Page 19 of Beautiful Venom

No one has ever loved me like Mama.

“Dahlia, honey?” She speaks again in the darkness, like an angel.

I bite my lower lip to keep from calling out to her and telling her how much I miss her.

This is a trial. They’re trying to mess with me.

A strong light shines in front of me and I squint, then close my eyes. An orange film forms behind my eyelids as my sight gradually adjusts.

The sound of giggles reaches me, and I slowly open my eyes again. There’s a light before me, projected into a wall, that shows an old video of my toddler years. I look close to one year old.

My chubby little hands grab onto a leather sofa covered with a colorful quilt, my brown curls chaotic and lighter than they are now.

“Come on, honey. Come to Mama.”

My vision blurs when the camera shifts to Mom, who’s sitting on her knees. It’s been such a long time, I almost forgot what she looked like. After the accident, the bank foreclosed on the house, then auctioned most everything in it and threw away the rest or sent it to an old distant aunt who refused to take me in. I didn’t even get a picture of my parents.

The only image I have of them is in my head.

After so many years, it’s gotten distorted and changed, but as I watch the video, I can finally see my mama again.

I look so much like her, though her skin was a bit tanner, her hair lighter, her eyes brown, while mine are hazel.

She was a beautiful woman, but what I recall the most about her is the stunning smile that never left her lips, no matter how hard things got.

“Come, baby. One more step,” she encourages, both her hands stretched out.

Little me finally takes the leap. I reach toward her and walk like a drunken man. “Mama…Mama…”

“Yes!” She squeals as I take a few steps and fall into her embrace. Mom hugs me tight, stands up, then whirls me in the air as I giggle uncontrollably. She stares at the camera, tears of joy forming a sheen in her eyes. “Did you see that, hon? Dahl’s first steps.”

“I did.” Dad’s voice sounds deeper than I recall. The video zooms in, slightly shaky, as he approaches us. The last still is a blurry image of Dad with his arm around Mom and me, his face unclear.

My hand reaches out of its own accord as a tear slides down my face. I’ve never seen this video. I wasn’t even aware it existed. I don’t know what I want to do. Touch the screen? Touch them?

Hug their image?

The still flickers on the screen and then a darker video appears. Road surveillance footage. My lips part as I see a grainy image of a car flipped beside a cliff. An older blue Toyota.

Dad’s car.

My ears buzz when the video quickly rewinds, and I watch as a truck comes from the opposite direction, the bright headlights and the loud horn nearly splitting my skull open. Our car swerves and I drop to my knees on the cold, hard ground, slamming both palms to my ears to keep from hearing the crash.

But the sound penetrates my hands and explodes in my ears so loudly, I scream.

In a fraction of a second, I’m transported to fifteen years ago.

“Daddy,look, I made my doll a dress,” I gloat, bouncing up and down in the back seat. “Hey, look, look…”

“Your daddy is driving, Dahl.” Mom looks back and strokes my hair. “Don’t distract him, okay?”

“But I wanna show my doll.” I pout, then shove my doll against the back of his seat. “Daddy, look.”

“Stop it, Dahl,” Mom scolds harshly.

My lips tremble and I start to cry, hugging my doll tightly to my chest.

“Don’t cry, baby.” Dad glances at me. “Your doll looks beautiful.”

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