Iris
Chapter Eleven
I was back home.
It was something that should have worried me more than it did, but I quickly realised it wasn't real. The edges of my vision were foggy, a white haze clinging to the outskirts of what I could see. Was I dead?
Cars passed by on the road slower than they should have: first a red one, then a taxi, a school bus, and then the same red one. It didn't freak me out as much as it should have. I turned my head. My mother was sitting across from me on the front porch, cradling a cup of tea with graceful hands. She was smiling, a wide smile I hadn't seen in so long, across at me. Her hazel eyes lit up her face as she leaned over the table. I recognised the words her mouth curved around, although her voice didn't seem to pass her lips. School. My best friend. Boys. The last one was accompanied with a little wriggle of her eyebrows as she teased me, and I snorted a laugh. I told her school was a bore, boys were confusing creatures and that I had sworn them off for now, and that Melanie and I were in the middle of a fight. She nodded sympathetically and poured me more tea.
My father's car pulled up in the driveway, and the Quileute man stepped out of his car. He jogged up the porch steps lightly and kissed my mother quickly. She asked him how work was. He said he'd gotten a raise. My mother's face glowed with pride. Dad pulled out the good wine that night from the cellar, and my parents clinked their glasses to a promise. It was almost normal, something out of a story. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye as he ate his potatoes. I thought I caught something glimmering in the dark; a mistruth, maybe. He'd always had secretive eyes.
"Iris."
The dining room shifted. I sat frozen in my place at the table as the walls covered in family portraits were pushed further out. The table sunk into the floor before my eyes, and the chair flung me to my feet before vanishing. My parents were blown to dust with a gentle breeze from the window.
And then I was standing in the living room, arriving home after a shopping trip with my mother up in Seattle. My eyes widened with horror, even though I'd seen it before. My mother offered only a tiny sob as any sign of distress at my father's betrayal. My father was curled up under a blanket with a stranger, gaping stupidly as he tried to weave some sort of excuse or explanation. My mother held her chin high as she turned on her heel and stalked out of the house. His eyes turned to me, darker than before. His mouth wrapped around his plea for me to wait, but no sound ever came. I walked outside.
"Breathe. C'mon, breathe!"
The view of my street shifted before my eyes, twisting and morphing into another setting. Green lawn replaced the wooden porch beneath my feet, trees taking up the space that houses earlier occupied. Somber black attire surrounded me: a sea of suits and modest dresses. The priest stood by the coffin and offered comfort that I couldn't hear. I was at the funeral. My father was hanging around somewhere near the edges, but I didn't look for his black eyes. I just stared as my cousins gently placed white rose petals on the lid of her coffin. Paul stood next to me, squeezing my shoulder. I watched his lips as he spoke, but I couldn't hear the words of comfort, just saw my cousin drowning in empathy. Sam pulled me into his chest and stroked my hair. I hadn't realised I was crying until then. I watched as my mother was lowered into the ground.
"Iris!"
My mother's coffin faded. The trees dematerialised. The sea of black disappeared, and Sam's warm arms around me dissolved. I watched as the grass slowly turned to sand, blade by blade, grain by grain. The bitter weeps of mourning faded to the quiet whoosh of the ebb and flow of the tide nearby. Quiet. Peaceful. Empty.
"Breathe, Iris!"
I watched from a distance, staring at my lifeless body on the shore. Someone was leaning over me, pumping my chest. Dead-me didn't respond.
The unidentified man pressed his mouth to my lips. They'd turned blue, I realised, and my fingernails a faint purple. He breathed twice for me, and I saw my chest rise, before he was back to hitting my chest.
I drifted closer towards myself, towards him.
Thirty pumps, two breaths, thirty pumps, two breaths…
"For fuck's sake, just breathe, would you?!"
A drop of water dripped onto my pale cheek. And then another.
Tears.
"Iris," he gasped. "Iris, please."
I didn't want to see this.
I felt the pull. It was like a string attached to my heart had been gently tugged, bringing me closer to my motionless body. I knew I had to go back, knew I had to return. I couldn't leave like this, couldn't let this happen.
Still, I tried to resist.
"Breathe," the man begged. His voice broke. He pressed his lips to mine again, breathing for me.
The string was jerked once more, harder this time, with more force. I stumbled across the sand. A little closer, a few steps away.
"Breathe," he repeated, more sternly this time, but it somehow sounded more desperate at the same time. I felt sick.
The string was wrenched. I flew forwards, unable to resist the pull, and I fell into myself.
My vision became hazy. The clear view I had moments earlier of the beach was blurry, the man impossible to identify through my cloudy vision. The sound of water hushed, quieted. The beach grew darker, darker, darker.
I heard only a whisper.
"Come back, Iris."
And then it was silent, dark once more.