The Gift

Under Purple Clouds

The first chapter of a magical realism story starts with…

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. It's my favourite time of the day. Tonight, I stand here staring at the sky, taking a moment of peace. He wraps his arms around my waist, kissing my neck and inhaling my scent deeply. “I didn’t think you would make it out in time; you took awhile.”’ I just had a few things I wanted to get done before joining you,” I reply. “ Want a beer?” He asks. “Please,” I sigh.

A few things were an understatement. I had to prepare the kids for bed, read them stories and tuck them in. I could still hear them giggling together when I walked by their bedroom door to join him. I also had to clean up the kitchen from dinner, load the dishwasher, wash the dishes, wipe the counters and even scrub the floor. I am the type of person who needs everything to be in its place, which is impossible with children, so the minute they go to sleep, I begin putting everything back in order. Sometimes it takes hours for me to get everything perfect. I can't forget the laundry, a pile to fold and put away in each family member’s impeccably organized drawers. Then because I’d had wine with supper and a cinnamon bun today, I realized that I needed to burn 400 active calories before midnight to avoid a calorie deficit for today. Do you know how long it takes to burn 400 calories and how much effort it takes? I completed one dance class, one core-focused exercise class, one 10-minute cool down and then a relaxing yoga class. It took me well over an hour to meet my calorie goal. I then needed to shower because I rarely got to shower, and I was sweaty. I wanted to smell clean and fresh for my evening with my husband, so I took a quick shower. But taking a shower is more than just taking a shower; I’m currently thinking forward to the summer. Usually, I get waxed regularly to avoid hair from being visible in my bathing suit. But we recently moved and have a pool, which I intend to spend every second of this summer. Plus, we’re going on vacation in a few weeks, so I must be “bathing suit ready.” Therefore I bought myself a laser hair remover. Because I rarely get the opportunity to shower and entirely remove the unattractive hair, which I must do before I can use the laser, I had to complete this task as well. I followed the directions that came with the laser flawlessly; 1. Remove all the hair from the problem area, 2. Plug in the Laser and adjust the intensity based on your hair colour. Mine is dark, so I use the max setting. 3. Put on safety glasses to protect your eyes 4. Begin slowly moving the laser over your hairless body areas, press, flash and move to the next spot.

I have a particular hatred for my eyebrows. I grew up in the generation that over-plucked and would then redraw their eyebrows. Having these eyebrows was a junior high nightmare. Adults would constantly compare them to Brooke Shields, telling me just to love myself. I once tried to have them waxed off, but I was on acne medication. I didn’t realize the medication thinned my skin, so my first waxing experience left my insecure self with ripped-off and burnt skin all around my eyebrows. Now, in my early thirties, I still feel utterly unattractive because of my eyebrows. Therefore, this evening I decided that the only thing to do was pluck them to perfection and then use the laser hair remover to ensure the annoying hair did not grow back. I pulled off my safety glasses for better access to the skin above my eye, and FLASH, the laser went off. I immediately was blinded in my eye, which I had assumed was safe because I had it squeezed shut. I continued getting ready, putting my nightie on, placing my perfume behind my ears, applying a thin layer of miracle balm to my cheeks and lips, and brushing my hair. The entire time, my eye felt like it was on fire. My vision was cloudy. I applied some drops I found in the bathroom drawer to my eye. I then slipped my Ugg boots onto my feet with an oversized sweater and a hat to cover my wet hair. I went outside to meet my husband, who invited me to listen to music, have a fire and drink together. I’d made it. It was exactly midnight.

I found myself looking up into that purple sky, and my mind finally cleared. All the day's tasks were complete, the kids were hopefully sound asleep, and I was hairless and smelling lovely. Now it was time to enjoy a rare moment with my man. I had his favourite black slip dress on under my sweater for later. I haven’t felt beautiful since having our second daughter. She is eight months old now, and I’ve been dodging his attempts at intimacy. I slide out of his reach when he touches my back, I move away as he kisses me, and I put my headphones on at night, pulling the blankets up high, making myself inaccessible when he comes to bed. But the problem isn’t him. In fact, he looks and feels so good. All I want is that intimacy with him. But it is hard to feel sexy when covered in breast milk, puke or poop. It’s hard to feel connected to someone when we are never alone. But I had been trying lately, and at this particular moment, I felt good, even though my eye had turned a lovely shade of pink all around my pupil.

As he returned to the house to grab me a light beer, I felt the joy and gratitude that I had experienced over and over again since we moved to the country. This splendid, isolated wilderness was all mine, and I finally felt like I could breathe again. I relished the silence during the days; everyone else was gone to work or school, leaving me to rejoice in my surroundings. I continue to look up at the sky, the purple dancing with the many stars. Suddenly I am no longer there; I blink rapidly, trying to understand. It is no longer nighttime, and I am now inside. It is morning, and my daughters are dressed in their coats at the back door, yelling, “bye, Mom!!!” And blowing me kisses. I am still wearing my black nightie, but I am now holding a coffee cup. I stand there stunned, watching my family pull out of the driveway. Then I am once again standing on our back deck, looking up at the sky, with my husband reaching out to hand me a beer. I shake my head, clearing the strange moment from my mind and walk with him through the yard to the fire he has built. I smile at him, “good job on the fire.” “Well, you did take a while getting out here. I had lots of time to stoke it.” He responds with his signature smile and wink.

We had a lovely evening. We sat out under those stars too late for people whose children would be up by 6:00 am. Our girls are incapable of sleeping in, waking up with so much enthusiasm for the day, ready to get going and experience something new. We listen to a podcast and discuss the story's mystery, telling each other our theories. I drink water as it has fewer calories. I laugh at his flashlight hat that keeps blinding me, and I retell the story of my injured eye from earlier. “You really hate your eyebrows that much?” he asks. “I think my least favourite body part is my boobs,” he smirks. “It’s probably like welding,” he tells me, referring to my injury “it will just feel like a sunburn on your eyes, and it should heal in a few days.” He leans closer, our noses touching as he looks into my eyes. He then kisses me, and my whole body responds. Are you cold? Should we head inside” he asks. I nod my approval, and we go into the house. He goes downstairs to add pellets to the stove to keep our family warm all night. “Hey, it is so comfortable down here. Come down.” He yells up to me. I head downstairs, but I slip and fall backwards. He tumbles down, trying to catch me, but in the end, my soft body saves him from the worst of our falls. We both laugh as he inspects my body for injuries—tiny kisses. “We should buy a big fluffy rug for down here,” he suggests, still performing his inspection. We warmed each other, heading to bed far too late; it was already morning.

I wake up with a start. My husband hands me a cup of coffee. “Can you take the baby? What do you want for breakfast? Evie wants you to dress her like a princess today”. I blink. The vision of my injured eye is blurry. “Okay, coming,” I say as I work up the nerve to get out of the warm bed. I hear screaming from the other room and know I need to help. The morning is pure chaos, as usual. They are late again; No matter how early we wake up or how organized we are, we never leave the house on time.

I run my fingers through my violet hair, which stands up from the messy bedhead. I take a sip of my coffee as the strap of my nightie falls down my shoulder. Then I hear, “bye, Mom!” And I feel a strong sense of deja-vu. They begin to blow kisses as I stand there stunned, watching my family pull out of the driveway. No, no, no. This moment is horrifying. I’m not one of them; I’m not! I can’t be; I won't be. My life is good; it’s peaceful. I was sure the family “gift” was not mine to receive. I was relieved by this. They’d been rounding up gifted people since the war with Ukraine and Russia began; suddenly, our government was very concerned about national security. Those with gifts were deemed valuable. They began conscripting anyone they felt could support their efforts. People were there one day and gone the next. They would simply disappear from their everyday life.

Precognition, seeing the future that was my family secret, and I had seen it. I had to keep this concealed. No one could know. I had undergone testing, and they told me that I didn't have the ability. They told me I was clear and could live a normal life with my family. They had let me go.

I call my husband, he’s driving, and I can hear the girls yelling behind him through Bluetooth. “It happened,” I say. “Fuck, when?” “Just now, as you were leaving… it was all the same. Everything was exactly the same”. “Don’t talk to anyone; I’m going to drop the girls off and return home,” he orders. I need him to take control because I am spiralling. I hear a car door shut and rush out the back door to meet him. But it’s not my family who has returned home to me; it’s them. They’ve come for me. How could they know so soon? I stand in shock, staring at the soldiers who exit a black SUV parked in my driveway. I push my hair from my eyes, still holding my coffee cup and wearing the same black slip, oversized sweater and Ugg boots from last night. “Miss,” one says as I begin to shiver.