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Skeletons

Chapter One

By ScarpettaBlazePublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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Skeletons
Photo by Eean Chen on Unsplash

The rain pelts my window, forming sheets of crystallized ice around the edge of the glass. I watch the wind pulverize the trees and knock heavy branches around like empty plastic bottles.

Ordinarily, the pitter-patter of raindrops slapping the rooftop calms my rattled nerves, but not tonight. Restless, I begin to panic. My heart races, my breathing is erratic, my palms begin to sweat and goose bumps form on my arms. Frightened, I sit up just as an earth-shattering blast of thunder escapes the black sky. Suddenly, I'm engulfed in utter darkness.

The roar of thunder propels me from beneath my purple comforter. I slide my clammy feet into my slippers and walk trembling to the end of the bed. Cautiously, I walk around my antique chest; I take a couple of steps to my left and touch my black Oakwood entertainment center. I finally reach my bedroom door.

Opening into the vast hallway, I walk along the wall, careful not to knock over the clear crystal vase on the small telephone table. Concentrating on my steps, I make my way to the bathroom.

The bathroom is spacious with royal blue and white tile floors. The cabinet is made of Satinwood. The basin and counter are made of porcelain. The commode is next to the sink. The bathtub is a Jacuzzi with a massage shower head.

I reach under the sink and grasp the bag of scented candles and industrial size flashlight. Before I leave, I light a small candle and place it on the back of the toilet. The bag in one hand and the flashlight in the other; I saunter over to the stairwell. Heedful of each step, I continue to the living room. Where I light another candle and place it on the glass coffee table.

Instantly, the house explodes with lightening illuminating the room. I wait for the crash of thunder before I proceed to the dining room.

The dining room has dark royal blue plush carpet. In the middle is a small Oakwood table with two wobbly chairs. On the far wall is a pine-wood wine cabinet full of books I have read. I light another candle and position it in the middle of the table. The scent of apples and cinnamon surround me.

Saloon style doors separate the kitchen, also tiled with royal blue and white. In the center is an island with an oval shaped cutting board built into the marble counter. It's one of the reasons I rent this house. The stove is built into the wall on the right side. The refrigerator is on the left. There is plenty of cabinet space and a huge pantry next to the back door. I place another candle on the middle cabinet and unconsciously check the lock. "Click, click."

On the cabinet next to the refrigerator is a bowl of fruit. I grab an apple and walk through the door to the hallway that leads to my home office. The windows are all closed and locked. I walk back to the stairwell and up to my bedroom, relieved that everything is secure, I fall asleep.

The shriek of the alarm clock arouses me. I untangle myself from the comforter and shuffle across the room to my wardrobe. I decide to wear my dark blue Levi's with a cream pull over sweater. To complete the outfit, I pull out the purple scarf and my black knee-high boots. I lay the outfit on the bed, grab the oil of Olay body wash and walk to the shower. Stripping down to my purple panties, I look at my reflection in the mirror. My stringy blond hair layered around my neck, in serious need of a dye job. My skin although smooth in places also has imperfections. The star-shaped scar in between my eyebrows from chicken pox as a kid, shows prominent today.

The gash scar from my neck to my breastbone, compliments of my ex-husband's violent temper. My chocolate brown eyes gleam making my tan skin glow. My broad nose permanently bruised from many attempts at being broke sits awkwardly on my face. My body is athletic, the frame muscular in all the right places. My hands have scars from knife cuts. My middle finger also has a scar from a can opener. My abdomen has stretch marks from my four pregnancies, but they're barely recognizable anymore thanks to my one-hundred forty-pound weight. After inspection, I turn, pull back the black shower curtain and check the water temperature. The heat feels like heaven. The pressure slowly kneading away the stress knots.

The sun barely begins to climb for the day. I get dressed and go to the kitchen. While I wait for my coffee, I open the refrigerator, pull out eggs, a green pepper, onions, and cheddar cheese. An omelet for breakfast sounds scrumptious. The smell fills the air making my stomach growl with anticipation. Breakfast done I have half an hour to eat and dash out the door. The breeze is brisk as I walk to the corner bus stop. I sit on the curb, glance to see if the bus is coming. Good, I have time to check my voice mail. Maybe it's someone calling to set up an interview. No such luck! It's my mother. "You need to call me immediately!" I hit redial and wait for the call to connect.

My mother, Marie answers. Dropping the phone and bumbling around to place it to her ear.

"Hello," I say. "Mother, are you there?" I ask.

"Yes." She says, out of breath.

"What's up," I say.

Sobbing, incoherently, I can't understand what she is saying. All I hear is bits and pieces. "You need to come." "Have a plane ticket waiting." She hung up before I could respond.

I sprint back to the house, nearly tripping over the sidewalk. Pack a suitcase, double check the locks and race to the airport. Anxious! I keep myself busy. I spend half an hour walking around the airport looking through shops. I buy a White Chocolate Latte and wait for the call to board my flight. All the while wondering why my mother has not answered her phone.

Two hours later, I board my plane. Dreading the trip, worried about what awaits me. I find my seat and nervously bite my fingernails. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as the plane takes off. I close my eyes and breathe thinking of more pleasant memories, like snowball fights, volleyball games and birthday parties. Anything to keep my mind off the turbulence.

When the plane lands in Wichita, Kansas, my mom meets me at the gate. She looks ten years older than her sixty-three years. Her once medium brown hair has thinned and turned gray. Her face looks gaunt and pale. She has lost forty pounds. As we walk to my mother's 2008 Jeep Liberty, my mind rushes back to the nightmare from the night before and the thunderstorm that knocked out the electricity. At the same time, my mother is talking to me.

"Samantha! Do you hear me?" I am trying to tell you that your grandmother is dying and might not make it through the weekend.

Although my mother is talking, I barely hear anything she says. My mind is racing other places. I knew from my medical training what I was walking into, I just wasn't sure if I was prepared for what I was about to see. My mother just kept rambling on, attempting to make conversation.

My reaction to the house I had spent most of my youth in is overwhelming. Instead of the ugly garage door, in its place, stands beautiful French doors. The side window is now a new Cedar wood door. Security lights have been installed. The front yard has been raked up.

The Leland Cypress trees pruned. The little garden that sits encased in brick outside the big living room window weeded and replanted with purple Coneflower's and Black-Eyed Susan's. The big Evergreen has been removed and new grass has been planted.

The inside of the house is even better. The garage has been turned into a sitting room. The walls have been painted bright orange and dark green with light neon green trim. The cement floors have been covered with a multicolored Berber carpet. There is a tan love seat in the middle of the room, with a black recliner and Oakwood coffee table. A 65-inch Sony flat screen television and stereo system takes up the front wall.

The kitchen has been repainted. The stove and refrigerator were new. The old ones sent to goodwill. The wood paneling has been taken out. The living room has also been repainted an off white. Carpets have been replaced. All the photos have been organized and placed in their own easy to find albums. Categorized by family member: name, age, and where they live marked boldly on the front.

The two front bedrooms have been painted a soft peach with white trim. The carpets have also been replaced with a pastel pecan. My grandmother's room has been cleaned, painted white with blue trim. The carpet has been replaced with a royal blue plush. The shelves have been organized, pill bottles put away and the oak dresser straightened and varnished. The mirror has been cleaned and clothes have been folded neatly and placed in their proper place. My mother has even washed the windows and hung new curtains. The whole house looks fresh and new.

I sit on the couch and rest my head. My mind fills with memories of Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving. The whole family gathered around laughing and talking about everything. Life had been good then, the smell of turkey in the oven, reminding me of our holidays. Now we were all grown up and scattered around the world living our own lives. Leaving the elder of the family alone. I could feel the tears stain my cheeks as I tried to hold back.

The next morning, I wake up early. The house is already buzzing with activity. The smell of fresh brewed coffee sends me to the kitchen. My aunt Doris is coming from the back of the house, a wet depend in hand. "Good morning, Dee." I say.

Her petite frame as aged greatly. She looks thinner, maybe ninety-five pounds. She stands five-foot three in her bare feet. Her usually tan skin is more yellow and orange. Her blue-green eyes are dull with grief and exhaustion. The puffy bags proof that taking care of grandma has taken its toll and has become unbearable. Her left eye spasms as she walks past me.

Although she is nine years younger than my mother, Marie, she has more wrinkles than a woman twice her age. Her youthful figure has vanished in its place now sits skin and bones. Her once beautiful shiny brown hair has now turned mousy brown and thin. She has cut it short and choppy.

"There is fresh coffee in the pot." I say.

"Thank you" she mumbles as she walks past me again.

I have yet to lay eyes on my grandmother, so, I am not prepared for the vertigo that hits me as they slowly walk around the corner. I must sit quickly. I wait for my mother to help my grandma get more comfortable before I glance in their direction. I can't process how emaciated she looks. Her once thick black hair is now white. Her bright blue eyes are dilated and dim. Her once voluptuous frame is now turned skin and bones, making her 5'7 height shrink behind the sickness. I sit stunned! I can't verbalize the many emotions racing through my frantic mind. I wait in silence, hoping that she will recognize me.

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About the Creator

ScarpettaBlaze

I have been writing all my life. Started when I was about 9 or 10 with little short stories. whatever came into my head. I have had a couple of my poems published. Abandoned being one of them. I am a woman, wife, mother and grandmother

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