Chapter 8

(a memory)

The weather had been terrible all week. There seemed to be a conflict over whether snow, sleet or freezing rain was more likely between the local news stations. Punzie had tried to talk me out of going alone, offered to take me in Eugene's car. I was going to be upset anyway, she reasoned, why add any stress?

But today was different; or, I guess special.

I didn't want to be with Punzie; I didn't really want to be with anyone. And she understood that, when it came down to it. That was one of the things I loved about her, she trusted me, maybe even when she shouldn't.

So it was with her blessing that I took my bike. You know, like a dumbass.

By the time I'd arrived at the Institute the lower half of my legs were splattered with water and dirt from the bike ride. I'd ridden miles through puddles of muddy, half-frozen slush, and my ankles felt raw and cut from the ice.

The staff gave me irritated looks as I tracked footprints through the lobby, signing in at the front desk. The frail, elderly woman behind the counter gave me a tight smile and motioned to the left with a shaking hand. I started down the South Hall. Nurses and patients both rushed past me or stood muttering over files in doorways. I paid them no attention, my vision tunneled down the end of the corridor, trying to focus on the window.

Breathe. Just breathe. Just half an hour. Breathe.

The smell in the air made my skin crawl, like bleach and hand sanitizer and latex. I could feel people's eyes on me, their hunger to snatch me and strap me down and trap me here like everyone else. I counted the doors on the way down, trying to match my breath to my footsteps.

"Fifteen, sixteen, seventee-"

"Oh, hello Miss Hart."

My footing went out from under me and I stumbled toward the voice in my attempt to turn. A cold hand cupped my elbow to steady me and I winced at the loud squeak of my shoes on the tile floor. My eyes traced up the arm to see Dr. Weselton, the one who always spoke to me about my mother's "condition".

I'd never liked him. He was a short, bird nosed man with thin, gangly limbs and a bad hairpiece. He always spoke to me as if I were a particularly selfish, stupid child. Like I couldn't be bothered to come by more often, and if he insulted me about it I wouldn't be able to tell he was being rude.

People always made assumptions about me, that I must be a cruel, heartless person to avoid my mother the majority of the time. Or that I was an immature child making mistakes that I didn't understand. That I'd regret everything when I got older and "grew up". It used to really bother me, like almost more than anything else bothered me. But I had learned years ago that people just didn't know. They had no idea what it was like to be here, to see her. Neither did Weselton, really, because he didn't actually give a shit about any of these people. He didn't know what it was like to love her and feel like she was gone, even though she was sitting right in front of me.

I ripped my arm quite rudely out of his hand. He cleared his throat and offered me a condescending smile. "I'm glad you're here. Your mother has been having a difficult time, you know."

I let his sentence hang for a moment, just long enough for him to tug on his collar in discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm aware."

"Yes, well," He jostled his files around for a moment, then looked past me, down the hall. "Have a good visit. If you have any questions before you leave I'll be in the Right Wing."

"Thanks." I muttered, but he was already several feet away, the heels on his shoes clicking rhythmically.

I took a deep breath, twisting to face room 118. There was a dull, laminated flower taped above the doorknob. Seeing it made me want to throw up. My mom would've never put something so ugly up as a decoration. She probably didn't even know it was there. I glanced at the faded name marker, the "a" in "Hart" chipped badly enough that it looked like an "o".

My fists trembled and I could feel my nails cutting into the palms of my hands.

Calm down. Don't get worked up before you even go in.

I took another breath, gathering all my strength and leaned forward abruptly, before I could stop myself, knocking three times. I waited only a few seconds before shoving the door handle down roughly and marching in.

It was the same. It was always the same.

The room was white and gray, with a dingy yellow tinge clinging to each corner. There were a few more ugly flowers taped to the far wall around the white board that had her list of prescriptions. I glanced at the check marks; she had two more pills to go today. The tv whispered old, fuzzy jazz music and projected a black a white visual of a couple dancing. I thought it might be Top Hat, it used to be one of her favorites. She loved dancing.

There was an empty vase that used to have flowers in it I'd sent her for Mother's Day. She'd let them sit there for months after they were brown and dry. I wondered if she threw them away finally or if one of the staff did. The room smelled like floor cleaner, and I noticed that mom's sheets were tucked tightly around the foot of the bed.

They cleaned before I got here.

The realization sent a sick feeling through my stomach. She probably just sat there while they mopped and made her bed. She probably didn't move while the nurses tucked the sheets too tightly around her feet; she probably didn't comment when they hung the stupid flowers up.

I stomped over to the wall and ripped the ugly things down, tossing them in the little gray trash can by the bed. She would hate them; I knew she would.

I forced myself to look at her.

And she wasn't looking at me. Of course, she never did. She didn't look at anyone. The last time she had was when she'd told me she loved me as I left for the bus the morning of the fire.

She sat very still, her hands folded in her lap, her back perfectly straight. Her head was turned slightly away, toward the window. Her hair was dry and broken on the ends, longer than she'd ever used to let it grow. The frayed bits rested on her chest, normal chestnut brown faded and pale. Light glared against her pale skin, turning it almost translucent, and the skin under her eyes was sunken and bruised looking. I wondered if she noticed the bird's nest that sat in the corner of the sill. Her face was always so empty, it was hard to tell if she noticed anything.

I cleared my throat, blinking quickly at the heat in my eyes. "Um, h-hey Mom."

She didn't say anything. Her eyes didn't shift from the window. I clenched my jaw and inhaled deeply through my nose.

Just get over it.

I sat heavily on the end of her bed in a deliberate attempt to jostle her. She didn't acknowledge me, but I shoved past my anger and pulled the folded papers out of my pocket.

"You ready? I, um, included some more stuff about the twins. They're really funny, I think you'll like it. There's also a couple of Punzie ones; she has this new boyfriend, it's really gross. I guess she really likes him though, so whatever."

I laughed in a hollow kind of way. Mom turned her head slightly, to focus on the tv instead. I took it as a positive sign; it was a little closer to facing me than she had been. I cleared my throat again, unfolding the crackling notebook pages and shifting them nervously in my hands.

"There are also, um, some about my classes. I'm doing a little better this year." I wondered if she was proud. I wondered if she even heard me. "O-okay, here we go." I flicked my eyes to her one last time; she stared at the tv.

I swallowed. "January fifteenth, Elsa got into a fight with this stupid boy in the parking lot today and I think she scared him so badly he's going to quit the basketball team. Or maybe it was Kristoff hulking around behind her. But it was probably just Elsa. People are always scared of her; I can't blame them."

I took a deep breath and chanced another glance at her. She still focused away from me. Sometimes I could convince myself she was listening, but today wasn't one of those days. I was getting too old to fake her enthusiasm for her.

"January nineteenth, I actually achieved a B on an APUSH exam today and it is only because of Elsa. She's some kind of weird nerd genius I guess. She seems to know everything. At least I'm not alone in being dumb; Kris tells me he never knows what the hell shes going on about either."

I blinked and realized I was crying. I hadn't even known, but the tears were warm against my cheeks. One splashed down onto the page I was reading. I shook my head and continued.

"January twenty-eighth, We were supposed to be studying for biology last night but Kris and Elsa and I went driving out to the next town over to get ice cream at 8 o'clock. Of course, we didn't get back until one. So today I totally botched our presentation. Elsa promised to make up for it by tutoring me, so I'm still happy...

"February sixth, yesterday there was a game and while we were prepping I had Punzie, Kris and Elsa pretend to be cheerleaders. Kris's dancing was amazing honestly…"

My mom continued to stare at the tv while I spoke. I allowed the happiness of the memories to distract me, to eat away at my time. I pretended Elsa and Kristoff were sitting with me, cringing at the memory of their terrible backyard cheer routine. My tears soaked into the notebook paper, smearing my words into black shadows. My voice never changed though, never broke while I read.

Reading to her was something I was used to, something I had done since I first realized she wasn't going to talk to me anymore. At first it had been books or articles that I knew she would've found interesting. At some point that didn't feel satisfactory anymore. I wanted to feel like I was talking to her, like we were having a conversation. If I told her about me it was like we were chatting after school or something; how things might've been if our lives were different, normal. Plus, this way it felt like she knew what was going on with me, at least on some level. She knew my friends and how I was doing in school and that I had people taking care of me. I didn't want her to be worried about me on the inside. I assumed she probably had enough craziness going on inside her head.

Honestly, I comforted myself by saying it was a relief for the both of us, but it was just me. I was always alone when I visited her; the person I used to know was gone, I just vented to her body. At the very least she was a good, silent audience.

I always watched her when I finished reading,though. Just on the off chance she'd have some kind of reaction, the hint of an expression.

And I never made it past that moment; each time I visited her it's what got me.

It was always because I made the mistake of really studying her face, searching for a hint of emotion. And then it hit me how much I looked like her.

Our eyes were the same shape, our cheeks the same width and slant and roundness. Her splash of freckles were lighter than mine, but the same pattern. Her hair fell around her face in the same way mine did, her bangs sweeping down over one of her eyebrows. My smile was like hers too, people always told me, but I hadn't seen it in a long time.

Sometimes I would look at myself in the mirror and pretend it was her, the way I remembered her as a kid. She was dorky and laughed loudly, with her mouth wide open. She told bad jokes but still made them funny. People wanted to be near her, were pulled in by her cheer and warmth. That's what my dad always said he loved about her; she was the star of his solar system, his heat source. If I smiled really widely, so that both my dimples showed up, and wore my hair down, I could almost believe I was her.

And it was fucking painful.

I couldn't survive moments like that, where I missed her so much it felt like my heart was caving in, pulling the rest of my chest into a black hole. I couldn't miss her that way, like she was dead. I couldn't live through missing her the way I missed my dad.

Enough.

I shoved myself up abruptly, scooting her whole bed an inch to the right. It squealed loudly against the tile and I winced.

"I got you these, snuck them in." The hershey kisses crinkled when I slid them across her nightstand. Mom didn't look over. I hoped she'd eat them. I knew she probably wouldn't.

I slipped the crinkled pages on top of the chocolate, curling around the wet marks.

"I love you. Happy birthday."

And then I flew out the door, down the South Hall and straight through the lobby. I heard the woman at the front desk try to get my attention, but I didn't care much about signing out at the moment.

I didn't care about seeing Dr. Weselton before I left. I didn't have any questions; nothing had changed anyway. Nothing ever did.

I wished vehemently that I could just give up on her. If I could stop caring, stop hoping that maybe, one day she'd remember how much she used to love me, I could be okay.

My tears were so hot, my blood burning through my veins, I was flying through the parking lot on my bike before I realized it was snowing.

I was going to have to call Elsa.

I'd brought my bike for the explicit purpose of not calling the twins to pick me up, but it was beginning to look like I had no choice.

Technically Punzie had lent me her phone if I needed to call her, not Elsa. But we had an unspoken agreement that I'd leave it in our mailbox on my way to the twins' house; I'd done it plenty of times before. Punzie understood my need to avoid my aunt and uncle after my visits to the Institute. They would pester, ask me uncomfortable questions, ask if mom was any better even though they knew she wasn't. They had good intentions, so I couldn't get too angry with them. It was easier to practice avoidance. Thus, the twins would often pick me up.

But I was not in the mood for company. I liked to be alone in misery, and the bike ride home was plenty of time for me to calm myself down enough to make it past preliminary questioning and into my room for a few days. I could pedal through the miles and work my hurt into the tiny, shadowed corners of my heart, where I could ignore it most of the time.

It took me a little while to realize the weather seemed to have taken a serious decline. The wind felt like glass shards on my cheeks. I was only about five minutes out of the parking lot before it was nearly unbearable. I pulled my coat up and over my nose. My eyes streamed, but I wasn't sure it was all from the cold.

Still, I was determined to make it.

And then it started snowing.

It wasn't too hard at first, and I decided I was going to tough it out. Then it got thicker and darker and snow started sticking to my exposed hair and the tear tracks on my face. I tried to ignore how cold I was, but shivers wracked me from head to toe. My legs felt stiff while I tried to pedal. I glanced up and saw the first mile marker.

Looking up from the ground was a mistake. I got a face full of snow and my first instinct was to wipe my eyes, and I released the handlebars without a thought.

Then my front tire suddenly slipped on the snow caked mud and I tumbled to the ground, landing in the ditch in a painful heap.

I chose not to move, feeling for a second like nothing could ever motivate me to get up. I listened to the rhythmic click of my bike wheel spinning while snow gathered on my eyelids and lips.

First, I considered calling Punzie. But the more I thought about it, the worse of an idea it seemed. Punzie was… a bit of a lecturer. If she picked me up in this condition I was positive we'd get into a fight with the mood I was in. I didn't want to be told how irresponsible I was and how badly I'd worried her. I wasn't in the mood to console anyone.

Kristoff would usually be my second choice, mostly because his truck had the best heat of any vehicle I'd ever been in.

But he was a little too frantic around me on days like this, where I let myself get upset. I think it freaked him out to see me genuinely sad about anything, or sad enough that I wouldn't hide it from him. He tried a little too hard to get me to stop or cheer me up. It was sweet, but overbearing.

And besides, I knew I wanted Elsa.

She wouldn't have to ask me what was wrong; she wouldn't freak out if I cried. Elsa had this way of sharing in my sadness, so that it didn't feel quite so heavy or overwhelming, without having to really identify or discuss it if that wasn't what I wanted. There was never any judgment, any pity. Her quiet support was perfect for the visit I'd had.

Of course, she picked up before the second ring ended.

"Anna? What's up-"

"Can you come get me?"

She took in the sound of my voice for a second, the way it cracked on each word.

"Where are you?" Her tone changed. I could tell she was up, probably moving to the car already.

"I went to visit mom. I didn't know it was going to snow."

"That's all right, I'll be there in ten minutes. You're out in this storm?" The pitch of her voice had risen. I knew she was worried and I immediately felt embarrassed.

"I-I'm already a mile down the road, t-took my bike." My teeth chattered. Elsa groaned loudly on her end.

I huffed, ready to be annoyed. "I didn't want to bother-"

"Don't be ridiculous." She cut me off, and I could almost hear her trying to get control of herself. It gave me a little bit of satisfaction that I immediately felt guilty for. A staticky slew of muffled curses interrupted me from the other end of the line. I distantly heard the sound of her car revving, and I knew it was her swinging quickly around the big curve at the end of their road.

"Make that five minutes. Please be careful; get under some cover. I'll hurry."

Her voice was strained. My heart gave a painful squeeze of gratitude.

"Thanks, Els."

"Of course." She whispered, and hung up a breath later.

I continued to stare at the sky for maybe one more minute. It was tempting to give up and just let the snow bury me. It was pretty beautiful, honestly; the way it fluttered down in fuzzy white puffs. Snow would usually remind me of Elsa, the color of her hair, the little winter scene drawings she liked to do.

But sometimes it pulled out older, sadder memories. My mom used to love the snow. She built armies of snowmen in our old yard, challenging me to snowball wars when I got off the school bus-

Mom. Snow. Bus-

I shoved my fists against the ground, burying them in the accumulating snow. I wished I could fall further into the ground, be buried here and not have to think anymore. I could totally understand why people drank or did drugs sometimes, if I thought about it. It made sense to want things to be different. To want to get outside of your own head for a little while, or not think about that thing you're always thinking about. I could understand that; really it made sense. There should be a way to turn your brain off for a while, something better than sleep. Sleeping led to dreaming and there was never any escape there, only reminders.

I dreamt about fire constantly. My mom, the smell of smoke-

God, just shut up!

I slapped my hands against my face, smushing snow onto my eyelids, melting it into my hair. My fingertips and toes were already numb; the cold seeping through my clothes to whisper across my bare skin, chilling me further. I shook my head free of thoughts, keeping my mind deliberately blank. There seemed to be nothing around me but spinning whiteness; the road was almost invisible. I yanked my coat tighter around my body. The wind howled angrily by, whipping snow across the asphalt in mesmerizing waves.

I briefly wondered if Elsa would even be able to see me through the thick snowfall, and then decided I didn't care. I almost regretted calling her. I truly wanted to be alone; I didn't want Elsa to see me this way. If I weren't facing the threat of hypothermia I would still have biked. I felt very united with the setting. The cold around me was so fitting, a comforting kind of physical pain, distracting. For a moment I felt much better. My despair was small in comparison to the storm.

At that exact moment a pair of headlights winked through the blizzard, getting closer and brighter. A new kind of roar, the sound of an engine, broke through the howling wind.

Move. Move, now!

I shot up, my numb legs trembling beneath me. I heard the brakes squeal on the car, saw the tires skid slightly in the snow before settling about twenty feet away from me.

And in the same second Elsa was suddenly in front of me, her hands gripping almost painfully on my shoulders.

"Are you okay? What were you doing; are you hurt? Why were you laying down on the side of-"

But she was getting taller and I realized after a second it was because I was falling. She caught me instead of continuing to question. Her hand came smoothly around the back of my thighs and before I knew what was happening she was holding me bridal style, as easily as if I were a pillow.

I felt oddly delusional, which would have been kind of frightening if I had been more aware.

All I knew is I was suddenly very happy to see her.

I wrapped my arms around her shoulders immediately, leaning my face against her neck, reveling in her comforting smell and the warmth of her body. I pressed my freezing fingertips to her collar and she hissed but did not pull away.

"God, Anna, you feel cold." She sounded like that should have been an impossible statement. I wanted to roll my eyes at her but I was legitimately worried they were frozen. I laughed weakly at myself.

"T-that's prob-bably because I-I'm f-freezing." I struggled through my shivers and clenched teeth. "I f-fell off m-my bike, did-dn't want-t to get up-p."

There was so much snow on my eyelashes I could barely see Elsa, but I could feel her worry. She walked briskly toward her car, carrying me like it was nothing.

Seriously? Has she been this strong the whole time and I haven't been appreciating it?

I blinked and tried to focus.

"M-my bik-ke-"

"Shhh," Elsa pulled me a little tighter against her chest, reaching down (always gracefully) to grab the car door handle. "I'll get it."

And she lowered me down, into the car, where the heat blasted like blow dryers out of the vents. Elsa reached over me to flick on the seat warmers and tucked a thin blanket around my shoulders. I wondered if perhaps I had died after all. Maybe the car did hit me, or maybe I froze to death. I couldn't have imagined a better version of heaven.

"Were you hurt when you fell?" She asked, crouching down to bring her face level with mine. She pulled the seatbelt across my chest and buckled it on the other side of my lap. I stared dumbly at her eyelashes and shook my head. The little crease between her brows faded; she reached out to tuck a wet strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering for a second.

I was struck by something suddenly. The way she was looking at me made me almost… embarrassed? But that wasn't the right word, it wasn't a negative thing. Her face was so soft and her smile hung loose and easy, like she didn't know it was there. I watched her eyes catalog my face, checking each inch for a sign of damage. She had this tender, profound kind of care in her eyes and something about it was a little heartbreaking. I felt a bloom of warmth spread through my chest and the familiar urge to kiss her. Though this time, it was a little easier to tame, knowing how disgusting I must be. Still, I couldn't help leaning toward her, just to be a little closer.

"Wait here." She smiled at me, then slammed the door closed and jogged off into the snow. I couldn't see her out of the car window after only a few feet. I had no idea how she hadn't run me over. I also felt myself deflate a little bit. A few seconds of her absence and my dark mood was returning quickly. She reappeared, lugging my bike behind her. She shoved it roughly into her back seat, smearing mud carelessly across the nice interior.

"Shit, Els-sa I-I'm sorry-"

Her glare cut me off. "It would be impossible for me to care less about this car. Are you getting warmer?"

I nodded. She smiled again and closed the back door, slipping almost immediately into the driver's seat. She pulled her seatbelt over herself and drove back out into the road in one motion, already headed in the direction of my aunt and uncle's house.

"You okay?"

She asked after a second. I finally felt the muscles in my shoulders start to relax under the heat.

"I'm fine."

I wasn't. She obviously knew I wasn't, but this was the exact reason I'd called Elsa instead of anyone else. She would wait for me to start, I knew she would. I spoke again after only a minute of silence, pressing my fingers directly against the vents.

"It was… her birthday today."

I kept my eyes forward on the white road, wondering fleetingly how Elsa was navigating perfectly.

I felt her looking at me. "God, I'm sorry, Anna."

I breathed a long sigh. "It's okay. That's why I wanted to go alone. I knew it was going to be a bad day anyway."

"Is she…" I almost felt Elsa cringe on her own words. "How is she?"

I just shrugged. "The same, I guess. She doesn't talk."

I rubbed my now warm fingers up and down my arms. Elsa was quiet; I didn't think she'd prompt me again, probably afraid of upsetting me further.

"I brought her some of the candy she used to like. The hospital doesn't really like for me to do that, but-"

"You can do whatever you want to do." Elsa grumbled defensively, her fingers flexing against her steering wheel. She sounded ready to rip someone's arm off. It made me smile a little bit.

"I just miss her, you know?"

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them, my cheeks flaring red. But then Elsa's breath caught a litte.

"Yeah." Her voice shook slightly. I turned to her in shock, never having heard her sound less than perfect. "I know what you mean. I'm… so sorry."

She sounded like she might cry and I remembered Elsa's parents and the little I had heard about them. The twins had lost both of them at once from what I knew. In a way, so had I. If anyone understood it probably was Elsa.

And I felt a sort of defense drop that I hadn't been fully aware of, and words were tumbling out of my mouth without my permission.

"I-I just wish that she loved me as much as she used to. When... we lost dad I never thought she would just… give up on me. Even without him. And I know that's selfish but I - I just always thought I'd have her. After the fire and the trial and everything; I didn't know I lost her too. She lived and I lived and that wasn't enough for her. I didn't realize it was… just him. Without him I don't exist either. "

The car had stopped. I didn't realize Elsa wasn't driving anymore until I noticed her facing me fully, turned in her seat toward me. But there was no stopping me; I was on a roll, saying things I'd never even let form coherently in my head.

"It's like - like they both died. Except I can't get any better. I can't forget or move on. They are both gone, but I have to watch these people parade her corpse around once a month and pretend she's still here, like they're helping her? Pretend like it makes me feel better to visit her? Sit there and fucking smile while they tell me every year that she just- just exactly the same as always? I don't- It would just- It would be better if she was dead too."

The car fell silent except for my breathing which had become quite heavy. The snow fell fast and thick onto the car, holding us for the moment. And I finally met Elsa's eyes and I don't know what I expected but it was not what I saw.

She was crying, openly, heavily. Tears streamed thickly down her cheeks and onto her shirt. Her fingers were curled tightly around each other, like she was trying desperately to hold them still. And she was staring at me like… she couldn't believe I was real.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, blinking in irritation at her tears. "I'm so sorry; I shouldn't be crying. Jesus, I'm supposed to be being helpful. I wish I could-"

But she was muffled by my shoulder when I launched myself across the car at her, attaching myself around her neck and crying. Seeing her cry was way, way too much for me. Knowing it was for me was even more difficult to handle, because Elsa wasn't like that. Part of me felt good, like I had gotten something big off my chest. A much larger part of me felt overwhelming guilt for what I had said, as well as for dumping it on Elsa who didn't deserve that kind of heartache on top of her own. Of course, Elsa would take it because she was Elsa and I could expect nothing less of her. She pulled me closer at my waist, further into her lap, and laid her head on top of mine.

We sat like that for a long time.

The snow piled on top of the car and I received several worried messages from Punzie. But Elsa was holding me and I was feeling just a fraction better than I had been so it was worth it.

"Els?" I winced at the roughness in my voice. The way it scraped against the silence was grating. Elsa lifted her head off of mine a little.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for... dealing with me."

I felt my cheeks go red again, and Elsa laughed just a little, not enough that I felt like it was at me.

"Please." And she leaned down in front of me, so I could see her smile. Her eyes were red and watery but so pretty. "I'm lucky to know you."

I couldn't help but cry again.

Elsa held me while the snow buried us alive.