Nothing to Remember (K)

Bubbles

Floating.

I am floating on huge, billowing bubbles.

All around me are the flimsy spheres, but they do not pop into millions of suds. Instead, they support my weight, cradle my body like a cocoon, and keep me suspended in midair. I laugh, because this is the only time in ages that I have felt truly free.

"Aria," a voice whispers in my ear, but the whisper floats away before I can determine who it is. I keep my eyes closed and stroke the smooth surface of the bubbles with my fingertips.

Dappled sunlight swirls and shifts over my eyelids, determining the difference between red and black. I watch the dots for what seems like an eternity. I have my own fireworks show, I think foggily.

"Arabella," a different, deeper voice murmurs in my ear. I stir but am still mesmerized by the glowing red clouds that I am seeing.

Finally a high pitched voice snaps me out of my trance. I feel small hands tugging at my arm, tiny four-year-old sized hands that haven't changed in age since he was young. My eyes fly open and I turn on my side in one swift, fluid motion.

A dark haired woman, kind eyed man, and fair skinned child stare back at me, although they are some distance away. Somewhere in my subconcious mind I know that however long or far I run, I will not reach them. There is only one way to join them. I am not capable of that on my own.

The child smiles and tries to run towards me, his stick-thin arms stretched out before him, but is stopped by some unbreakable, invisible barrier. He places his hands on the barricade instead, pressing his nose against it. It flattens and I laugh. He laughs as well. It brings tears to my eyes. I haven't heard his laugh in so long.

His murky blue eyes swim with longing to reach me, but no tears. I guess, where he is, tears do not exist. His eyes floated like that the last time I saw him, except then it was with sadness and anguish. To end his suffering.

His face did not age. He looks as happy as a four year old can be, though when we last met, he was eight. Somewhere in the back of my mind I vaguely remember that when you go to heaven, you take on your healthiest or primest form. This toddler version is his most innocent by far.

"Braeden," I call out, and his ears seem to perk up in delight at is name. I stand up and reach the barrier in exactly three steps, the bubbles forming flimsy little stepping stones for me to walk across. Braeden's hair is fluffed up around his ears, not scruffy like it usually was, and looks permanently wind-tousled. I long to stroke my fingers through it.

As if sensing my thoughts, Braeden grins a four-year-old impish grin that makes me shiver every time I see it and pats his fluffy golden head. I try to scowl at him but I can't while my face is crisscrossed with both joyous and painful tears.

Braeden turns swiftly and runs back to my father and mother, their tanned faces glinting in the sunlight. The only time that I have seen them in this form was in faded photo album pictures, cracked from time and mildew. They look like they did when they were newlyweds, with the same happy glint in their eyes. My mother places her hand on Braeden's shoulder as he pushes his thumb into his mouth.

Seeing them, my little happy family amidst a sea of bubbles, perfectly content and just out of my outstretched fingers, is too much for me to bear. I place my shaking fingers on what appears to shifting Plexiglass. I think it is an impenetrable soap wall. I slide my hand down it, making the wall screech from friction. I glance up again. My father waves a sturdy, broad hand at me.

I clench my teeth and pound my fists against the wall, but it doesn't even shudder. Bewildered and horrified, I desperately throw my weight against it, but bounce back almost instantly. I try this again and again, until I am sticky with sweat and panting, and my family has picked their way so that they are standing directly in front of me.

My sobs are pitiful and loud as I wail at them, my fingers scratching at the hard, shiny, unbreakable surface, like a wild animal. I can hear my mother murmur something soothing and I hesitate for a moment.

My chin trembles.

"Please," I whisper. "Let me join you."

My mother and father smile knowing smiles at me, like they used to do when they caught me playing with earthworms after it rained. Braeden steps forward so that he is almost directly in front of me.

I watch him hopefully but he shakes his head. When he speaks he seems a thousand times older, although his smile is as bright as the everlasting sun.

"No, Aria," he says sweetly, with unimaginable kindness. "It's not time yet."

His grin is wide and unrelenting but full of passion. His hand reaches through the soap screen and he stretches on his tiptoes to tap me on the forehead. The vision fades away as I hear him say,

"Go back, sister. Go back."