Abandoned Sand Castles (3/8)
Lady of the Lillies
The motel is the same color as the burnt sand that the sun has lessened her
mercy for over the years. Everything in Roswell seems to be covered in it.
You breathe the sand in, you cough it out.
I have a sudden urge to drop my bags and run as fast and as far from this
place as I can.
I can sense it from Isabel too. This is not the town that we grew up in. The
town is dead. The streets are empty. Apathy and neglect waft through this
place like a plague.
Tentatively, Isabel knocks on the door of room fourteen and waits. The
answer is immediate.
"What do you want?"
It hurts me to hear Maria's voice. What she has become, is a statue. An
unfeeling lump of matter without reason or emotion. Frozen. Just until the
day, she crumbles.
"It's us." Isabel undoes the top button on her blouse. Even with the slight
breeze that brought little comfort and sharp sand, it was hotter then hell.
"It's Isabel and Max."
We wait as several locks are opened and someone jiggles angrily with the
doorknob before giving it a good kick. The door opens to a stranger.
The first thing I notice is her hair. It's pulled into a tight bun at the
back of her head. My gaze moves to the business suit and then stops at the
gun holster. Dangling lazily at her hips, it makes me want to vomit just
looking at it. At a closer look, her freckles are gone, along with the
sparkle in her eye. I wish that this was all a mistake. That we would turn
around and the real Maria DeLuca would laugh. But in this woman, I saw no
laughter.
"Come in," she says stiffly stepping aside to set us past. The room is not
in much better shape then the outside. The decor is Spartan. Two beds, a
dresser and a table near the only window that has four chairs where Maria
instructs us to sit.
"The chivalry has arrived," Maria says dryly. She sets the gun on the
dresser. I can feel Isabel's tension at it's sight and I know she can feel
mine. Maria is oblivious though. "How are you?"
"Good." Isabel gets that preoccupied look in her eyes which makes me almost
as ill as the sight of the gun. She's doing another reading. Isabel is a
predator and searches for any sign of weakness. I can no longer understand
my own sister.
"Could be better," I acknowledge. "How's the F.B.I?"
Face, now cloudy and caged, Maria shrugs. "A job like any other. I've been
keeping my eye out for things that seem... suspicious. The division that
Topolsky was working for was shut down years ago. Lack of funding."
"That won't stop them from opening it again." Pessimism is an easy defense.
How easy I slip into my own role. The one that I thought I had lost the
script for.
"I said," Maria snaps, "I'm keeping an eye on it."
In the silence, Isabel decides. She knows she shouldn't ask but she makes a
living out of asking those questions. "How's Michael?"
"Michael." The way that it comes out of her mouth, that one word, the way
her eyes light up and then die, it gives me hope that Maria is not
completely lost yet. Flatly, she answers. "What little money he has goes to
booze and whatever he has left goes to bail. They think he's a joke," she
looks up at us. Wild eyes. "He sits in his cell sometimes and talks about
little green men."
Isabel goes ramrod straight. "Do they believe him?"
Haunted look that she wears, Maria can still muster a bitter smile. "Would
you?"
As if that weren't enough, Isabel digs deeper. "Are you two still..."
In this moment I hate Isabel for breaking Maria. Breaking is the word for
it.
"You know, I never understood how women stay with men who beat them. How
they can just ignore the bruises and the scars? The screaming. It's like
love is this drug that blinds them from reality." Maria trails off and then
regains that look of control. "I still don't understand them."
Questions unanswered but still satisfied, Isabel stands. "I'm going to
sleep. I'll take this bed."
"Room fifteen is yours. To your right." With a look of someone fairy-struck,
Maria calls to me as I shut the hotel door. "Pleasant dreams."
This time Liz is waiting for me. She sits calmly on a rock, and the sea, her
gentle pupil waits at her feet. Greedy for the next lesson. Even the air is
still as it waits for her to speak.
With a feeling of intrusion, I bring my chaos and self to the rock and sit.
It ripples because she frowns slightly.
The sun reaches across the ocean to her and it's rays caress her. The warmth
against her cold skin makes her smile. But the sun is murdered slowly by
night and it's blood gleams and bleeds into the sea and onto Liz.
Urging her playfully, the waves lap against her ankles. The need for her to
see me is maddening. Violence swells into me as I want to take her by the
shoulders and shake her.
She senses that too and looks deep into my eyes. I immediately regret it.
Liz, in her own way, has been beaten too. She paces the cage anxiously in
her mind.
"Things change." She shifts her gaze to the body of the sun. "Everything
changes. Everything changes except you and me and the sea."
I accept it as truth because I can do nothing else. I take her hand and wait
until her tears dry and the sun rises.
Lady of the Lillies
The motel is the same color as the burnt sand that the sun has lessened her
mercy for over the years. Everything in Roswell seems to be covered in it.
You breathe the sand in, you cough it out.
I have a sudden urge to drop my bags and run as fast and as far from this
place as I can.
I can sense it from Isabel too. This is not the town that we grew up in. The
town is dead. The streets are empty. Apathy and neglect waft through this
place like a plague.
Tentatively, Isabel knocks on the door of room fourteen and waits. The
answer is immediate.
"What do you want?"
It hurts me to hear Maria's voice. What she has become, is a statue. An
unfeeling lump of matter without reason or emotion. Frozen. Just until the
day, she crumbles.
"It's us." Isabel undoes the top button on her blouse. Even with the slight
breeze that brought little comfort and sharp sand, it was hotter then hell.
"It's Isabel and Max."
We wait as several locks are opened and someone jiggles angrily with the
doorknob before giving it a good kick. The door opens to a stranger.
The first thing I notice is her hair. It's pulled into a tight bun at the
back of her head. My gaze moves to the business suit and then stops at the
gun holster. Dangling lazily at her hips, it makes me want to vomit just
looking at it. At a closer look, her freckles are gone, along with the
sparkle in her eye. I wish that this was all a mistake. That we would turn
around and the real Maria DeLuca would laugh. But in this woman, I saw no
laughter.
"Come in," she says stiffly stepping aside to set us past. The room is not
in much better shape then the outside. The decor is Spartan. Two beds, a
dresser and a table near the only window that has four chairs where Maria
instructs us to sit.
"The chivalry has arrived," Maria says dryly. She sets the gun on the
dresser. I can feel Isabel's tension at it's sight and I know she can feel
mine. Maria is oblivious though. "How are you?"
"Good." Isabel gets that preoccupied look in her eyes which makes me almost
as ill as the sight of the gun. She's doing another reading. Isabel is a
predator and searches for any sign of weakness. I can no longer understand
my own sister.
"Could be better," I acknowledge. "How's the F.B.I?"
Face, now cloudy and caged, Maria shrugs. "A job like any other. I've been
keeping my eye out for things that seem... suspicious. The division that
Topolsky was working for was shut down years ago. Lack of funding."
"That won't stop them from opening it again." Pessimism is an easy defense.
How easy I slip into my own role. The one that I thought I had lost the
script for.
"I said," Maria snaps, "I'm keeping an eye on it."
In the silence, Isabel decides. She knows she shouldn't ask but she makes a
living out of asking those questions. "How's Michael?"
"Michael." The way that it comes out of her mouth, that one word, the way
her eyes light up and then die, it gives me hope that Maria is not
completely lost yet. Flatly, she answers. "What little money he has goes to
booze and whatever he has left goes to bail. They think he's a joke," she
looks up at us. Wild eyes. "He sits in his cell sometimes and talks about
little green men."
Isabel goes ramrod straight. "Do they believe him?"
Haunted look that she wears, Maria can still muster a bitter smile. "Would
you?"
As if that weren't enough, Isabel digs deeper. "Are you two still..."
In this moment I hate Isabel for breaking Maria. Breaking is the word for
it.
"You know, I never understood how women stay with men who beat them. How
they can just ignore the bruises and the scars? The screaming. It's like
love is this drug that blinds them from reality." Maria trails off and then
regains that look of control. "I still don't understand them."
Questions unanswered but still satisfied, Isabel stands. "I'm going to
sleep. I'll take this bed."
"Room fifteen is yours. To your right." With a look of someone fairy-struck,
Maria calls to me as I shut the hotel door. "Pleasant dreams."
This time Liz is waiting for me. She sits calmly on a rock, and the sea, her
gentle pupil waits at her feet. Greedy for the next lesson. Even the air is
still as it waits for her to speak.
With a feeling of intrusion, I bring my chaos and self to the rock and sit.
It ripples because she frowns slightly.
The sun reaches across the ocean to her and it's rays caress her. The warmth
against her cold skin makes her smile. But the sun is murdered slowly by
night and it's blood gleams and bleeds into the sea and onto Liz.
Urging her playfully, the waves lap against her ankles. The need for her to
see me is maddening. Violence swells into me as I want to take her by the
shoulders and shake her.
She senses that too and looks deep into my eyes. I immediately regret it.
Liz, in her own way, has been beaten too. She paces the cage anxiously in
her mind.
"Things change." She shifts her gaze to the body of the sun. "Everything
changes. Everything changes except you and me and the sea."
I accept it as truth because I can do nothing else. I take her hand and wait
until her tears dry and the sun rises.