For My Aching Soul

Chapter 3

Sherby's was perhaps my second favorite place in this small town...in this fairly large city. It had a certain homey charm with its milkshake and fries special and Cheesy Cheeseburgers that were way cheesier than the name suggested. My favorite thing from Sherby's was the classic vanilla ice-cream with pink sprinkles...it was award winning.

Okay to be honest...it wasn't that good but it reminded me of my mother. When I was little she would take me here. She'd buy me an ice-cream cone, just like the one I now had in my right hand, my left busy stealing Abriana's fries, and herself a chicken and waffle plate. We'd sit for hours just talking and laughing until it got dark.

I'd always fall asleep in the booth and she'd have to call my father, Richard, to come get us. He'd tickle my neck to wake me then scoop me into his arms and take me to the car. My mother would giggle in awe behind us. Looking at my father now, it was hard to remember him as a decent loving man.

"Earth to Nicole!" Abriana waves her fry in front of my face to get my attention which was stolen away momentarily by my daydreaming. I grab the fry and shove it into my mouth before taking another lick of my ice-cream.

I pretended to listen while she went on about how she was sure the cashier, Kent, gave her back too much change because he had a crush on her. Or maybe he didn't do so well in math, I thought before going back to busying myself with thinking about how much time had passed yet I could still see my mother everywhere.

Luanne Olivia Sinclair.

The extremely tan free spirited ballerina turn wife turn mother then ballerina again, whose husband and endless list of friends called Olly.

Her blonde thick curly hair like a lion's mane. Her perfect posture a constant reminder of her utter grace and perfection. Her infectious laugh that beckoned from her plump pick lips like a call to attention. Her hazel eyes were like the beach, warm and inviting.

My best friend, my protector, the ultimate story teller, my cushion...my safe place to fall.

One moment we were bouncing around the house while my father was away one another one of his business ventures. The next she was in a hospital bed battling stage four leukemia and my father was figuring out how to plait my hair.

It happened really fast. The point of her diagnosis to the point of her death. I watched as she degraded slowly yet quickly. I watched as her once Carmel skin turned to a pale washed out brown...the color of dirty tap water. I witnessed her fiery blonde hair become limp...then non-existent.

The funny thing is, I don't recall shedding a tear when she died. Not even when they lowered her casket-cased body into a hole.
Her last wish was for me to promise to never stop dancing. Six years later and here I am, fulfilling my mother's wishes. This studio meant the world to me. It was where my mother did her first plié. It was where she conceived her love for music and dance. It was where she spent most her life before it was unfairly ripped from her.

When my father, a wealthy investment broker,  met her he was looking to buy Stanley right out from under Chris' nose. But my mother loved that place and he loved my mother so it didn't take much for her to convince him to leave it alone.

When my mother died, my father detached himself from all things Olly, including me. We haven't had a good relationship since. I spend most my time alone while he's away in other states and countries looking to make more money than he knows what to do with.

I often went over to Chris and Junie's for dinner when I couldn't be bothered with cold pizza. It was both a joy and a pain to hear stories of my mother's initial clumsiness when it came to dance. Sometimes I feel like I really never knew her at all...other times I think her spirit lives within me.

Stanley was my only bind to her. When I looked into the mirror at my long brown curly locks, honey skin, bright hazel eyes and full lips...I see her. Perhaps this is why my father can't stand to look me in the eyes....or any other part of me for that matter.

"I'm gonna find a new best friend who actually gives a crap about my man problems," Abriana leaned back into the pale red backing of the booth, shoved her hands into the pocket of her green sweater and sighed with a pointed look on her face.

"I'm sorry A, sometimes I get lost in thought being here," I look down on my melting cone for a second then get up to throw the rest away before she has a chance to say anything.
lol
After that we walk home and part ways. As I walk up my stone driveway I see my father's all too clean black Audi parked perfectly parallel of the dying apply tree rooted in the neatly cut front lawn.

"Think of the devil and he appears," I mutter to myself with a sigh before heading inside.