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*Italic indicates thought
Chapter Two: Emma
"The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can run from it, or learn from it." -Rafiki; The Lion King
A/N: Hey guys! I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter. Thanks for all the reviews and follows. I was a little unsure about this story. Please keep it up! Thanks! And Happy Thanksgiving!
Age 2
Jane Goodall laughed as she watched her daughter run around the living room. "Emma dear," she said. "Be careful."
"Mama!" Emma laughed. "Mama!"
"Emma, let me finish watching these dishes," her mother said. "Joel, can you play with Emma until I'm done? Joel!" She turned the water off and dried her hands. "Joel!" She stopped when she saw her husband standing in the living room. He looked at her seriously. "I'm leaving, Jane."
"What? Why?"
"I'm sorry. You haven't been looking good lately. We both knew what that means,"
"Joel," Jane said walking over; putting her hands on his chest. "I'm got in to be fine. Just like-"
"Like the last time? Or the time after that? Jane this will never be over. I'm sorry, but I can't stand here and watch the woman I love die like this."
"What about Emma?"
He looked at his daughter who stopped running around at this point and was watching her parents. "I'm not taking her with me."
"So, you're just going to leave us?"
"I'm sorry." He hugged her and have her one last kiss on the cheek. He walked towards the door were his bags were waiting.
"Dada!" Emma yelled running after him. "Dada, pway?"
"No Emma," he said coming down to her level. "Dada loves you, ok?" He gave her a kiss on the forehead, and took one last heartbreaking look at her beautiful dark eyes.
Jane came over and picked her daughter up and retreated with her. Joel shook his head sadly as he grabbed his coat and bags. He shut the door behind him, leaving his daughter and wife in his past. Jane felt tears drip down her face one by one. She wiped them away. Emma put her hand on her mother's cheek. "Mama, where dada go?"
"Dada's going away. On a trip."
"I wanna pway wif him."
"I know you do, baby. How about we play with your ponies?"
Emma laughed and nodded. "Yea! Yea!"
Age 5
Emma sat on the swings, not wanting to play with anyone. Not that she had any friends to play with anyways.
"Get off!" a girl shouted, pushing her off the swing.
Emma fell into he wooden pellets. She stood up and brushed her hands and knees off. "Give me back that swing, Brittney. I was there first!"
"Too bad."
Emma walked away sulkily. She sat down by the fence, in the flowers. She smiled and brushed her hands gently over the white pedals. She jerked her hand back when a ball landed in front of her, crushing the flowers. She iced the ball up and stood up. Another girl from her class came running up. "That's my ball!"
"Here!" Emma threw it to her.
The girl caught it. She stuck her tongue out at Emma before going back to her game. She shook her head and sat down with the flowers again.
Emma watched as girl named Gia pushed Brittney off what had been Emma's swing. Brittney tried to push Gia off, but it didn't work. Gia kicked Brittney in the face as she swung forward. Brittney ran off to get the teacher. Emma frowned. She didn't approve of Gia kicking her, but Brittney was a bully. She ran to the swings just as Britney came back other the teacher.
"She kicked me!"
"I did not!"
"Ok, children," their teacher said. "What happened?"
"Britney pushed me off the swing," Emma said quickly. Everyone looked at her. "Gia came over and made Britney get off. I let her go on since she was nice, and Britney got in the way."
"Is that true?"
Gia nodded. "Yup."
"Is not! She's lying!"
"Britney, Emma has never lied to a teacher. You, however, have. Lets go take you to the principal."
Britney looked back at them. "I'll get you for this."
Gia stuck her tongue out at her. She looked back at Emma and smiled. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"I'm Gia Moran."
"Emma Goodall."
"Nice to meet you Emma. You wanna push me, then I'll push you?"
"Sure."
Age 7
Emma smiled pleasantly, and happily, as she held her mother's hand. Her mom had been so tired lately, Emma was happy to have some time with her. They found a clearing full of flowers, birds, small animals, and grass. Emma's mom spread the blanket out on the ground. "This place is beautiful, isn't it, sweetie?"
"Yeah," Emma said. "Mom, what's wrong?"
"I have something I want to talk to you about sweetie," she said. Jane took a deep breath. "You know that I went to the doctor yesterday."
Emma nodded. "Are you sick?"
"Yes. Emma baby," she took her daughter's hand. Emma looked her in the eyes. "My doctor told me that the treatments didn't work."
"They-they didn't?"
"No baby."
"So, are you going to have a different treatment?"
"No. My leukemia has spread to far. I'm afraid there's nothing the doctor can do."
Emma felt her eyes water up. "No! There has to be something else mom."
"I wish there was baby," she said, brushing her fingers through Emma's hair. "I wish there was."
"I don't want you to die," Emma sobbed.
Her mother pulled her into an embrace. "Me nether baby. Me nether."
Later that night
Emma sat in her bed in her room. She was still crying quietly, holding a pink bunny her mom had given her when she was small. So own knocked on her door. "Come in."
Jane came in smiling. "Hey, sweetie."
"Hey."
Her mom sat down on her bed. "This drawing is pretty," she said.
Emma smiled a little. "Thanks. It's one of my dreams. My naive dreams." She got up, tearing the paper in half as she did.
"Emma," her mom said getting. "Your dreams aren't naive." She picked up the torn pieces.
"They are. It was silly to think that you would be cured. That you'd be ok."
"No baby," she said. She hugged her daughter; the two of them lowering to the ground. "It wasn't silly. Look at me." Emma lifted her face so she could look her mother in the eyes. "I never want you to give up on a dream. No matter how big, small, impractical, or serious. Because your dreams are what helped us all these years. I want you to remember a believe in every dream you can think of. In fact, I want you to make a list of your dreams. I want you to make almost, so you can make every one of them come true. Ok?"
"Ok," Emma said resting her head against her mother's chest.
"Promise?" Jane kissed her on the top of the head.
Emma closed her eyes; letting the sound of her mother's fragile heart clam her. "Promise."
Age 8
The numb feeling that filled Emma as her grandmother put an arm around her was suffocating. Emma thought that she'd die with the emptiness filling her. She wished that there was something she could do to get rid of it. "Gran," she said looking at her grandmother. "I can't do this."
"Ok, angel. Why don't you go ou back for a little while?"
Emma nodded and left the reception in the living room. She sat on the back steps of the porch. She took a tissue out of the pocket of her black dress and pressed it against her eyes. The door opened behind her and someone sat next to her.
"Hey," Gia said quietly.
"Hey," Emma said.
"Nice reception."
"I guess."
"Em," Gia said taking her hand. "I can't imagine what you must be going through. Your mom was an amazing person. She was just like you. Sweet; kind; tree-hugger." Emma laughed. "She was like a second mother to me. And after how dysfunctional mine is, it was nice to be treated like a child."
"I thought you hated being treated like a kid."
"I do. But it's nice sometimes."
Emma nodded, starting to cry again. "I just miss her so much."
"I know," Gia said. She wrapped an arm around Emma and pulled her close. Emma put her head on her best friend's shoulder. "It'll be ok."
"I hope so."
"It will. I'll be here for you. So will your Gran."
Emma smiled a little. Gia wasn't someone who was good with her emotions; but this was something Emma knew she'd done for her. She frowned when she saw the bruises on Gia's wrist peeking out from under her black sleeve. "Thanks G."
"Any time Em."
Age 11
"Come on Gia, you should do it!"
"I can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because, I'm not pretty like you."
"That as not true," Emma protested. "Every girl is beautiful. Like Cinderella."
Gia rolled her eyes. "That as certainly what my life feels like most days."
"Then this will be fun! Please, Gia?"
Gia sighed. She looked at the yellow dress Emma was holding. "I don't even like dresses."
"I know, but its only be once."
"And if I say yes it'll be more than once."
"Please?!"
Gia looked at the picture tapped to Emma's vanity mirror. It was of her and her mother a couple of months before she died. Emma and her mother had usually gone to the Harwood County Beauty Pageant together; but this year, with Emma's grandmother her guardian, Emma would have to go alone. Unless Gia greed to go with her. She looked at the lost tacked to Emma's wall. She knew winning the beauty pageant for her mom was on that list. If they did it together they would have a good chance.
She looked again at the dress Emma was holding. It was a wonderful shade of yellow that Gia knew she could pull off. But it was sleeveless, and she tried to avoid things like that. It would even show her shoulders. She thought about the purple-blue-yellow bruises on her shoulders and back. "I'll do it," she standing.
"Really?!"
"Yes." Nothing cover-up can't fix, she thought at the smile on Emma's face.
Emma hugged her. "Yay! This is going to be so much fun! You wait and see!"
Age 14
"Emma," Gran said walking up to her. "Aren't you going to the dance?"
"Not really," she admitted.
"I thought you liked dances."
"I do, but its a Mother's Day dance."
"I see." Her grandmother sat next to her on the steps. "And you don't have a mom to go with?"
"Exactly." A few tears slipped down her cheek. "Mom and I went every year. Now I can't go anymore."
"Sweetie," she said. "Come on. I have a wonderful idea."
An hour later Emma foun herself in the clearing with trees just starting to blossom. "I hate it here."
"Hate it? Emma-bean, this was your favorite place when you were little."
"This is where...where she told me."
"Ah I see." Her grandmother looked up. "The trees are starting to blossom."
Emma glanced up. "I guess."
Her grandmother smiled and started to braid her hair. "La, la, la, la, la, la," she began to sing softly; her fingers weaving Emma's dark hair. "The gentle breeze; stirs the leaves and stirs my soul; my heart deep inside me; sense my worth as one with Earth; as greater whole, all connected as one." She squeezed Emma's shoulders affectionately.
Emma smiled the first real smile she'd concocted in days.
"So bloom, bloom, and share your sweet perfume. Flowers bloom, bloom. La, la, la, la, la, la."
"La, la, la la, la, la, la."
Her grandmother smiled. "La, la, la, la, la, la."
"Flowers bloom, bloom; and share your sweet perfume. Flowers bloom, bloom, la, la, la, la, la, la, la." Emma sang gladly; her voice drifting on the wind and carrying through the empty forest around them.
"The gentle breeze; stirs the leaves and stirs my soul; my heart deep inside me; sense my worth with one as earth; as greater whole, all connect as one." Emma and her grandmother sang together, their voice melding together. Emma had never thought she'd be doing this again. Her mother, grandmother, and herself would always come and song on Mother's Day.
The tradition seemed silly, not having her mom there to enjoy it with them. But now, she saw it wasn't. All the things she used to enjoy with her mother: the songs, dancing, nature, dreaming, watching the clouds and stars…they were all still there. She thought of her list of dreams hanging on her wall. That seemed silly, but it wasn't. There was nothing wrong with seeing the beauty in things. On singing a song to the trees. And in that song, in that moment, Emma found she was dreaming of fulfilling her mom's greatest dream of protecting the world.
And it was this dream that she made her own vendetta. It was this dream that made her happy to accept her role as the pink ranger with pride. She sang her family's song of love, and spring time to defeat a monster. She only sang for her grandmother normally. She wanted to protect the world; and everyone in it. So others wouldn't have to know the pain of losing someone you loved. She would always love her mom. She would always remember her; and she would never forget to dream. Both big and small.