Hazy Dreams and Mint Ice Cream

Missy, the truck

Note To Readers- whenever you see (' ') that means that they're signing. Because, personally, I think it'd sound a bit repetitive saying she signed, he signed, we signed.

Sorry this chapter is long but you get to know more about Fey's past in this chapter. I hope it's not too confusing. If it is, please let me know in the comments and I'll try and clear things up.

Thanks :)

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•Chapter Three•

I hated being out here in the woods because it always made me think of the past and what could have been.

What it would have been like if Dad was still alive, if Mom hadn't left, and if Uncle Julio was still here.

Mom had thrown in the towel shortly after Dad died. I was so little at the time that I don't even remember really what Dad even looked like. Mom stayed with me for a few years after Dad died but I guess one day she just couldn't take it anymore.

She couldn't take me anymore.

'I have to go.' She told me, hurrying around our tiny apartment with a frenzied look on her face.

'Mommy, what's wrong?' My seven year old self signed to her but she didn't even look up, not paying any attention to me just like she'd always did. The next thing I knew, Mom was shoving me into the arms of a sobbing Rosalind as she got back in the car, speeding off without looking back.

Mom was born deaf and her mom gave her up for adoption because when she found out that my mom's ears weren't properly developed, she didn't want to be labeled "the teen mom of the deaf kid." So she did what any teenager does in a crisis, they get scared and give up.

My mom was raised by a couple who were deaf. The wife was a charming young woman who wasn't able to have children, so the couple adopted.

My aunt Rosalind and my mom bonded instantly, becoming sisters as they lived and grew together up.

My aunt isn't deaf though, she can hear just fine. But whenever she talks, she still signs even though both of us can hear.

Out of curiosity and loneliness, I continued to learn how to sign even though Mom was long gone. It made me feel like I was connected to my mom in some way, like ASL (American Sign Language) still held our tattered relationship together somehow, like duct tape.

But she never came back, never had, and probably never will. Not a single call in these thirteen years, not even a birthday card.

Nothing.

Rosalind was always so sweet about it, saying how my mom had a busy life, she was a busy woman in the deaf community.

And I believed her for quite sometime until one day on the news: "We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news! The ruthless diamond thief, nicknamed The Shadowess, has been CAUGHT!"

"Come on, Fey, let's watch something else," Auntie had said, her finger already pressing another number when the news station suddenly showed The Shadowess's picture, her famous mask ripped off her face, exposing her to the world.

'Auntie! That was Mom!' I exclaimed, my hands flying all over the place. 'Go back, GO BACK!'

'No,' Aunt Rosalind's hands said, 'that wasn't your mother. Now go to bed, Fey, you are past your bedtime.' I glared at her, knowing my mother when I saw her.

'Look me in the eye, Auntie, and tell me that wasn't her.' I challenged, my hand movements sharp and angry, each sign feeling like a word coming from my mouth. But I was too angry to speak.

Aunt Rosalind looked down at the floor, shuffling her feet, as Uncle Julio walked into the living room.

'What's going on?' He signed to his wife, looking between the two of us.

'Mom is The Shadowess, isn't she?' I asked, glaring at him before I stormed past them both.

My mom was a criminal, well this'll score me some extra points on my college resumé.

She's still in prison, wasting away, for all the deeds she committed. Why did she leave in the first place? Maybe if she had brought me with her, she wouldn't have resorted to doing such a thing.

But we'll never know will we? I asked myself, pushing a branch away as I walked toward the dirt road, preparing to cross, when a pair of headlights blinded me.

The truck slowed to a stop in front of me, spewing a cloud of smoke from the exhaust in the process. "Need a ride?" The driver asked. I squinted at him. I've heard that voice before, where have I heard it from?

Hillsdale was quite a small town, little over three hundred. I knew almost everyone, some better then others. And I thought for sure that I knew who this was but of course his name was evading me at the very moment.

"Hey, you're Fey Polanski, aren't you?" I cringed when he used my actual last name instead of my aunt's.

Of course at school, Polanski was the name that was on the attendance sheet so that's what I was called. But it didn't feel right.

Dad wasn't here and I didn't need any more reminders that Mom wasn't there, I wanted it to be Rosalind's last name. I felt more like her daughter then I did with my own mother.

But we didn't want to jump through all the loops of legally changing my name so I stayed a Polanski, but I feel like a Tallez, (pronounced tay-az).

"Yes, I'm she." I said, walking all the way up to the passenger window. Bright blonde hair, emerald green eyes, a tan face and a freckled nose met my eyes as I looked at the driver.

"Where yeah headed?" He asked me, leaning closer. Ah, what is your name?! I know you!

"Home," I said flatly, knowing exactly what I would find when I got there.

Aunt Rosalind, crying, clutching one of his paintings, her tears soaking the canvas. Just the image in my mind was too much to bear.

"Where are you going?" I asked him, putting my arms up on the door, setting them on the open window.

"The Empty Canvas." He replied as the truck began to shutter. "It's been idling too long! No, Missy, don't die on me!" He exclaimed, leaping out the driver's door as he ran to the engine, lifting up the hood as a bellow of black smoke engulfed his face.

The Empty Canvas, why does that sound so familiar? I asked myself, walking over to the boy as he furiously navigated through the engine's labyrinth of wires, his hands already covered in oil.

"You named your truck Missy?" I asked him, trying to not laugh. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, brushing it out of his eyes as he turned to face me.

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" He asked. I smirked, putting my hands in my short pockets.

"No, very creative. My grandma used to have a dog named Missy. She was a good dog, part Blue Heeler, part Australian Shepard. She was a good farm dog, a nice dependable dog."

"What happened?" He asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wrench. Really, who keeps a wrench in their pocket?

"She, uh..." It was still hard to say the "D word" after everything that had happened with Julio.

Everyone said: "he's in a better place," "he's no longer with us," "he passed on," "his spirit is now at peace." But the word, THE word, was raw and made it all seem so real, made it seem like it had actually happened.

Like he was actually gone.

"Are you crying?" The boy asked, stopping his tinkering to look at me, reaching to pat me on the shoulder. "She must have been a great dog." I flinched away from his hand, spinning on my heel and beginning to walk back down the road towards home.

What was left of it.