Finding Eden (2 page)

“
You look bored,”
Brock says, taking a bite of food, “come to think of it, you
always look bored.”

“
Maybe because I
always am,” I say jokingly as I stick my tongue out at him.

Brock rolls his eyes at
and goes back to his food. Several years ago I had received that same
comment from the housemaid at the time.

“
It’s because
your mother isn’t here,” she had clucked at me as she
arranged and rearranged the pillows on the couch. I simply shrugged
and continued watching television and drinking my soda. Thinking back
on it made me realize that no one had ever realized when I was
joking. I would have to change that.

The bell rings and I’m
excited. I can’t help it. My next class is art, and it’s
also my final class. I pick my things up (which include my book bag
and a tackle box full of paints and brushes) and walk to class.

Miss Brody greets me at
the door. She’s another reason why I like the class so much.
She has so much fun and enjoys her job so much that you can help but
enjoy her class. I walk over to my easel and set my things down. I
take a deep breath and yank the cover off my painting.

My current painting is
giving me more trouble than any other I’ve ever done. I’m
attempting to paint a portrait of my mother, which is more
problematic than it sounds. Dad has no pictures of my mother hidden
anywhere around the house, in his bedroom or even in his wallet (I’ve
checked). So all I have to work off of is the picture from the
obituaries and the description given to me from a maid who knew my
mother when my parents first met.

My mother and I have the
same hair color, although hers was longer and wavy whereas mine is
kept to just below my chin and it’s straight. I have her bone
structure but not my mother’s eyes, which I’ve been told
look like liquid sunshine and golden honey. My mother had freckles
across her nose and cheeks, and I don’t. I have the same milky
soft, pale skin that she did. I have painted all of it, except for
her eyes, which I can’t seem to get right. My fingers trace my
scar, something I do when I'm thinking

“
Eden,” Miss
Brody says as she stops a few feet away from me, “not to
pressure you or anything. I know you're working hard, and I know the
colors will come to you, but this project is due soon.” She
knows my frustration and has been encouraging me every step along the
way.

“
I know,” I
say to her, thumping my paintbrush against my knee, “I know the
painting is due soon, but it doesn’t seem like the colors are
going to come to me.”

Miss Brody smiles at me
and walks away. She has never tried to tell me how I should mix my
colors, or which brush to use, which has happened at previous
schools. She lets me work in a quiet dark corner of the room, away
from other people, knowing that I like that.

I stare at my pallet,
almost willing the colors to mix themselves into the perfect shade of
gold so I can finally paint my mother’s eyes and bring her
fully to life. They don’t, and I have to mix them myself.

I watch my hands as they
move around, pushing paint together. I don’t do anything else
but stare at the colors as I swirl them together with my brush. Then
I have nothing but a pile of brown mush and no actual work done.

Suddenly the bell rings
and I jump. I look at the clock. Where did the two hours go? I stare
back down at my pallet and can’t figure out how I managed to
stir a glob of paint for two hours straight. I shrug, throw the sheet
back over my painting and walk out of the room, feeling extremely
unproductive.

I walk out of the school
and into the parking lot to my car. I wave at Brock and Evaughn as
they’re about to get into his car, carpooling on the way home.
I would carpool as well, but we live on separate sides of town, and
it would be a waste more than it would help for me to be in the mix.

I quickly put my
sunglasses on, trying to keep up the facade that I was light
sensitive, even though when I am out of the school is when I don’t
need them. I hop into my car and drive home.

I don’t mind
driving by myself. I prefer it actually. It’s better than
pretending to be interested in what other people are saying while
you’re trying to pay attention to the road. Dad is the same
way, though I suppose that’s because of the accident.

I pull into the driveway
and sit in my car. I know I will be by myself. My car is the only one
in the driveway. We have a housemaid, but she has the day off. I open
the door to my car, jump out and go into my house.

Throwing my things on the
floor just inside the door, I decide I need a healthy snack to make
myself feel better over the lost time. What happened today?

The fridge opens and I
peer inside. I see soda and some random things that I'm too lazy at
the moment to put together. I pull open the crisper drawer and look
in. Apples are waiting patiently to be consumed and I won't make one
wait any longer. I pluck it up and take a big bite. I grab a napkin
before the juice can run down my chin and feel better almost
immediately. How did I manage to waste so much time?

The clock above the stove
reads 4:32, and I know it's time to get to work on my homework before
I go to Evaughn's recital. I walk to the stairs and grab my bag on
the way. The stairs are silent as I walk up them, no creek or noise;
it's something that's unnerving when you're alone in a large house.

My room is on the
opposite side of the house from dads. It's large and holds all the
things a seventeen year old could ever want. A large flat panel LCD
TV, a desktop computer and a laptop, a California king size bed, and
random game consoles hooked up to the TV. I don't even know what they
are. I don't play video games. The walk-in closet is full of clothes
I barely have time to wear anymore since I go to a private school,
and I know without looking that Marcia, our housemaid, has all my
uniforms hanging on the inner most hanger on the right side.

I am unaware of when math
began to have more letters than numbers in it, but I wish that day
had never happened. I get to work on my math and soon I'm lost in it.
I glance up every once in a while to keep tabs on the time, but that
doesn't keep be from losing track of the time and running late.

“
Shit,” I
close my math book and look at my watch. Evaughn's recital is in a
half hour, and still needed to find the digital recorder.

I get up quickly from my
chair and almost fall down as my feet tangle with the legs of the
chair. I try to scramble away and luckily I manage to regain my
footing. I make my way to my closet, hoping like mad that I'd
remember where the camera was put.

Rummaging through the
closet, two things run through my mind. I'm glad Marcia is there to
organize things, but then on the other hand I'm not. I have no idea
where she put the camera, and just like every other random thing,
when I need it I can never find it.

I'm about on the edge of
hysterics when I'm digging through a box and I spot it near the
bottom. I dig the thing out and check the battery and see that it's
at full. I kick the already looked through boxes out of my way, grab
my keys before I walk out of my bedroom door, and hurry to the
recital concert hall.

Barely arriving on time,
I set up near the back but make sure no one’s fat head is going
to get in my way. The lights dim down sooner than I expect them too
and soon the recital hall is filled with beautiful music.

I've always enjoyed
listening to Evaughn play, but for some reason I can't concentrate.
Usually I'm a great listener, especially with more contemporary,
classical music, but for some reason I am becoming sleeping. Not the
I'm-going-to-fall-asleep sleepy, more like the
I-only-got-four-hours-of-sleep-and-it's-five-in-the-morning sleepy. I
feel like I'm half glazed over and I feel rather ashamed. Then,
before I know it, the recital has ended.

“
How did I do?”
Evaughn runs up to me.

“
You did great!”
I exclaim, putting a huge smile on my face. I can't tell her I
couldn't pay attention.

“
Really?”

“
Oh my god,”
I roll my eyes, “you know you're great so stop fishing for
compliments you huge girl.”

She rolls her eyes but
her smile doesn't leave her face.

“
You were able to
record all of it, right?”

“
Yep,” I held
up the recorder and shook it a little, “You remember how to use
it right?”

“
I'm not stupid.”

“
Wasn't calling you
stupid, stupid.” I give her a teasing wink so she knows I'm
joking, “You hooked up that DVD player I got you, right?”

“
Yep, piece of
cake.”

“
Good,” I say
and stifle a yawn, “anyway, not to end the night short, but I'm
kind of tired.”

I hand the recorder over
and Evaughn takes it and gives me a concerned look.

“
Did you sleep
alright last night?” She asks me.

“
Yeah,” I
say, shrugging, “I think I may be coming down with a cold or
something. Anyway, you know how to use it, so just get it back to me
whenever, alright?”

“
Okay,” She
says and waves good-bye to me as I walk away and wave back.

I walk out into the
parking lot and get into my car. I don't know where the day went, but
it feels like I've been drained of all my energy. I drive home and
let my mind wander. I try to figure out why I'm so tired and I hope
it's not mono. I don't know what I would do if I got mono, especially
since I don't have a boyfriend and have never been kissed. Even
though you can get mono just from sharing a drink, it's still
embarrassing having “the kissing disease” without having
ever been kissed.

Pulling into the
driveway, I feel so tired I'm not sure if I can make it in the door.
I climb out of the car and trudge up the drive way and into the
house. I walk up the stairs, into my room where I collapse on my bed
and don't get up. I want to sleep, but in my day clothes I know
that's impossible.

My night clothes sit on
the edge of the bed. I change real quick and lay back down. I feel
tired but I can't sleep.

“
You just have to
relax,” I say to myself and take a deep breath, “just
relax.”

I picture myself walking
in a forest. My breathing is slow and the stars are nice and bright
in the deep blue-black sky. As I walk through the trees, my
outstretched fingers brush against the pines. I can feel the blades
of grass on my bare feet as I walk silently through the tranquil
forest. As I walk through the trees I can feel myself slipping deeper
into sleep and out of consciousness.

Suddenly the dream shifts
and I'm no longer alone in the forest. I hear voices and I decide to
investigate. It is my dream after all.

The voices sound like a
gurgling stream at first. I can't make out what is being said, but I
can hear and make out two distinct voices. The closer I get the
better I can hear them. Soon I'm standing near them, overlooking the
people talking, and I can hear everything they say.

I'm standing above three
men who are standing around a fire. I'm looking down at them through
some branches, and even though it is my dream, I feel like I'm a
peeping tom intruding on something private.

“
Do you know where
she is?” One of the men asks. The younger one, perhaps.

“
We only know she
is in California living a human life,” the other two men speak
in unison. They're twins.

“
Will I really know
it's her?”

“
Sahariel,”
one of the twins steps around the fire and puts a hand on his
shoulder, “don't worry, I'm sure you'll recognize her when you
see her again”

“
But beware; she
might not accept what you tell her,” the other twin says
quietly as he stares into the fire, “neither of you were raised
around your own kind, but unlike her, you know what you are. This
information is going to be hard for her to process. You need to stay
with her”

“
She wasn't easy to
find either,” the man says.

“
What do you mean?”
Sahariel asks.

“
It's like she's
untraceable,” the man near Sahariel says, “like her
mother, but more so.”

“
We had to use
magic to amplify her inner energy, and unfortunately we have no idea
how she reacted to that.”

“
What the hell are
they talking about?” I whisper.