Page 127 of Scars Like Wings

Forrest held me close as if he was afraid they would try to snatch me away again if he let go. His arm remained wrapped around me and the baby, as he called Everett and Max to handle the bodies. He rubbed my back as he asked me again if I was okay while they were on their way. He wiped the tears away from my cheeks as I said I just wanted to go home. Forrest carried me to the car, placed me in the passenger seat, and drove me there, holding my hand the entire way. He lingered close as I showered and tried to wash the past hour away.

On the right page, Mom sat at her vanity in her favorite robe, rubbing lotion in her hands like she always had done when I was a kid. Her vanity was decorated the same way I remembered. Large crystal pillars, geodes, and stones sat all over with jewelry draped on top of, across, or inside them. Books likeThe ColorPurpleby Alice Walker,The Coldest Winterby Sistah Souljah,All About Loveby Bell Hooks, andInterview with the Vampireby Anne Rice were stacked between the crystals on the shelves. Pictures of her mom were in front of the mirror, along with my ultrasound pictures and pictures of her and Pops. Before her, I even recognized the grimoire, something that I hadn’t remembered seeing when I was younger. It was open to one of the old inkless pages, Mom’s hand resting on its open page.

Growing up, I remembered Mom would speak under her breath while sitting at her dresser after her shower or in the morning after she did her hair. I never knew what she was saying, but it had felt special. I was always too nervous, for some reason, to ask Mom about it. I had asked Pops about it once out of curiosity. Aunt Max was the one who had answered that day while Pops was contemplating how to answer: “I don’t know for sure, treesong, but she might be praying.”

“Praying?” I had asked with a frown. “But we don’t go to church like they do in the movies. Why is she praying if she doesn’t go to church?”

“You don’t have to go to church to pray.” Aunt Max chuckled. “You don’t have to just pray to the Christian God, either. Prayer doesn’t have to be some form of worship. Prayer can be… Well, prayer can just be vocalizing what you hope happens or speaking things out loud to seek understanding. It is complicated, but it can come in many forms. Your mom may not be religious in the same way your Pops and I were as kids, but she is spiritual in a different way.”

“So, it’s like she’s making a wish all the time, but without a star or birthday cake? Or maybe like talking to grandma?”

Aunt Max’s eyes had twinkled then as she smiled. “Could be, love.”

I loved the idea so much, I had started collecting my own crystals and pictures of Mom to talk to at night and in themorning before bed on top of my own vanity. I hadn’t known what to say at the time, so I wished to ace a test or talked about how I thought Claire Hardy’s lip gloss smelled really good that day or wondered what tomorrow would bring. It felt silly until it became a habit.

That night,I saw Mom’s handwriting continue from the corner of my eye, taking me out of my reverie.I sat at the dresser like I did every morning and night, and I did one of the few things I still carried with me from the Enchantment.

I never told Byrdie this, even when I saw her pick up the same habit without even understanding it—it’s amazing what kids absorb without even realizing how important it is. I should have told her. It always gave me peace. Maybe it could grant her some, too?

Where I’m from, we believed that those we bonded closest with never left us. Their energy was too great to disappear forever from this world, so it lingered near those who remembered and loved them. The passed-on were always so close to us that you could speak to them, but only when your energy was the most vulnerable to connect to them, which was when you first woke up and when you were getting ready for bed.

So, after my shower at night and getting dressed in the morning, I would sit at my dresser and treat it like an altar. I would speak to Mama and open myself to her presence, love, and direction. It helped.

This particular night, I voiced for my daughter, my eventual Baby Byrdie’s safety. Forrest must have overheard me.

Pops appeared behind Mom on the right. He massaged her shoulders and kissed her damp curls.

That night, he tried to reassure me. He said that we will keep our baby safe always. Everett and Max would always protect our little girl as her guardians. He said they wouldlay their lives down for her. Our daughter would always have someone to protect her.

Mom turned around to look up at Pops. Her eyes were teary, but there was a fire blazing in them that was as mighty and fierce as the lava from earlier that day.

We needed to do more. Our daughter, our Baby Byrd. Her safety and happiness were all that mattered.

With the period at the end of Mom’s handwritten text, the image of Pops holding Mom faded. The color seeped away from the page until it was blank once more. Only Mom’s words and my thoughts were left behind. I had so much to consider, so much to think about. My brain wanted to pick a question and pull on it like it was a stray thread on a fraying sweater.

But my heart had a greater priority.

I held the grimoire close to my heart as I readjusted on the bed to be closer to the window’s ledge where my crystals sat. The pictures I had pulled from the old moving box that kick-started this were there as well. Smiling versions of Mom, Pops, and Aunt Max looked back at me at various points in their lives. I allowed the tears to fall this time, surprised I had any left. I sat the grimoire in front of the pictures, crystals, and moonlight. I placed my hand on the page, still covered in Mom’s handwriting. I closed my eyes.

I still remembered the day I had stopped this ritual. It was the night I had found out Mom had been murdered. I had sat at my dresser, sobbing for hours after my shower. I had begged for it to be a nightmare that I woke up from. I had bargained everything I could think of, swearing to never eat another sweet, promising to never curse again, vowing to follow whatever sign I needed for her to walk through the door alive and well. I had cried so hard that the tears had warped the wood. It hadn’t worked. My Mom was still dead, and so was the magic of wishes.

But it had never been about wishes.

“Mom?” I called out. Without thinking, my other hand that wasn’t in the book reached for the pendant around my neck, the same stone that had once been Mom’s. “I don’t know if this will work. I don’t know much of anything right now. I’m just not sure… I don’t know what to say or ask right now.”

I considered it all for a moment. I had so many questions, so many thoughts, so many unknowns. Where do I even start?

I swallowed hard. Then I opened my eyes. The world was blurry from the large tears that ended up flowing down my cheeks, but I could still make out everything in the delicate light. I followed my gut, allowing it to speak what my heart desired an answer for most.

“Give me a sign, Mom, Pops, Auntie Max, any of you. I need to know I’m doing this correctly and on the right path. Am I on the right track? Am I doing this right? Can you just… let me know? Please? Give me a sign from you that canonlybe from one of you. Like… I don’t know … Something you loved? Or… No! A memory! Send me a sign from a memory that the four of us shared that no one else would know! Yes! That way, I know it can only be from you. Please, let it be obvious. Gods, I know I sound like someone making a wish to a genie, but… I just need to know that I’m where I’m supposed to be and… that I’m not making a series of mistakes.”

I waited for a few moments.

Then it hit me how ridiculous this was.

Why did I expect a response immediately? Why was I rushing? Hell, who’s to say this would even work? Who’s to say it was a literal thing and not just symbolic?

I sighed, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding and closing the grimoire softly. I held it as I sunk into the covers, still in my girlfriend’s hoodie. The warmth of it and her scent mixed with those of home from the grimoire that stillhung around the room. The different scents danced together, making me feel settled in my own bones.

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