Little Spark

3 - Come to Light

Completely in a daze, I follow Neighbor James down the short hallway into the sitting room where I spent countless nights watching horror movies with Sonja while mom was on the nurses' graveyard shift in the ER—no pun intended. There's actually a shelf in here dedicated to a few years' worth of my dance portraits. In one, I'm dressed as six-year-old nutcracker, and in another, a nine-year-old, super frou-frou white swan. My personal favorite is from last year: I'm balanced on the tip of one crystal-covered pointe shoe in a dazzling Cinderella costume. Puberty added significant humps and bumps to my formerly stick-straight dancer-bod, but despite my ample lower half, in the picture, my other leg is stretched out behind me in a perfect high arabesque.

Looking at the photos makes my chest hurt a little; I stopped dancing six months ago when Mom started to deteriorate. I used to look at her face during turns, but once she got sick and I lost my focal point, spinning just made me dizzy.

Neighbor James crosses the room and starts up the computer, then gestures for me to sit in the desk chair. "Now I know you're prolly a little spooked, but I want you to know your mama knew this was coming, and she made this video for you." He takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye. "I've known your mama a long time, Bliss. Real long time. Knew your daddy too, believe it or not..."

This is surprising to me, and I'm sure it shows on my face. According to Mom, we moved here when she was pregnant with me, and Neighbor James and Sonja were already here. It never occurred to me that he would've known my dad.

"Anyway, she'll do a better job explaining than I ever could, so I'll go ahead and start this, alright?"

I nod and gulp down the fresh wave of grief tickling the back of my throat at the thought of seeing my mother's face on the screen.

The video loads, and he hands me the mouse. "Start it whenever you get ready, Bliss," he says. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Once the door clicks shut, I click the little triangle and shove the mouse aside before it ignites beneath my hand or something.

After a few agonizing seconds of static, the picture cuts in. The hole in my heart widens as Mom comes into focus and I see her sparse, brittle hair, ashen skin, and hollow cheeks. She's all acute angles at the shoulders, collarbone and elbows.

I turn away from the screen and wipe the tears from my face. It seems like some kind of sick joke, but my hands are shaking too bad to grab the mouse and press stop. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to get my breathing under control.

Then I hear my name.

"My precious Bliss Abigail," she begins, obviously struggling to talk. "The doctor visited today, and the prognosis wasn't good. Before I say anything else, I want you to know that being your mother was my greatest accomplishment. Not a day goes by that I'm not extremely proud of the young woman you've become, and I have no doubt that you'll continue to grow and thrive once I'm gone."

She reaches up to wipe a tear from her eye at the same moment I do. It's kind of spooky.

"There are some things I need to tell you, sweetheart," she continues. "I probably should've told you a long time ago, but when you were born and you seemed so... normal, I let myself get wrapped up in building a life for you that was completely separate from the one I left in Mississippi. I was a fool for believing I could just pretend everything that happened was some kind of bad dream."

"The truth is, Bliss, you're not normal. Neither am I, and neither was your father. You should first know that your dad died saving my life when I was just ten weeks pregnant with you. I never talked about him because I never properly grieved his death. Cam Myer was the love of my life, and after I lost him, he very thought of him made me feel like I was spiraling out of control. I had you to look after, so I stuffed him into a box in the corner of my mind and locked it tight. As a matter of fact, the one time you asked about him—you were about five—I burst into tears." I remember this like it was yesterday; I took the hint and never asked about him again.