that I have only known them for a week, that whatever happened shouldn't be affecting me as much as I've been letting it. And I know the last part is right. It still hurts but I know that, really, it doesn't really matter.

Just back to where I started, I guess.

The wind flutters in the trees, and the sun has begun to set. The sky isn't completely dark, yet, but I can already tell that there aren't nearly as many stars here as there had been in the glowing forest. Kind of a depressing sight, but I suppose things can't always be beautiful all the time.

I sit up and look over at the trees one last time. Normally, I would call my mom. Talk about what's happening, maybe get a grip over where I should go next, what I should be doing. But, right now, that's the last thing I want to do. Because I don't want to hear about chakras or crystals or herbs right now. I want real advice–real life advice. And to just be told that everything is going to be okay.

I want my grandpa.

He would probably tell me to shrug it off. To not let it bother me because I've only been alive for twenty-two years and I don't need to be worrying about men right now or being super financially stable or having everything figured out. I should be having fun and living my life.

But that's so hard to do when I don't even know what the hell my life is right now.

I sigh and whistle for Thelma who's found some spot on the ground to sniff at. She perks her white and black ears up and hops over to me through the long grass, trotting next to me as I finish rolling my mat up and walking toward the van. It's hot and sticky, so I make sure to turn on the solar-powered air conditioning in the van before settling in for the night and brushing my teeth.

Before going to bed, I pick up my phone to figure out where I'll be headed for the next day. The map I had sketched out before even getting on the road is not even close to relevant anymore and, now, I'm just going wherever the road takes me.

Straight to my inbox, again. I click on the email, from the same address from before, eyes scanning the screen.

Ola,

I know you might hate me. Sometimes, I hate myself, too, for leaving you and your mom. But there's a lot to the story you don't know.

I'm not looking for your forgiveness. I'm not sure that it's my place to ask for something that I don't necessarily deserve. I know you might not ever forgive me, and I know that that's not your fault.

I don't know how to say this. I figured your mother would have told you by now. And I don't mean to guilt you or beg for you to come see me or even respond to this. But I do think you should at least know. 

I was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer about four months ago. At the time you'll be reading this, I'll have about a month left. The doctors have done everything they could to help me. But that's just how life goes. You live. Until it decides you shouldn't, anymore.

Like I said, I'm not trying to guilt you into coming to see me one last time. But I wouldn't mind if you did. If that's the last thing I could get in this life. I wouldn't mind it.

I do miss and love you, LalaBel. I just wish I could go back and change things.

Love, Tata

I blink, pulling away from my phone. My eyes tear up but I don't feel sad. Just... numb? Like, what the hell am I supposed to do with that? Hey, sorry I ditched you and your mom with no explanation but, by the way, I have cancer and now I'm going to die.

What does he want? Forgiveness so he can transition into Heaven peacefully? Does he want reassurance? Reassurance for what?

I didn't even know you, anymore. I don't know what your face looks like or how your voice sounds or if you would even recognize me. I don't have any memories of you teaching me how to change the tires on cars or teasing me about boys or watching me graduate high school. Or college. You're a stranger. Yet, you're not.

I look down at the screen, my eyes trace the outline of the black word against the white of my inbox. Tata.