Page 146 of Memories Like Fangs
Slow and aching, the notes wrapped around me like a memory I wasn’t ready for. The women in my family carried this song for generations. It was etched into the very marrow of our bones and played like a second heartbeat. It had always been both complex and simple, traditional and fresh, soft and profound, and eerie and hopeful. It was beautiful, painfully so, and that made you appreciate it more. Now, though, the song sounded more like mourning than healing. There was a grief that hadn’t settled, a love that hadn’t faded, and a yearning so sharp I struggled to breathe through it. Every strum called me home and tore me into pieces in the same breath.
Ithurtso much.
Mom used to play our song all the time on her deep red violin when I was a kid, and then we used to play together with me on my cello when I got older. I still remembered her nimble, cherry-red manicured fingers on the black strings, her eyes closed with a smile barely there but full of meaning. Back then, I never imagined a day would come when I’d hear it without her there.Once, Mom had told me that if I ever got lost, the song would help me find my way.
It had returned to me, but I didn’t feel found.
I felt hollow and left behind.
As devastating as the song was, it was so familiar and so unmistakablyherthat it was like I could feel her. Like when she had died, she felt so close, like I could open my eyes and see her in the dark, but I didn’t dare. I wanted to call out for her, but I couldn’t speak. I wanted to follow the music, believing that maybe if I just listened for long enough, I could see her again, but I knew better. The song was only a memory. As eternal, forgiving, andoursit was, the magic of it felt so fragile and sacred. I was more than happy to float in this ether and just listen, allowing it to break me instead.
A soft hum joined the song, warm and low like cookies fresh from the oven. The dulcet sounds brushed over my skin like silk. It wove itself into the music, slipping between the notes like it had always been there. It was like itwasthe song, and the violin was just background noise. My breath caught in my chest.
Iknewthat timbre and sound.
That hum couldn’t have belonged to anyone else.
My eyes burst open.
I sat in a small, lovingly kept bedroom. The space was cozy and bright, even with the slatted blinds closed. Dust danced in the orange beams sneaking through. The hardwood flooring was so worn, it was obvious it would creak as soon as someone stepped on it. Everything seemed vintage and either homemade or collected over time from the quilt on the bed that smelled faintly of cedar to the bulky, scratched wooden furniture. The counter of a tiny dark mahogany vanity was packed with open makeup containers, dirty brushes, jewelry in mismatched crystal trays, and bottles of oils in various colors and sizes. Salty and savory food, having been cooked so many times you could smellit in the walls, drifted in from the kitchen. Books of varying genres were stacked haphazardly on shelves all over the room and nightstand. Framed photos hung on the walls all around the room, but one in particular caught my eye.
I stood to get even closer to it. Above the nightstand was a portrait of a dark-skinned woman with high cheekbones, round cheeks, full lips, and large, round amber eyes. Her large nose crinkled from the laugh she was caught in the middle of. She was curvy just like me and Mom. She also had locs that were just as long and thick as mine, tucked beneath a scarf around her neck. Whereas my locs grew in cotton candy pink, hers were a dark red that reminded me of wet Georgia clay. She was vibrant, carefree, and stunning. She was so beautiful in the same way Mom was. They looked just alike, just like me and Mom, as if we had been copied and pasted with minor changes.
This had to be my grandmother.
So, this was Mom’s childhood bedroom.
“Hi there, baby Byrd.”
I turned around, and there she was.
My mom stood in the doorway of the bedroom with a familiar grace that I knew all too well. Her jet-black afro was long, huge, and full of tight, kinky ringlet curls flowing down her back. Her gown was like something from a fairytale. The floor-length dress flowed in layers of twilight with a soft iridescence to the fabric like stars in the late evening sky. The shimmer there brought out the highlight of gold and silver all over her dark skin, the patches of ruby red scales dotting her skin, and the brown in her almost-black eyes. The puffed sleeves floated around her shoulders and arms before cuffing at her wrists. The structured bodice wrapped around her body like a second skin with unique and elaborate details sewn into it that I had never seen before. Mom’s two arches of golden, silken membrane trailed gently behind her, folded in such a way that made it clear she wasused to doing it. Her ruby red tail curled around her waist at least twice, like an accessory with the cobalt blue dress. Even her golden horns curling toward her neck dazzled just like a bejeweled crown. She looked like she was sculpted from my most precious memories bathed in dreamlight.
I stared at her with wide eyes. I was so terrified to blink, fearing she might vanish, this dream would end, and I would wake up to the nightmare that was my reality. What if this was a trick of Lilah’s? What if there was blood magic in my system after all, and this was just a way for Lilah to steal more information? How would I know? How could I tell? My heart slammed against my ribs. Breaths rushed out of me in gasps.
“Mom?” I choked out. “Is that really you? Is this real?”
“As real as it can be, sweetheart, all things considered.” A smile tugged at her full lips as Mom’s almost-black eyes softened with compassionate love and patient wisdom, like she had all the time in the world for me and me alone. It did nothing to quell the twinkle in her eyes.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move for a second. I couldn’t even think.
Then, I ran across the room.
And, I threw my arms around her.
Mom’s arms wrapped around me, just as warm and solid and strong in the ways I missed most and needed. Shewasreal. It was really her.
Grief could be a cruel thing, loving to play tricks on you. Time had long turned my memories of Mom into fossils for me to uncover one by one. After all these years, Mom had been gone so long that her ordinary, unremarkable, everyday happenings and mannerisms had faded with her. Like her voice. Like her laugh. Like the feel of her hands when she held my face. Like her smell and her embrace. When I unearthed anything from the layers of my memories, the thoughts lanced through my mindlike struggling to remember a song you hadn’t heard in years but only remembered a few chords. I guessed that’s what happened when you lose someone at such a young age, before you’re old enough to realize what you once had. You forget so much, and what you do remember you don’t until you desperately need to, and then it doesn’t merely surface but strikes you so suddenly that a jolt races down your spine and you freeze from the impact. Maybe that was why a not-so-small part of me didn’t mind Lilah’s tricks. They at least gave me the parts of her back that I thought I had lost forever.
But, there was no question that this was really Mom. Lilah’s tricks always missed something or got it wrong. It was like she couldn’t craft the whole picture, only enough to make it seem like you had a forest until you saw how many gaps there were in the trees. But this was my mom in every way. She smelled just like her apple perfume and smoked hardwood. Her coils were so pillow soft as they tickled the side of my face. Her steady breathing and heartbeat were the same delicate comfort they always were. Her embrace with how hard and close and passionate she held me was everything I remembered it to be. It was safety and sanctuary. Every part of it was something Lilah would never be able to replicate completely. I held her like she might slip away at any second.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted salt on my lips. “I’m so very sorry. So much has happened. I tried so hard, and I couldn’t stop it. I saved some, but not everyone. I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t?—”
Mom’s arms tightened around me, and it felt like they were the only things keeping me together as I sobbed. “Oh, baby?—”
“I lost you!” The tears came even faster with no hope of slowing down. It seemed with each fallen tear, my words picked up speed. “I lost you and Pops and Auntie Max. Now, I… Oh, Mom… Talli is… Talli is gone, too. Everyone who has fought forme has died, Mom. Everett is all I have, and he almost died from the dragons… I almost lost Quinn because she was trying to protect me! I’m a dragon, just like I always wanted and talked about, but I still can’t protectanyone. I still can’t fight. I am still losing people. And, I still haven’t even buried you! Lilah has a piece of you now, and who knows what she has in mind with that? Talli is dead. I have killed so many people, and it’sso,somuch! I can’t handle it. I can’t do this. I can’t?—”
I collapsed into Mom, unable to utter another word through my hiccuping sobs. I couldn’t even breathe around them. My mouth just lay agape with snot, spit, and tears soaking through Mom’s dress. She didn’t care. Just like Quinn, Mom just held me in her arms. Her wings surrounded me like a blanket, too, adding more security to her hold. She rubbed circles into my back, hummed our family song, and rocked to soothe me like I was a baby. Along with her heartbeat, her old necklace offered a vibration that radiated through me like what I felt from my crystals. It was a grounding pulse that worked to take the edge off bit by bit. I don’t know how long I cried, but it didn’t seem too long for Mom or like it bothered her at all. She gave me the space to fall apart while offering a place to return to when I was ready to piece things back together.
