RING AROUND THE ROSES

Chapter 1: Music Box

Settling down on the edge of the pool, I dip my feet in the cool water. Tilting my head back, I gaze up at the full moon shining down on me, offering me little light in the middle of the night. My summer vacation is over and a new school year is beginning. I spent most of the summer working and swimming, but very rarely hung out with my friends. The only friend I really talked to over break is my best friend Alexandra—Alex—who spent the first half of her summer in England visiting her grandma.

Summers are usually the time when my family goes on vacations too, but this year we stayed home. My little sister has strangely become the life of our family. Being a child, she can only be in mourning for so long before she’s asking to play again. My father, however, is still grieving over my mother’s loss. He hasn’t tried to date at all, saying that if feels wrong to be with other women when he’s still in love with my mother, like he’d be betraying her if he met another woman.

Taking my feet out of the pool I grab my towel and head back into my house—or mansion, actually. It’s large and white and has more than just two bedrooms. I make sure to lock the patio doors and make my way to the foyer, where I walk up one of the two stairways and onto the second floor, where I go to my room at the end of the hall. Once in my room, I go to my jointed bathroom and take off my light blue bikini to shower.

As I lather my hair, I wonder if I should just skip school tomorrow. But then if I’m not there for the first day Alex and the rest of my group will be all over me about it later. They’re all worried I’m going to have some sort of break down, that one day I’ll just snap randomly. I haven’t mourned for my mother yet, haven’t felt the pain or weight of her loss, so they’re concerned about me. Frankly, I’m a little concerned too. Shouldn’t I be feeling something? But just as I begin to think this, I think about something else. Why ponder on it? I’m not feeling any pain. Isn’t that a good thing?

When I’m done in the shower, I wrap a towel around myself and dry my hair with another. With my free hand, I wipe off the mirror so I can see my reflection. My damp hair is black, my wet skin pale and my eyes sky blue; they’re shinny, like crystals. My eyes are my best trait, I think. I don’t have too much insecurity about my appearance, not unless I feel bloated and therefore have to suck in my tummy all day. All in all, I don’t think I look ugly or plain, nor do I believe I’m dazzling and or a Goddess.

Idly, as I look at my reflection, I write my name on the mirror.

Isabel.

I then write my nickname, Izzy, or Iz.

It is, however, only a nickname my mother used, no one else. Everyone else calls me by my other nickname, Bell or Bells, which I also write on the mirror. I have a habit to write words on the mirror, whatever comes to me. I used to write the name of the boy I liked on the mirror, or the name of a new friend I’ve made, or even the name of a movie I want to see or have just seen, a book or a character I favor, and it just goes on like that.

Once the mirror space is gone, I wipe out all of what I wrote and walk out of the bathroom and into my room. Opening my closet door, my eyes immediately dart to the box, the present that I’ve yet to open. Every time I go into my closet to get something my eyes go to that spot. I’ve taken it out a few times, set it on my bed, on my lap, but I’ve never opened it. I always just set it back. I’m just not ready to open it yet, though I’m not sure why.

Pulling on a simple white tank top and black sweats I climb into bed and drift off into a dreamless sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

School is good. I’ve actually grown to like school, somewhat. It’s not my favorite thing in the world but the work is a distraction and gives me something else to think about. My first class is Literature, which I have with Alex. I spot her right away, recognizing her straight brown hair and lightly tan skin. She’s half a head taller than me and I have a habit of leaning on her when I’m tired, something I haven’t done in awhile, as I’ve been sleeping soundlessly and dreamlessly since my mother died.

“So there’s this new club opening up tonight. You should come with us,” Alex says as we go to our desks with a bright, sunny smile.

I return the smile, though apologetically.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Come on, you love to dance. You’ll have fun, I promise.”

I don’t want to tell her that I haven’t danced since winter. I don’t want her to know how long it’s been since I’ve done ballet or have been at a club. I used to dance all the time, but it’s been replaced with swimming. Because of this, I don’t want to go with her tonight. I want to swim in our pool while the weather still allows it. But the thought of going to a club and dancing to the booming music in a sea of people sounds fun. I can’t deny that I miss it.

“Not tonight. Another time,” I finally answer.

The school bell rings and everyone gets into their seats. Alex sits next to me, her smile vanishing at the sound of the bell. The seats are quickly filled and I mentally grown when a boy who’s too familiar to me walks down my aisle, taking the seat behind me.

“Well, well, it seems fate wants us together,” he purrs in my ear, leaning forward in the seat, his breath tickling me.

“Oh joy,” I grumble, and then glance over at Alex who’s giving me a sympathetic look. “I’ll be sure to book the church for our wedding post graduation,” I add sarcastically.

“Or we can just elope like Romeo and Juliet.”

I don’t say anything to that. I’ve been dealing with this guy since I was a kid. Our fathers are close friends and so we grew up together. Our short tale of friendship isn’t a very rare one. He was sweet as a kid but grew up to be a bastard. It’s as simple as that. Now, now I just can’t seem to get away from him. We go to the same private school, our fathers are still close friends, and now we have a class together. There’s just no getting away from him.

As our teacher begins to lecture us on the class I feel a tap on my shoulder. I try to ignore it, but the tapping continues. The tapping finally stops, when it does, a folded piece of paper flies over my shoulder and lands on the desk.

I try to ignore this as well, but curiosity is eating at me and I look at what it says.

I immediately regret it.

Your red lip-gloss makes you look like a hooker.
How much?

At the bottom there’s an obscene picture of a girl giving a guy head.

I crumble it up and try to pay attention to the teacher.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After parking my car in the garage I go in my house, nodding a greeting at our maid and go up to my room. I throw my bag on my bed and go to my stereo. Flipping through my CDs rapidly, looking for one to fit my mood which is . . . I don’t know. I feel drowsy actually. It makes no sense for me to be tired but I feel like my body has become a bag of wet, heavy sand, just weighing me down.

Finally, I settle on VNV Nation and let the song Standing play. I have it playing lightly in the background as I move to my bed, collapsing on top of the covers, hugging my pillow stuffed full of cotton to me, the side of my head sinking into it. Closing my eyes, I exhale slowly and drift off.

My sleeping isn’t dreamless, as it usually is. This time I see my mother in my dream. We’re not doing anything terribly exciting. We’re actually just . . . sitting .We’re sitting on a bench watching blue birds. It’s a calm dream, peaceful. No words are exchanged and we just sit there together, her hand on top of mine.

I feel happy.

Warmth spreads through me and I can’t stop myself from smiling. I had almost forgotten how peaceful her presence can be. Looking down, I open my mouth, trying to say something. Perhaps that I’m sorry I couldn’t cry for her during her funeral. I just looked at her, laying in her casket, with no emotion, no tears, no grief. It was only when my sister, father, or one of my other relatives looked at me with pity that I forced a sad look.

But nothing comes out.

My mouth just opens and closes repeatedly.

I don’t know what to say.

People who’ve lost someone they love always want to see that person again, to tell them many things. But what things do they want to talk to that person about? Past regrets? Fond memories? Or do they just want to catch up?

What would I say?

I’m sorry for not mourning for you?

Was it painful?

Suddenly, the hand on mind doesn’t feel so warm and comforting anymore. The good feeling is fading as I look around in front of me, as if I lost my words and am trying to find them. Suddenly, a lump forms in my throat, my heart aches, tightening in my chest. Taking in a shuddering breath, I turn to look at my mother, though I still don’t know what to say.

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Even if I did know what to say, the words would have caught in my throat at the sight.

Her body is no longer the one that I remember. It’s withered away, a corpse, which is exactly what she is. In fact, she would be nothing but bones now.

Quickly, I pull my hand away and hold it to my chest, rubbing it absently, wanting to sooth the pain away. I scoot back on the white bench and then look around us. The blue birds are gone and the leaves are gray and withered. Dead. Everything’s dead.

I start when I hear my mother suddenly gagging. When I look back to her, she turns her face to look at me. Her eyes are completely white, her skin blue and shriveled, nothing but skin and bones.

She opens her mouth and water dribbles out of the corner. I cover my own mouth with my hand, my stomach turning at the sight. She begins to gag and I stand up from the bench, turning to leave, to get away, and fall to the ground, which is suddenly very wet, as if it’s been raining and there was a flood.

The muddy water rises, soon it’s up to my wrists and then up to my elbows. But I can’t move. My body is paralyzed and soon, I’m under.

Drowning, I’m drowning.

I open my mouth, water coming in, and scream, bubbles flowing from my mouth and going up to the surface. My mother is still sitting on the bench behind me, though now she’s motionless, now she’s dead again.

The lack of oxygen is making me dizzy and soon, I find myself sleeping away and am soon surrounded in darkness.

My body shudders violently as I suddenly rear up into a sitting position, gasping, my cheeks damp. Sniffing, I bring my hand up to my cheek and realize I’ve been crying. However, the ache in my chest numbs over. I can actually feel the process taking place. I realize now that I’ve been closing in on myself without even realizing it. Perhaps this is just my way of protecting myself from feeling my mother’s loss. It’s working too. Or it was. I’m not so sure now. I’ve never dreamed of my mother before. I haven’t cried for her since the night I found out she was dead and even then it was brief.

Panting, I fall back on the bed and stare at the ceiling with my forearm resting against my forehead. My room is dark and my CD is done playing. Looking over at my clock, I see that it’s already past midnight and I’m still in my school uniform—a blue plaid skirt and a light blue, long sleeved button up shirt.

It’s just a dream, just a dream, I tell myself as I get up on wobbly legs, shaken from such an intense dream. It’s a reminder of how my mother died. She drowned. I never allowed myself any more information than that.

I wonder if it was painful.

Death by suffocation definitely can’t be equivalent to dying peacefully—if there is such a thing—in your sleep.

I take off my skirt and shirt as I make my way to my closet. By the time I’m opening the door with one hand, I’m trying to unclasp my bra with the other. But again, once I open the door my eyes settle on the corner. I can’t see the box, since it’s even darker in there. I feel an urge to get it out, one that I can’t ignore. Soon I’m on my hands and knees feeling around for it. It doesn’t take long, since I know exactly where it is, and I take it out. With nothing on but my light pink panties with strawberries on them I walk to my bed and climb in.

Setting the box in front of me I run my fingers along the green ribbon and sigh.

Maybe the dream is a sign.

Maybe I should finally open it.

I’ve always been the type to rip off a band-aid, so that’s what I do. I rip off the ribbon and tear the wrapping paper apart, throwing pieces of it off my bed and onto the floor. When there’s nothing but a box in front of me, I open it up and part the papers inside to dig out the item. My eyes have adjusted to the dark and I realize almost instantly what it is.

A music box.

Opening it up, no expression on my face, a small figure comes up. I can’t make the figure out, but I see something wrapped around it. I trail my fingers along it and feel around. My fingers find something, and my curiosity peeks when I figure it out to be some type of jewelry. Reaching over to my bedside table, I turn on the lamp and there it is.

There’s a necklace wrapped around the small figure of a young man. He’s not wearing a shirt, however it looked like there was a black sheet hanging low on his hips, though they took on the form of pants, the bottoms clinging to his ankles, his feet bare. The silver cord of the necklace is wrapped around him like chains. It takes me awhile to unwrap it. When I finally have it unwrapped and out there’s a black rose with a diamond in the center dangling from it. The cord is long, making me guess that the rose will hang down low, by my belly button. It’s then that I look at the brown box and notice that there are designs of black roses over it and can only guess that it comes together.

But why would it be wrapped around the boy inside the box?

Shrugging it off, I put the necklace on and I’m right, it hangs down by my belly button. Taking the music box, I set it on the table next to my lamp and play the music. The music’s soft melody soon makes me sleepy again, even though I’ve just woken up. It’d be strange for me to say that my dream has exhausted me. I reach over to turn off the lamp while kicking the box off my bed.

As I settle back in bed, wearing nothing but the necklace and my panties, I cover myself up with my blanket.

How do I feel?

Nothing.

After all of this time and finally opening my mother’s gift, I don’t feel nearly as much as I should. The necklace is beautiful and so is the music box but that’s all I can conjure up. I curl my lips upwards at an attempt of trying to feel some amount of joy. Her present for me is perfect. She knows—knew—me so well. For a second, I think I feel something in my chest, I place my hand over my heart but as soon as I do it’s gone. Blinking, I ignore it and close my eyes, welcoming sleep as it comes back to me.

Just before the darkness takes me, I hear a soft humming, and then I’m pulled into a dreamless sleep.