Tree angels sing to me. Before dawn, when the morning sun is seeping through the tree leaves, I can hear them. They are a chorus of blessings healing my soul with a gentle whisper. My heart fills with beauty, causing everything around me to shine in a bright song.
The world in the morning is heavenly. While most are sleeping away until noon, I wake before the sun, heading out into the forest to ground myself and wash away my fears.
In the morning, I am free.
I have always felt connected to nature. When I was little, my mom told me I feel that way because I was born with sunshine in my blood. She says all she has to do is look at me and this beautiful light completely fills her lungs. She says at times that light is the only thing that keeps her going.
Right now, my soul is flying through the trees. As I lay on the dew-kissed grass, my eyes follow a little bird swooping, circling, and diving overhead. I could imagine the wind through my hair as I swished and waned in the wind, as my tiny little bird wings glided so gracefully through the air.
I've always wished I could fly. Ever since I was little, I have dreamed of soaring around the clouds, diving in and out of those pretty marshmallows in the sky.
It's the reason I had always dreamed of being a pilot. My dreams never came true, though. Most of the time life doesn't work the way you want it to, and I'm used to it, so I wasn't real upset or anything. I know in another life that's what I'll be. A pilot. Or a bird.
In this life, I am unemployed with an art degree. It's not what I had planned, but my mom relies on me too much for my dreams to be more ambitious. I had just recently graduated college with my bachelor's degree. Finding a job has proved to be tougher than I thought, which is why I am still living at home.
Honestly, I don't want to work yet. I'm twenty-two, young and a dreamer, and I would much rather sit here, in my backyard, watching the birds dance. It's why I'm not exactly searching for a job. I say I am to all of my neighbors, but my mom knows I'm not, and she's perfectly fine with that.
I can't leave her alone, anyway. My father's state of being would chew right through her without me around. Now, don't get me wrong, my father is a good man. He's caring, hardworking, and passionate about anything he believes in, but recently he's lost his way.
He graduated from trade school as an electrician. It was his big idea to run his own business, installing electrical lines for private piers and marinas. But, like any human, he is his own worst enemy.
I think it's because he's still mourning. I see him in the evening sometimes, on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. His face is always long, like he's thinking of a better place, a better life.
My mom is the same way. She's holding it together better than my dad, but I know it's hard for both of them. They don't talk to each other much anymore. At least my mom tries, though.
My family used to be normal. We didn't used to be quiet, nor did we ever keep to ourselves. We used to host parties—believe it or not—but after Willa was born, we all became distant.
Willa turned our town and home into nothing but sad memories. My mom wants to move real bad. So does dad, but none of us have any money, so we're all stuck in this depressing place until someone gets back on their feet. Unfortunately, it feels like no one ever will.
"Nelly! Are you out here?" mom called. I craned my neck to look towards my home, propping myself up on my elbows as I spotted mom poking her head out of the back door. A pair of beetles chased each other through my line of vision.
"Yeah!" I called back, waiting to see what she wanted before I got up. I hadn't realized the sun had risen so high in the sky already. It's probably well past ten by now.
"I need your help in the kitchen!" she pleaded. I sighed, throwing my head back in the grass. I hate cooking. Anything to do with an oven or the stove was crossed off of my hobby list indefinitely. I used to be a good baker, but I can't stand to look at sweets anymore.
Willa was my little sister. She was born on April seventeenth, as still as a doornail and as cold as ice. We had a welcome home party all set-up with our neighbors all excited and bursting with anticipation. I had baked all these pretty cupcakes and cookies... but we never got to celebrate.
After that, my family fell apart.
I've heard my mom begging God to have some miracle happen that would allow us to move. I doubt anybody will be able to stop grieving until we do. My mom is always strong about it all, but I catch her in the baby's room from time to time bawling her eyes out over her stillborn. I know she's hurting the most out of us all.
My back was all wet from laying in the grass for so long. The back of my shirt was sticking to me like glue, and I didn't like it much, but I was too lackluster to go change.
Mom was humming as she swayed her hips over the stove, stirring something in a pot. Unlike me, she always looks put together. Her hair is always the prettiest golden blonde. She has it tied up in an adolescent bun, fastened with a bright red hair-tie that has those clunky beads hanging off the end. Reminds me of cherries.
She's real slim, always working out and eating like a rabbit. It's why her jeans always fit her so well. I've always been jealous, that's why I've taken up the habit of running. It's hard for me to run for more than a minute at a time, but I run, then walk, then run some more and it's getting easier as I go. I just have to stick with it.
"Oh, Nelly! Thank goodness. I need that cheese grated for me," mom pointed with her nose, not taking her eyes off that pot for more than a second. I sighed and grabbed the giant cheddar cheese block, starting to grate it over a big yellow bowl.
"What are you making?" I asked. Mom hummed a little before she answered.
"I am makin' stuffed bell peppers and homemade mac and cheese." She smiled so brightly. Mom keeps her teeth as white as possible. She thinks if her teeth are brighter than her eyes, it'll distract anyone from asking her what's wrong. Everyone in this town knows, though. The word of a stillborn spread like a wildfire around here. There ain't a soul that doesn't look at us differently when we walk by.
"With the potato chips on top?" I asked, distracting myself from my thoughts. Mom hummed again.
"You bet," she said sweetly. There was a loud bang upstairs. It caused both of us to jump and tilt our heads to the ceiling. "Your father..." she tsked. "He hasn't left that bed in three days. I even slept on the couch last night, you know," she paused to scoff, "all that snoring. It's not good for this pretty face."
I smiled. Another thump had my mind wondering what the hell was going on up there, but my mom kept on humming, stirring the pot, ignoring anything to do with her husband. She dumped the cheese I grated into her mixture.
"Take over for me, will ya?" she asked brightly as she dipped her finger into the cheese sauce. I nodded and watched her taste it, voicing how delicious it was. She moved to her desk, where a little radio was. It took a while to find a station the old beat-up thing would connect to, but she managed, and soon enough the kitchen was dancing.
"Mom..." I said as I watched her walk over to the liquor cabinet. She grabbed two wine glasses, then pranced over to the fridge and grabbed a new bottle of wine—chilled, just how she likes it.
"What?" mom asked shamelessly, pouring both her and me a glass. "After the night I had, I need this." She raised her eyebrows in some half-grimace of annoyance. I hadn't realized I stopped stirring until she came back over and swatted my hand.
"It's ten thirty," I tried to reason. She only shrugged, flashing me another gorgeous smile to hide how she was really feeling inside. I knew she wasn't happy. She wasn't fine staying in this house, unable to get a job, unable to help us get out of this town because she never went to college.
"Oh, come on, Nel. Forget I'm your mother for just one second and drink with me," she spoke sternly. I cracked a smile, being sure to raise my eyebrows at her so she knew I was judging her. She knew that was my way of saying okay, so she smiled and excitedly handed me a wine glass. I took a sip and shook my head.
"Mmm... What is this? Two-dollar wine? Look at you getting' fancy..." I joked. Mom bumped my side, using the momentum to continue to sway her hips to the soft old-time tunes coming from the radio. It was playing Bobby Darin.
"Your magic hands..." mom sang gently. I smiled against my wine glass, taking another sip before I joined her.
"Your loving eyes..." I sang out of tune (on purpose). My mom snickered at me, pouring the cooked macaroni into the cheese sauce. She turned the burner off as fast as she could and took my hand.
"I love you; I love you..." she hummed quickly as she twirled us around.
"My whooole life through..." I answered. Her apron swayed as she laughed, brightening the room even more than the sun could. I smiled, too. My heart was being squeezed. Even after all the shit my family has been through, we can still smile. Or at least my mom and I can.
My mom is brave and confident. She's clever and witty and makes the best damn mac and cheese I have ever tasted. I've never met someone as special as her, and I don't think I ever will. She's one of a kind, and it pisses me off my dad can't come around to see that.
She's so patient with him, though. He was falling off the wagon way before Willa. After Willa, he just kind of shattered. He won't go to a doctor, he won't get out of bed, he won't do anything. He stays up there, sleeping his youth away as my mom and I burn through our savings, hoping they'll last another year.
Dad always says it's this house. He can't stand this house and this town, but as soon as my mom tries to talk him into getting another job, he clams right up and makes one excuse after another. The biggest step he's made towards getting better is admitting he's depressed, but that only made things worse. It only made him sadder.
"Oh, shoot! Quick, grab that pan! I think the bottom of the pot is burnin'!" mom shouted. My flustered brain was of no help to find the pan quickly. Not until my mom motioned with her elbow to a white ceramic dish by the old tea kettle. I grabbed it, and she started pouring the contents of the pot into it. She flipped on the oven vent and sighed, seeing no signs of burnt mac and cheese.
"Need a little more wine?" I teased. My mom shot me a look and downed the last gulp in her glass. I was still sipping mine, trying to get used to the taste of it. I'm not a big drinker. Never have been, probably never will be. I'll always be my mom's wine buddy, though. Always.
This town is tough on families that aren't picture perfect. Any scent of scandal or baggage and they all go running. My mom used to have a group of girlfriends. They used to go to yoga, play tennis, enjoy happy hour together, but I never see them anymore. They've all ran away, like my mom has some disease. Like they thought she would make their babies come out dead, too.
I sighed. Mom was still humming to the radio tunes. Dean Martin was playing now, singing about some chapel in the moonlight.
I wish we could have a fresh start. To see if my dad is right about this house, about this town. For that to happen, though, we'd need a miracle.
I doubt any of us have done a damn thing worth a miracle.
"It sounds like your father's up," mom said. I was helping her crumble a bag of potato chips all over the top of the mac and cheese. I listened above us, trying to hear signs of life. There wasn't anything until I heard shuffling. Both my mom and I jumped after the next loud bang, but we expected the other two as he shut his closet doors.
"Is he getting dressed?" I goggled. Mom and I were frozen, potato chip crumbs coating our fingers as we held them over the white ceramic dish. Mom looked just as shocked as me. We couldn't believe it.
Then came the shuffling, the stomping. Then we actually heard the bedroom door open. Mom whipped around to face the stairs, and soon enough, dad came running down.
His hair was thrown in every direction with his beard grown in all scraggly and unkept. My eyes softened at the sight of his graying hair. Those big, chocolate brown eyes of his were swimming with something. His nose looked red and raw, either from blowing his nose too much or drinking too much beer.
At least he was dressed, though. He was wearing blue jeans and a plaid button-up. The buttons were all mismatched and I don't think his pants were fastened, but he was out of that bed, and that was more than anybody had seen in a while.
He paid us no mind as he yanked open the front door. We watched through the glass. Straight to the mailbox, letters started flying every which way. A couple scattered on the ground until he found what he was looking for. He held up that envelope like a golden ticket. Like he really was going to that chocolate factory.
"Cherry! Nelly! You gotta see this!" His eyes were wild. They were alive and wild. He practically ran into the kitchen, as fast as his slightly malnourished frame would let him. He slammed the letter down on the island counter and smiled. He smiled.
Both my mom and I stared at the cream-colored envelope. It was a civilian letter, with my dad's name written out neatly in the middle. The top left corner revealed the sender.
"It's great to see you up, Arthur, but what, darlin'?" Mom smiled as she looked up at him for answers. Dad hesitated for a moment, staring at both of us as he caught his breath. His chest was heaving up and down real hard like he had just run a marathon. Once he came to, he tore into that envelope like it was Christmas morning. His eyes scanned the letter, and I didn't think it was possible for his face to get any brighter, but it did. Before we knew it, he was reading the letter out loud.
"Dear Arthur,
I don't know if anyone told you, but we've recently closed the will of your uncle Charles. Charles wrote you into it. Your cousins have tried to keep me quiet and tried to work around your part in the will, but it's yours, Arthur. All of it.
Charles left you most of what was important to him. I don't know why, boy. I can't tell you why, but I know you've been going through such a hard time—which I am so sorry for—so I hope this can bring some light to you and your family.Charles has left you a home. It's in Oregon, right outside of Ashland. I've only been there once, but boy can I tell you it's pretty. You'll be out in the wilderness. The towns about a mile down the road but you've got nice neighbors. A couple of boys that wouldn't mind helping around the house.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you before your cousins try to rip it away. Hope it can help get you back on your feet.
With love always,
Aunt Paula"
By the time dad finished reading that letter, I swear both mine and mom's chins were about ready to hit the floor. We stared at our father as he shuffled some papers around. He pulled another paper out, folded up and everything, but we all dove our heads forward to get a good look at it.
It was the deed to the new house. It had my dad's name written underneath Charles'. Looking at the property description, it almost had me shitting my pants. They gave us five acres of land. Five acres. We didn't have to pay a dime.
"This is just what we've needed! To get away from this shit hole—to go into the country where Nelly can go be a fairy in the forest if she really wants—"
"Dad!" I laughed, "I do not want to be a fairy!" He smiled at me, showing he was only joking.
"I know, Nel, I'm just pullin' your leg. But, Cherry, we need this. It'll be different there; I can feel it. I think we'll really like it."
Mom was looking at him skeptically. I'm pretty sure she was only trying to play bad cop to see if he'd stick to this. I know she wants to get out of here as much as the rest of us.
"Arthur... Oregon? Are you sure we shouldn't take some time to think this through?" she asked. My dad shook his head, waving the deed in front of him.
"We need this, Cher. I can feel it in my heart. We don't need to worry about schools for Nelly. She's got her degree and all, she can find work there. This is our new start. This is our miracle." He was practically begging mom at this point. His eyes were the biggest, brownest, shiniest puppy dog eyes I've ever seen. Mom collapsed under them. She put her hands up in surrender with a smile.
"Alright, alright. I'll call the relator if you call a moving company. When are we leaving?" She asked. My dad shot her a smile almost as bright as her own.
"You think we could get out of here by the end of the week?" He asked. That question right there lit something in all three of us.
We're finally leaving.