Far From You (12 page)

I watch the fire burn

from inside the car,

my warm breath

creating a foggy spot

on the window.

I write my name

with my fingertip,

like I did

when I was little.

A L I C E

It’s then I notice

the word

“ice”

in my name.

How

appropriate.

As the fire burns,

Alice

and the Caterpillar

and the White Rabbit

keep us company.

My mother

told me her favorite part

of the book one time,

but I can’t remember

what it was.

I flip

the pages,

looking,

searching

for a piece of my mother

in the story.

It feels

hopeless.

As I watch

the sun

slip away

for the night,

and the flames

of the fire fade,

hopelessness

is

a

feeling

more

and

more

familiar

to

me.

I reach

for my guitar.

My constant companion

through the sad and lonely times.

As I think of Victoria,

my dad, and Blaze,

the hopelessness is so strong,

I can taste it.

My fingers strum,

and I hum a tune.

There are no words

for what I’m feeling

inside.

Smoke

and music

fill the air.

There is

no choice.

In the morning

they’ll be one,

rising together

to create

a beautiful

melody

called

Hope
.

VICTORIA:

one bottle of water

four layers of clothes

ten frozen fingers and toes

forty-eight hours of icy hell

US:

one fire burning

two warm bodies in the sleeping bag

six bottles of formula

forty pages of
Alice in Wonderland

Numbers don’t lie.

She should have stayed with us.

We made a mistake.

A mistake

we will all pay for

one million times over.

Tired

of the

cold

Tired

of the

hunger

Tired

of the

deadly

silence

I am

so

very

tired

I

want

to

rest

When I wake up,

early in the morning,

the sun barely

visible

and the blackness

disappearing

just enough

so I can see,

I go outside

and look

for the angel I made.

She’s gone,

of course,

covered by

fresh, new snow.

I make another one.

When I’m done,

I don’t get up.

I stay there

and dream of

flying away

to the place

where angels

live happily

ever

after.

And then

the real angel visits again,

her light

illuminating the world

around me.

I try to see her face,

but she appears to be

faceless.

Warmth engulfs

and soothes me,

like a warm bubble bath

on a cold winter’s night.

She whispers my name.

“Alice.”

I can’t make my lips

say her name.

“Don’t give up,” she says so softly,

I can hardly hear her.

“Help is coming.”

Then, as quickly

as she appeared,

she’s gone again.

After seeing

the angel again,

a surge of energy

fuels me.

Ivy’s cries

pull me up

to face reality

one more time.

I make another fire,

and throw part of my

heart on it

when I break my guitar

against a tree

and place it there.

Heartbroken.

The orange flames

pop and grow,

blazing brightly.

I feel Blaze’s presence

in the fire,

and it gives me strength.

I think back

to when Vic and I

sang campfire songs.

I wish she were here

to sing with me now.

As the fire burns,

wood turning to ash,

death fills my mind,

and I swear to myself

there can be

no more.

When the fire

is big and strong,

I place the floor mats there,

to make more

dark smoke.

It works.

I kneel by the fire,

thinking of Victoria

and all she

must have endured,

and hate myself

for not making her stay.

When the car

runs out of gas

a little while later,

I feed Ivy

the last

of the formula.

And then I strip us down

so I can give her

the heat of my body

in the sleeping bag.

As I hold her

and look

at her little eyes,

her little nose,

her little mouth,

and her little fingers and toes,

I remember my mother’s words.

Find the gift in the little things.

And remember, I am with you always.

I didn’t see the gift.

Just like I didn’t see

the angel made of stars

in the painting at first,

I didn’t see the gift in Ivy.

But I do now.

And I want to enjoy the gift

for years

and years

to come.

Ivy and I

are sleeping,

deep inside

the sleeping bag,

when I hear

something.

Is it the angel?

Has she come back?

Like that morning

weeks ago,

I don’t open my eyes.

I don’t move.

I don’t speak.

Every part of me

seems to be

frozen.

“Ali, sweetheart, we’re here.

Hang on, honey.

Just hang on.”

Dad?

Am I dreaming?

There is lots of noise.

There is the feeling of flying.

There is my body being poked and prodded,

and warmth and tingling.

There is me thinking, I did it.

I made it.

There is also me wondering,

Am I the

only

one?

A warm pillow

holds my head.

A warm hand

holds mine.

A warm voice

speaks to me.

I float

in the warmth.

Like I’m

floating along

on a warm,

soft cloud.

I like

it here.

Safe.

Soft.

Warm.

She visits me.

She rubs my back.

She kisses my cheek.

My angel.

She is as clear as the sky

on a winter day

when the storm has passed

and all that’s left

is baby blue.

“Did they make it?” I ask.

“Alice, you have to go back.”

“Please tell me. I have to know.”

She pulls me to her,

holds me,

and strokes my hair,

just like I did

with Ivy.

“You were so brave,” she whispers.

Tears spring

from nowhere

and everywhere.

My heart cries the loudest.

I don’t want to face the truth.

I don’t want to go back.

I don’t want to leave

my angel

of a mother.

“I miss you,” I cry.

“I miss you so much.”

She holds me

like she used to

before bedtime.

The words

from her painting

sing in my brain.

I am with you always

But it makes me mad

because it’s

not really

true.

I squeeze her,

wanting to hold on forever,

afraid of what will happen

when I let go.

Finally

she pulls away,

but I clutch

her hand tightly

in mine.

“I don’t want to go,” I tell her.

She cups my chin

with her other hand,

and her soft eyes

hug mine.

“You don’t belong here, honey.”

“But Mom, I’m losing you.

It’s getting harder and harder to find you.”

She kisses my forehead.

“Honey, no matter where you are, I’m with you.

When the breeze brushes your cheek, that’s me.

When the stars sparkle and shine, that’s me.

When the tulips bloom in the spring, that’s me.”

The little things.

She’s there,

in the little things.

Voices

from far away

shake me.

Dad calls

my name.

She squeezes my hand and says,

“It’s time to go.

But I’ll be with you.”

“Mom, what was your favorite part in
Alice in

Wonderland
?

I can’t remember, and I have to know.”

“It’s a famous line of Alice’s.

About going back to yesterday.

You’ll find it. When you get home.”

Home.

Where I belong.

With Dad.

With Blaze.

With Claire.

With Ivy (I hope).

Home.

And then

I’m floating again.

Falling

and floating

through a sky

filled with love.

So much love.

Everywhere.

I land softly

next to Dad,

where he whispers in my ear,

“Don’t leave me, Ali.

Please.

I can’t lose you, too.”

The light lingers,

but then

begins

to

fade.

Lighter

and lighter,

softer

and softer,

until

it disappears

completely.

My eyes

flutter open

and meet his.

Tears

of joy

pour

forth.

“Ali,” he whispers.

“Is she—?” I croak.

“What, honey?

What do you need?”

“Ivy,” I say.

A kiss

on my forehead,

his stubble

tickling

my skin.

“She’s fine,” he tells me,

tears still falling

from his face to my pillow.

“You kept her safe.

And I’m so proud of you.”

My eyes close

as I try to keep

my own tears

contained.

But there is one more question

that lingers.

I start to say it.

I start to say

the other name

I’m thinking of.

But I can’t

because I know

his tears of joy

will quickly turn

to tears of grief.

And I have already

seen enough of those

to last

ten lifetimes.

Dad puts a straw

into my mouth

and I sip.

The cool water

soothes my throat.

But not the pain I feel.

I wish I hadn’t had a fight with Claire.

I wish I hadn’t broken my phone.

I wish I hadn’t fallen asleep while we drove.

I wish I’d found the lighter sooner.

I wish I’d made her stay.

I wish

I wish

I wish…

She probably

took a thousand

painful steps

for a baby

who will never know

her mother.

A thousand

painful steps

for me.

I wish I’d

taken those steps

instead.