A New Start

 

Chapter 1 – Fear

 

“But, why?”

At four, she knew enough to tense when she said it, because the result could be only one of two things: her mother would sigh and get a faraway look in her eyes while she crafted the perfect answer, or she’d reached her limit and her mother would roll her eyes, muttering something about her “answer well” having dried up for the day. Or worse, giving Shya that look – the one that meant stop.

Thankfully, this time her mother took her onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her, and Shya nearly swooned in the warmth of her embrace. But then came to attention, remembering to that faraway look in her mother’s eyes and straining to see it. It made her mother laugh. She kissed the top of Shya’s head.

“Daddy believes in what he can see,” she said.

“But -”

Her mother shook her head, her lips on Shya’s crown so that she would sense the movement. “It’s just how some people are, sweetheart.”

“But I know there’s someone in here,” Shya whispered, her eyes flicking to the dark corner, the closet door, the foot of the bed.

Her mother was quiet for a time. Shya moved against her chest with the rhythmic movement of her breath. She perceived her mother’s heartbeat against the back of her head and her eyes drooped, some past, pervasive sense of comfort threatening to overtake her completely.

“I know,” her mother finally said, her tone as hushed as Shya’s had been and the words tangling in her hair like extensions of the faint moonlight that filtered through her bedroom curtains.

Shya twisted around, needing to meet her eyes, and her mother loosened her arms, straining, too. Connecting. Understanding her need. “You do?” Shya asked and then held her breath, already having experienced enough interaction with people to know that they teased and sometimes even lied in order to smooth the truth. Mother hadn’t ever done that – it was why she trusted her so completely! – but she needed reassurance, anyway.

This was important.

Her mother nodded. “I do,” she said. Her eyes were luminous in the darkened room, somehow picking up the glow of the night sky and gathering it there. Shya thought her mother's gaze was very nearly magical.

“How?”

Her mother smiled. “My mother knew, too. And my grandmother. There is a long line of ancestors that knew, Shya. But we know something else, too: you don’t have to be scared.”

Shya hiccoughed suddenly as her eyes filled with tears. Her chest had filled so quickly that it shocked her, and the sound escaped her on its own, making her mother giggle. Shya didn’t mind; it was a funny sound. Besides, the fullness of her chest was what mattered. The fact that others knew. Others like her.

“I believe there are many things that exist outside of our perception, most of the time,” her mother said, her eyes going to the window dreamily. Shya would remember that statement for the remainder of her life, repeating it in the early years until she understood it fully, and then coming back to it when she needed the solidity of it.

Shya frowned.

“What?”

“I hear them, but I don’t see them.”

Her mother pursed her lips, nodding.

“Is - was it like that for you and Grandma, too?”

“It was,” she tucked a lock of hair behind Shya’s ear, her face unreadable, “but then it changed, and we could see them, too.”

Shya gasped, but her mother shook her head again.

“I was afraid too, at first, but then it became part of who I was and it stopped being scary.”

“Really?”

Her mother nodded solemnly.

“So, will I see them, too?” Shya felt her eyes widen at the thought and shivered a little.

Her mother paused again, rubbing Shya’s upper arm with an absently-moving thumb.

“Mommy?”

Her mother met her eyes again. “Probably, darling. But hopefully, it won’t be for a long while, and we can talk about it before then, so you’ll be ready.”

It was so simple, but so fulsome. So perfect. Her mother had a way with words.

“OK?”

Shya relaxed into the warmth of her mother again, confident enough to let go of the nagging sense of urgency that had nipped at her earlier.

Her mother kissed her forehead, the scent of her lingering in Shya’s nostrils intoxicatingly as she lay her down and tucked her in. Whispered, “I love you, sweet girl” into her hair and kissed her again.

Sweet orange, lavender and rosemary. Her mother’s nighttime oils were as much a part of her as her voice. Her touch.

Shya would catch them on the air long after her mother stopped gathering her into her lap. And remember her words – the ones that ended up being a lie, after all – “you’ll be ready.”