The Rock of Gibraltar, Part 2

(Continued from Part 1)

.....“That depends on what you think.” She replied, and that terrified me because I believed her.

We sat there for several more minutes, after which she took my hand and walked with me along the shore. We passed the woman sitting in her chair, who perked up when we walked by.

“I love your bracelet.” She pointed to my right wrist, which I had decided to put my bracelet on that morning. “That is so beautiful.”

From the time I was old enough to understand, my aunt had always stressed the importance of honesty, so naturally, I felt I had to set the record straight regarding who the bracelet had originally belonged to. I figured that if Aunt Louise saw me doing the right thing, it would be the first step towards her seeing me as the right kind of “incredible.” So, I looked the old woman in the eye and geared up to tell her the truth.

“It’s not really my bracelet,” I said, and looked to Aunt Louise for approval, but all she did was close her eyes and cringe.

“Oh?” The lady put on a “do tell” face, and glanced at my aunt, who I could tell was hoping that I’d shut up.

“Family heirloom.” Aunt Louise quickly answered, to cut off any potential questions the woman may have had about my situation.

“Ah.” The old woman nodded at me. “So it used to belong to somebody else in your family?”

“Uh-huh. We don’t have enough money actually to buy a bracelet –”

Before I could finish, my aunt plucked me from where I was standing and practically slung me over her shoulder like a bag of rice. When we reached the end of the trail, she put me down hard enough to let me know that I was in for it.

“Making fun of me, huh? You are nasty.” Her voice dripped with venom. Now, that was a word I knew couldn’t possibly be interpreted any other way.

“But…..”My heart sank, and I began to panic. “But I just wanted to tell her -”

“You just wanted to hurt me. That’s who you are. After I work hard, day in and day out…..” Tears pricked her eyes, but she continued to hiss. “You love to hurt. You ruin things. You’re like an acid.”

We finally made our way back to the house, where she didn’t even hold the door open for me as we walked in. It would be an hour before the brothers came home, so I, at a loss for what to do, trudged into the guest bedroom where I’d slept the night before and plopped myself down onto the bed.

When I finally woke up, Ben was sitting in the rocking chair across from my bed, skimming through the newspaper.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” He said warmly. “We were wondering when you’d wake up.”

I had no idea how long I’d been asleep, but my aunt’s car was missing from the driveway, which told me it was already well into the afternoon. I was also under the covers, which I found odd because I had fallen asleep on top of them.

“Did you tuck me in?” I asked, wiggling around.

“Nope. Your aunt did.” Ben sat down on the corner of the bed. “It’s a little chilly in here, and she saw you shivering in your sleep.”

That should have warmed my heart, but it just left me feeling even more lost; one minute I was “spiteful”, and the next I was apparently worthy of being protected from the cold.

“Where are Marcus and Ritchie?” I rubbed my eyes.

“They’re outside. We’ve got a bonfire going in the backyard.” He cupped his hands together when he saw the worried look on my face. “It’s just a little fire, the kind you’d make if you went camping.”

“Fire is dangerous.”

“Not if you’re careful. Come on.”

We exited the house through the back door. Indeed, there was a bonfire; a grumbling blaze with three chairs around it, two of which were occupied by Ritchie and Marcus. They didn’t look the least bit afraid of the fire, which eased my mind a bit.

“There she is.” Ritchie smiled, and Marcus waved at us to join them.

Ben led me over to his brothers, and Ritchie lifted me onto his lap, careful to keep me as far as possible from the flames. None of them mentioned my aunt, which I was grateful for; either they didn’t know what had happened, or were too polite to bring it up.

“What’s an acid?” I blurted out. The brothers looked surprised by the question.

“Something sour,” Marcus answered.

“Does acid ruin things?” I asked, slightly anxious.

“Not always.” Ritchie fiddled with a fat blade of grass. “Have you ever had blueberry pancakes with lemon juice squirted on top? Just a little bit, with lots of butter and powdered sugar? It’s so good.”

“I’ll do you one better; strawberries with balsamic vinegar and a little bit of fresh mint.” Marcus pinched his thumb and forefinger together and kissed them. “Delicious.”

Marginally relieved, I buried my face in Ritchie’s chest. I saw these men a handful of times a year, and had no idea what they were to me, but at that moment, I felt more secure than I’d ever felt at home, listening to the steady soldier’s march of Ritchie’s heartbeat and breathing in the love that permeated our human triangle around the fire.

“On New Year’s Day next year, all the computers are going to stop working,” Marcus said, to no one in particular.

Ben rolled his eyes. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“But what if that does happen?” Ritchie whispered. “What if the minute we ring in 2000, all our records disappear? I have a ton of documents related to the shop on the computer.”

“What about medical records? Insurance records? All that information lets the world know who we are will just…..” Marcus went quiet, but he made mini-explosions with his hands. “If all of it disappears, so will we, if you think about it.”

“It’ll all be fine. Everyone’s getting themselves into a tizzy over nothing.” Ben assured his brothers, though I could tell that he was also trying to assure himself.

Ritchie and Marcus shrugged, and I thought about the many non-paper copies of myself that existed. There was one – always ill-intentioned and doomed to mess up somehow – that lived in my aunt’s head, three more – all “curious”, “strong” and unable to ruin things – that laughed and played in the minds of each of the brothers, and countless others that resided in the memories of everyone I’d ever met . All of those visions of me, even the one my aunt had, were as real as the grass beneath our feet, and that harsh truth left me feeling cold inside.

We sat in silence, shrouded in our respective doubts, and stared at the flames; fast, creamy-white horses running upwards into the unknown.