I wake up first. My head feels like it's full of cotton. The orange-purple-gold tinge of the clouds fades as I pick her clothes from the floor, stack them neatly in her closet. I don't know why. I leave quietly. Take the long way home.
What just happened? I ask myself, and ask myself, until I get sick of the voice in my head. Check my phone, but I don't even know what I'm looking for.
Timothy calls again, but I just look at his name on the screen. Tense.
I feel an ache in the center of my chest. An actual physical pain.
~
I get home and try going in through my window again, but it's locked. I trip climbing down and almost break my leg in the process. My head swims.
When I go in through the kitchen door, my mother looks up, startled. She drops her phone.
"You're resuming tomorrow, aren't you?"
"Yeah, mom," I say. She won't meet my eyes. "Why do you ask?"
"Does it have to be tomorrow?"
"We're supposed to resume at 8am tomorrow," I say. Pout.
"I think you should go the day after."
"Hmm." I smile. "You're going to miss me, yeah?"
She smiles a sad smile, laughs softly. The house becomes a scary place when Jotham and I aren't here, and my father hits her more often. I hate leaving her, too.
"I'll be home this weekend." She says nothing.
"Well, I haven't gone to the mall yet," I offer.
"I need new uniforms."
"We'll go tomorrow." Her smile widens, reaching her eyes. The kitchen light catches on her Mykita frames. I don't think I've ever noticed how beautiful my mother is. Perfect skin. Eyes the color of autumn leaves, honey blonde hair falling to her waist in waves.
The next day Jotham leaves for Aton before I wake up.
After that, the morning moves slowly, and I spend it walking around the house. Watering plants in the garden. Looking at paintings.
There's a new one, a Vija Celmins. Gun with Hand. It's an image of a hand pointing a gun, and under it my father—or someone else—has scribbled paint what you fear on a piece of paper and tucked it into the frame.
When I go to sleep, I see it in my dream, the hand morphing into a person, into my mother.
By 12 my mother comes to wake me up.
We leave for the mall an hour later.
The air smells of new clothes and fresh popcorn. Over by the fountain a group of children gather around an exasperated looking teacher, some wandering off, playing with the water. Throwing coins in.
We buy things we don't even need—new bags and shoes for both of us, and five new pairs of Aton's uniform. A new phone for her. The screen of her old one still cracked from when it fell yesterday morning during the fight with my father.
She tries out new dresses, asking what I think before picking the ones I say she shouldn't.
I get a journal. Its edges are rimmed with gold plating.
Afterwards we sit in the food court, order Cokes. I order a burger and she settles on a small salad after debating with herself for 15 minutes.
My mother watches strangers while I play a game on my phone, not feeling hungry anymore after a few bites.
We rewatch The Conjuring at the cinema downtown.
It feels weird, filling the day with things, neither of us ready to go home.
It's evening before we get home. I go straight to my room. Pretend to pack, until I sleep off.
The next morning I wake up beside my empty box, already late. My mother helps me pack while I scramble about the house, pretending to be busy so she can't tell me to join her.
I get to school three and a half hours late, the "Welcome to Aton, New Students!" sign at the front gate already sagging at one end.
There are no more taxis beside the gate to drive me down to my dorm. Even the staff and students who usually welcome new students are gone. The gate keeper smiles at me, pitying. My father's driver zooms off before I can ask him to take me to the gate.
I walk down the winding road, looking at the grass. It's too green to be real, but I can't be sure. It looks like it is.
I hate the smell of fresh cut grass. I've never noticed that before.
It takes me thirty minutes to get to the main building, lugging my boxes behind me. A golf cart drives past me, in the direction of the front gate and I regret the last thirty minutes of my life. I stand, letting myself cool down.
I stare at the Gothic style architecture, marveling once again at the depth of color in the warm red brick walls. Carpen High, my former high school, was monochrome. Gray and dull like life inside it.
I remember how bright and hopeful Aton College seemed the first time I came here. The weight of the legacy of hundreds of successful people feeling like a mantle on my shoulders.
Stained glass windows depicting images of baby Jesus in Mary's arms. Soaring vertical lines I had googled compulsively before I saw them for real.
I look at the stone gargoyles, monstrous but somehow enchanting. I start counting all their eyes. There are a total of 16 for the main building. It's a ritual I do every semester. If I get to 16 before seeing anyone I know, this will be a good year.
I'm at number three when I see Jasmine. Walking toward me, hand in hand with Timothy. One day.
I miss one day of school.