Evan Elemental (The Evan Elemental Series)
Read Evan Elemental (The Evan Elemental Series) Online
Authors: Crystal Groszek
Book
One
Crystal
Groszek
Copyright 2013
Crystal Groszek
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This book is a
work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places,
events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the
author's imagination and used fictitiously.
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of Contents
To my mother
Carolyn and my grandma Colleen- You said I could do it, so I did. And to
Patrick, my bright star.
I'd just like
to thank all of you who have encouraged me (maybe even hounded me) and helped
me along the way: PP, CG, CF, AA, SK, AP. Without you, I wouldn't have gotten
this far.
Car Ride
Hospital
waiting rooms are never hopeful; the fluorescent lights, the sticky plastic
chairs. There's always beeping, somewhere, in the deep hidden unknown, always
footfalls that never come to relieve you.
A
hospital waiting room is where I come to find myself one Saturday night,
wearing a yellow dress, the damp scent of spring rain clinging to my hair.
My ears
are clogged with the sounds of metal on metal on pavement. My eyes are blinded
by red and blue flashing lights. The dress I wear is silk. It's rumpled from
standing in the rain on the side of the road. I am unharmed. The blood caked on
my bare knees is not my own.
I cross
and uncross my legs. Footfalls echo around me but nobody comes. The chaos of
the emergency is swallowed up and cancelled out by the waiting room. A woman
and her son come to wait, too. They watch me with wary faces. I must look
bizarre in my party dress with my hair a mess and my eye makeup streaming in
rivulets down my face. I'm crying, but I barely notice. Nobody comes to tell me
what has happened, but I know.
The
crisp snap of heels sounds on the tile. I can smell her perfume from the
hallway. The scent of exotic flowers cuts into the stale air.
"Evan!
Oh, my god. Why are you in here?"
I turn
my head to see my Aunt
Lilian
striding toward me. Her
ever-confident demeanor still radiates off of her, but I can see a change in
her eyes: a vulnerability that I have never seen there before. It confirms for
me the hard desolate feeling that has blossomed in my soul.
"I
think they forgot about me," I say emotionlessly.
Lilian's
jaw trembles, another sign of
weakness foreign to her face. She takes several breaths but doesn't speak. I
stand, feeling the tenseness in my body for the first time. I ache all over and
I can't tell if it's because of the accident or my nerves.
Lilian
pulls me into her arms, the
scent of eucalyptus, coconut, and some tropical flower I never knew the name
of, envelopes me. She murmurs things about how it will be okay and how we'll
figure it out. I pull back and look at her.
"So
they are..." my voice breaks and I can't speak.
Lilian's
eyes go wide when she realizes nobody has actually told me.
The
disorganization seems to snap her back into herself. She lets go of me and
raises her chin. The vulnerability is gone, replaced by steely resolve. I can
tell it will be a look I'll come to know in the coming days, and not just from
Lilian
,
but
from everyone who will
have to deal with me.
Lilian
explains that my mother and
father have died as a result of injuries sustained in the automobile accident.
No lie, she says it just like that. I feel a giggle rise up in my throat
unbidden. I stifle it behind my hand.
Lilian
takes it
for a sob and hugs me. She asks if I want to see them and I decline. It's not
necessary,
I'm not in denial.
After
making sure I have a thorough examination,
Lilian
takes me home. The house is silent but warm. Rain falls steadily, the sound
making the house feel even cozier.
Lilian
goes around
the house and turns all the lights on. She doesn't seem to stop moving, as if
the motion will erase what has been done.
"Are
you hungry?" she asks stopping in front of me where I sit on the couch
staring at my lap.
"No.
We were on our way back from dinner. I ate too much." My voice still
sounds odd and emotionless. I wonder if I'll ever feel anything again. I fold
and unfold my hands. My dress looks like it's ruined. "I think I'll just
go to bed. I'm very tired."
I
manage a half smile before quickly leaving the room. My bedroom is colder than
the rest of the house. I turn the dial on the thermostat until I hear the tiny
buzz that heralds the oncoming of heat.
With
stiff limbs I peel off the dress and leave it in a damp, lemony heap on the
floor. I consider taking a shower, but I don't want to wash the night off of me
yet. The jasmine perfume I borrowed from my mother still clings to my skin. My
hair has unraveled from its perfect curls and has returned to its former
pin-straight glory, except frizzier. I pluck out the bobby pins that still hold
it in place and let my hair tumble down past my shoulders. The ends tickle the
bare skin on the middle of my back.
There
is still blood on my knees, but I ignore it and crawl into bed. I press my face
into the coolness of my pillow. Red and blue lights flash behind my eyelids.
The sound of metal on metal on pavement screams in my ears. I press my lips
together and will myself to sleep.
On
Sundays my mother always made breakfast. It was the only day of the week we sat
together as a family and ate. Usually, I ate dinner with one parent or the
other. That Saturday night had been an exception; we were celebrating.
The
morning after the accident, I wake to a silent house. No mom singing out of
tune while trying, and usually failing, to make waffles. No dad standing
outside my door reading the headlines from the Sunday Times in a loud, comical
British accent until I get out of bed.
The
silence that greets me as my eyes flutter open is complete. My body still feels
sore; my
skin like
one giant bruise. I sit up and
throw off my blankets. The room is sweltering; I had cranked up the heat
farther than I'd meant to. The yellow dress is gone from the floor and the door
is slightly ajar, both signs that
Lilian
has been
here.
I turn
off the noise in my head as best I can and focus on getting up and getting
dressed. Sweat cakes my body and there is blood on my legs and some on my
forearms that I hadn't noticed before. I hop out of bed and quickly shut the
door. I peel off my bra and underwear, head into the bathroom off my room, and
step into the shower.
I turn
the water up hotter than I can stand. When it hits my skin it feels like all of
the tension I have been holding spills out of my body, leaving me feeling weak
and trembling. The tears come fast and hard, but I manage to choke down any
sobs.
After
the short wave of emotion subsides I am more relaxed. I go to work scouring
every inch of my body with a
loofah
, until my skin is
bright red. The blistering hot water runs cold eventually and I snap the faucet
off.
I wrap
myself in a thick pink towel and head to my closet, flinging the doors open
wide. I stand there looking at my clothes, all of my things, for a long time
before I realize that I've totally checked out. I glance at the clock: it's
been twenty minutes since I got out of the shower. I've lost twenty minutes of
time without noticing.
I shake
off the edgy feeling that has crept up on me and grab clothes at random,
tossing an assortment of blouses and dresses on to my bed. From the pile, I
choose a pink long-sleeved light wool dress. The only way I make it through the
task is by concentrating only on getting dressed and shutting out all other
thoughts. If I think, then I'll probably never leave this room.
A pair
of soft grey tights and ballet flats completes the ensemble. I stand in front
of the mirror and arrange my hair into a shiny knot. The activity does little
to quell the building numbness that has worked its way from deep inside of me,
outward, until I can barely feel my limbs. It feels like I'm doing everything
with someone else's body.
I stop
and let my arms fall to my sides. My reflection stares back at me, but I am
unseeing. It has been less than twenty-four hours and in that short time my
entire life has changed. I'm not the first girl to lose both of her parents,
and I certainly won't be the last, but the pain is so great, so intense and
complete, that it's difficult for me to believe that anyone could have ever
lived through this before.
I am
alone in the world. Luckily, this is a feeling I've become comfortable with.
For as long as I can remember, I've been a loner. It turns out that being
pretty, smart, and well off doesn't matter very much when it comes to friends
and popularity. You have to want it. You have to want participate, to be
noticed, and I never have.
As I
stare at myself, dressed in clothes I bought because it made my mother happy, I
can sense the hole inside of me; it eats at my grief and swallows it whole, until
I'm left emptier than before. I ignore the blistering ache in my heart and head
downstairs.
Lilian
is in the kitchen talking in a
low voice on her cell phone. There’s an assortment of bagels and pastries laid
out on the granite countertop. I pick at a
danish
, finding myself hungrier than I expected. I
try to listen in on
Lilian's
conversation, but she's
speaking too low. Every so often she casts a wary glance over her shoulder in
my direction.
I push
the pastry aside and start to get up.
Lilian
turns around
and raises a finger, signaling me to stay put. I shift uneasily and pick at my
sleeve. I already know what she's going to say and I don't want to hear it. It
isn't going to be okay, not really, but I'll make it. I want to tell her that,
but the words rise and die in my throat in waves.
After a
minute,
Lilian
hangs up her phone and sits down on a
stool at the breakfast bar. She motions for me to sit too. I hesitate before
complying. We stare at each other for a full minute without saying anything. I
fold my hands on the counter in front of me and square my shoulders. A flash of
surprise crosses
Lilian's
face.
"Evan
..
." She pauses as if I'm going to interrupt her. I
don't, so she continues. "Evan, what happened was awful, beyond awful. You
lost your parents. I lost my brother." She stops speaking; her eyes blink
furiously, keeping the tears back just barely. I look down at my hands. My
knuckles are white.
"What
I'm trying to say is..." She swallows hard, tears now falling freely down
her face and pooling in small puddles on the countertop. "What I'm trying
to say is that I honestly don't know what to say. Evan, I am so sorry."
The last part comes out in a wet sob. I jump up, rush around the counter, and
pull
Lilian
into my arms. I let her sob against me until
she's quiet. My own tears are numb inside of me, but the pain is still raw.
Lilian
pulls back and wipes her face
on the sleeve of her plum-colored cashmere sweater. She looks up at me with a
guilty expression and opens her mouth to speak, probably to apologize.
"Aunt
Lily, please, it's okay," I reassure her. "You're allowed to be
upset. You don't have to always keep it together. The world won't end just
because you fall apart for a second."
She
gives a short, hollow laugh. "I was going to tell you the same
thing."
I give
her what I hope is a brave smile and excuse myself. On the way back to my room,
I stop at my mom and dad's shared office and grab a bottle of gin from the
liquor cabinet. Once back in my room I lock the door and sit at my desk. I pour
a generous glass from the clear blue bottle without bothering to mix it with
anything.
The
first sip burns a little and has a pleasantly bitter aftertaste. I finish the
glass and pour another. The sunlight burns bright and fades away as time
passes.
Lilian
doesn't bother me once. The alcohol
leaves me dizzy and exhausted. When I finally stand, my legs give out and I
collapse on the bed, pressing my eyes shut. The room spins inside my head, but
all is silent; no scraping metal, no flashing lights. Sleep comes on easy and
dreamless.
I have
no idea what the days to come will bring and I need this cold dead sleep to
begin to repair the newly broken things inside of me.