“Okay, let’s go to Maine. Here, you write it down, Izzy.”
“No. I get to write it because Izzy wants to see a train. She can write that,” I complained.
“Oh, right. Smart thinking,” she agreed with a smile. Her finger tapped her temple playfully. She leaned back and bit into her own sandwich, handing Izzy the shared bottle of water. I wrote my idea in our blue notebook and handed it off to Izzy.
“Whoa!” Izzy suddenly exclaimed as the noise got louder and louder. The plane was close enough to read the lettering. It shot up over us as fast as lightning. I always thought airplanes flew in slow motion. They always looked like they were barely moving in the sky. Until that night, anyway. Airplanes were fast. Lightning fast.
“Wish them well,” my mom called while waving her arm. “Goodbye, have fun, safe travels.”
Izzy and I did the same thing, yelling goodbye while sandwiches waved in the air. We were so close. The gigantic plane rose just above our heads until it was off, leaving us with a gust of wind and awe. A moment in time I would never forget.
I never felt safer in my life. Fifty feet from the ground. I was safe. My mom talked and talked about where we were going next in between takeoffs and landings. Izzy and I took turns telling jokes that made no sense, we sang songs, counted stars, and listened to my mother talk about things I didn’t understand. The universe, and our frequencies. How we had to always be happy. Be kind to everyone we meet, and listen to our first instincts.
Normal little girls were being taught to do chores and responsibilities by six. Izzy and I were taught that the answers came from within. Not a textbook. Not a teacher. Not a doctor. The answers always came from within. Izzy and I always agreed. Both lying that we understood. We didn’t. Neither one of us. It was almost like she was prepping us. Like she knew. She wanted us to be happy, not spoiled. She hated stuff, and because she hated it, we never had it.
Not even a house.
“Listen to that tiny voice. The first instinct. It’s always right, girls. You hear me?” my mom rambled in a serious tone while she squeezed both our hands. She preached the stars to us a lot while staring out into space. We spent the entire evening on top of the world, listening to crazy talk from our happy mother, and watching planes.
Once darkness took over our surroundings, a whole other magical phenomenon fell upon us. The clear night with twinkling stars and brightly lit airplanes took on a complete new dimension of mystic.
When Izzy and I got tired, we laid our heads on our mother’s lap. One on each leg. We did this a lot. Fell asleep like this, all over the United States. Izzy and I fell asleep with our mother’s hand stroking our hair. She stared up at the sky for hours, eventually laying down with us. The noise didn’t even bother us. With our mother between us and our hands touching each other’s, Izzy and I dozed off to a happy, peaceful sleep. Roaring planes, soaring above our heads.
Chapter Seven
Day after day, I got a little better. And day after day, I didn’t remember. I remembered things, incidents, and voices. My mother’s and Izzy’s. I remembered them, but nothing else. I remembered traveling through the mountains on a train with a hobo named Boo. Izzy and I loved him. He played the harmonica while my mom danced around the car with us. He even shared a bag of plain potato chips with us. My favorite. I remembered that trip to Maine, too. Izzy and I climbed huge boulders, probably higher than the billboard.
I learned a lot by asking the girls questions when Paxton wasn’t home. When they weren’t out running around doing everything under the sun, we got to know each other. I hung on their every move, and I fell madly, deeply in love with them. Both of them.
I spent a lot of time alone while they were away being busy, but come Saturday, Paxton made me go to their tee-ball game. I didn’t mind. Other than him taking me to the doctor, I hadn’t been anywhere. Not even for a walk along the beach. I couldn’t wait to do that.
“Let’s go. We have a busy day today,” I heard from a dead sleep. Paxton pulled the curtains apart and sun poured into the bright room. My eyes squinted and looked to the clock. Seven thirty. Tee-ball games didn’t happen at the butt crack of dawn.
I rubbed my face and sat up, noticing for the first time I did it with ease. No sharp pains or sore muscles. “Have I always let you tell me what I’m doing?”
“Yes, from day one,” he admitted with arched eyebrows, strolling toward me. He put his hand on my chest and pushed me backward, forcing me to the bed. The covers were thrown off and the belt combination unlocked. Routine. Every morning before I could even go to the bathroom, Paxton had to remove my guard diaper. I had no wetness like the night before when he’d spread me open and guided one finger up my slit. Still, he did it. Every morning.