Chapter 1
When I was little.
Dad used to take me to the park in early July. The air, humid and sticky, the mosquitoes falling in love with every part of my legs.
Dad would take me to swings and push me as high as gravity would allow.
After the swings, we’d apply more mosquito repellent, and then buy hotdogs and ice cream. Oreo vanilla for me and Rocky Road for him.
We’d sit on the pier with our trousers rolled up and feet submerged in the water, and if we were lucky, if there was a party we’d watch fireworks. Hot summer 1998.
And life never got any better than that.
Today would be better. The sun would shine brighter, the sky would be clearer.
Who was I kidding?
The sun was hidden behind the clouds, the sky was contaminated with smoke, projecting a deep dull grey color.
And today wasn’t going to be any better than yesterday.
Because yesterday was dreadful.
Yesterday I took a rental car from my sunny city Miami to Georgia to stay in a motel. Returned the rental car and from there attempted to drive miles to NC.
Into a blizzard.
Of course, I had seen snow before – light flurries that had left small droplets of water on my bedroom window the night after New Year's Eve.
But I was a summer-loving fae who grew up on the shores of Miami Beach.
This snow wrapped itself over the houses, blanketing the roads. A wonderland of sorts. The world screeched to a halt as a snow-white rabbit and her thousands of kids darted and invaded the city. Crystals falling from the sky.
This was breathtaking.
Even though I hadn’t eaten in 8 hours, a benefaction of the blizzard, amidst the migraine-inducing horns of cars in traffic and a civilian’s verbal retaliation to a biker that was bound to turn physical. I could feel the overwhelming presence of freedom as heaven’s gates discarded the snowy wings of angels.
Today would be better. The sun would shine brighter, the sky would be clearer.
I did not, with every thermoreceptor in my body believe that.
Lucky for me, I had rented out a car suitable for these harsh conditions that sported a built-in radio.
I did not want to hear about the latest iPhone or who won the football match last Saturday, I definitely did not want to hear about the weather.
I was going to listen to soothing oldies' music and forget about the sun-bathed state I ditched for this icebox.
♪ ’Here comes the sun, doo da doo doo
Here comes the sun, and I say it’s alright-’ ♪
Quickly, I shut it off, who in their right mind would play such demoralizing songs at a time like this?
I did not want to think about the sun.
The sun was dead.
I could’ve asked the head of the department to relocate me to a sunnier state. I shouldn’t have traveled in the middle of winter. I should have stockpiled Mcdonald's in the trunk.
I could have I should have.
But I needed to get out of there as fast as I could. Something was burning me alive, and it wasn’t Florida’s late August sun.
Something was killing me.
So I packed a duffel and a carry-on worth of clothes, less than a bookbag of essential items, jumped in Dad’s sedan; drove it to the nearest dealer, and made myself some money. Then rented a bigger and more durable car that took me 6 hours to Georgia. Traded it out and drove a little over 2 hours to SC.
But trouble was going to track me down and surround me with coolant.
After 3 hours, the snow never melted.
But Mcdonald's was open and the traffic had cleared.
I checked into another motel, comfortable and cheap; one bed, one bath, and a miniature kitchen.
“Why is it so cold in here?” I sulked for the millionth time, careful not to turn the shower too hot to avoid a burn.
The water rained down my back, warm and soothing, exciting my frosty wings.
Those wings got me in trouble. Those wings would be ripped from my back if any human laid eyes on them.
Like Dad’s wings. Amethyst with a hint of bright fuschia.
I felt my throat clogging up. Hot tears streamed down my face as I closed my eyes hoping that they would stop. My shaky breath overthrown by a wave of nausea.
I turned off the water.
I had run off to another state to escape… guilt.
Overwhelming guilt.
There was nothing left of my happiness, just a hole piled with fear and guilt where all those summer memories had been.
Tonight I would sleep and pretend that my stomach wasn't churning, that my luggage wasn't still in the car, that the lights wouldn't be on all night,
and that it wasn't below 40 degrees ℉.
