Addict Ash Mehta “The oddest trio to ever grace the Earth,” Grandma chuckles. Her russet cheeks crinkle, the furrows and hills of her skin softening. “That we are,” Cassiopeia giggles, pressing her gentle fingers into my palm. I nuzzle my head into the crevice of her neck, draping my arm around her back. The lush green grass sprawls out underneath us, contrasting starkly with the faded yellow of my crumbling neighborhood. We’re the Weird trio. The local tribe’s elder, her nonbinary, city-dwelling grandchild, and said grandchild’s nerdy, dyed-hair girlfriend. A true island of misfits. We stay at that park for an hour, munching on chips and watermelon, playing cards, listening to Grandma recite stories from her childhood that are probably 99% false....
burn in agony from the waterfall of tears crashing into my shut eyelids in my sleep. It doesn’t even hurt. I start to run glacier-cold water over my numb hands, the crystalline, icey liquid brushing red strokes across my ochre palms. My mind vacates my body and the shell of my spine collapses onto the floor, my shoulders heaving, my eyes burning, though my face and eyes are paper-dry.
~
And then I wake up with a gasp. I’m in my rigid, springy bed, my back not hesitating a moment before flaring out in pain. It’s nothing compared to the emotional agony that washes over me the second I remember that that memory happened two months ago. That Cassiopeia and Grandma are gone.
~
I collapse out of bed, a sting creeping through the nape of my neck, my head exploding and collapsing in on itself all at once. My vision is blurry, watery, and my eyes
I remain like that for an hour, out-of-body, out-of-control. I come to being with my nails curled into the gritty, decaying timber of my bathroom floor, splinters peppering my legs, seven deep, crimson lines drawn in a grid on my shoulder with my own blood. I quickly lift up my dress, ashamed, terrified. My mother’s already going through so much right now — she just lost her mom. I’m such a burden on her. I don’t know how to stop. A hole of despair blossoms out of my chest and overwhelms me, a
black sea of grief choking the last bit of breath from my ribs, and my head spins, my vision going blurry again. She’s standing in front of me, Cassiopeia Chloros, her grains of hair puffing out in an ethereal storm cloud. She reaches out her palm and I grasp onto it without the slightest bit of hesitation.
~
I’m lying in the park again, but this time, the city around us is the pristine towers of wealthy San Francisco. Casseopeia seems to be a bit older, 24, 25, and somehow I know that I am too. Maybe from the weight of a heavy, lapis-colored gem studded into a silver, twisted ring twining around my ring finger. I hold it up to the sky, the rays of sunlight creating a dazzling wash of purple glow across Casseopeia’s face. She smiles at me, and I almost sob, because I would do absolutely anything to be able to see that toothy, wide grin again. I cuddle into her stomach, feeling the warmth of her body along my spine. A ruby ladybug flitters onto my hair and I shriek, jumping back into my grandma. Grandma laughs, reaching out her baby-soft, tiny hand and caressing the insect in the wrinkle of her palm. The bug curls up, bracing itself for takeoff, and flutters off into the sunset. I lay back on the soft, luscious grass, the warm sun scalding my eyes, my face warming, and I shut my eyelids, rolling my head to the side. The wind glides past my ear lightly, tickling my earlobe ever so slightly.
Fiction | 11
