The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted (2 page)

Hey bro…wup…call me before school…no worry…all is cool…just wanna talk…amos

She tapped
Send
, closed the phone, and set it on the nightstand. She stared into the darkened
room. The light beige walls appeared dark tan and a dull green glow from the clock illuminated everything white. It seemed oddly peaceful. Aimee sucked in a long breath and tried to unwind.

The nightmare suddenly invaded again.
I’m gonna puke.
I’ve gotta think about something else.
Aimee quickly surveyed the clutter on her desk to divert her thoughts, and stopped at
the pictures spread across the top shelf of the wooden bookcase. Framed photos of Dad, James, Sacha, Zonker, her family from Texas, and her friends - Chelsea, Jana, Courtney and Ashley - stared back. Her favorite treasure, the picture of her parents, sat on the end where she looked at it every night before going to bed. It wasn’t a room out of a decorator’s magazine. Like Aimee, it was kind of a mess, but it was comfortable. And she felt safe inside these four walls.

Aimee sighed again. Her mind was finally off the dream, and she felt her body relaxing. She shut her eyes. Memories from the years they had lived in Medford replaced the awful nightmare. Her father, Mike Schmidt, moved the family into this small, but quaint house when they first came to Oregon. She was just three at the time. Dad didn’t want to put down roots until he was positive he had made the right decision relocating to Oregon, but eventually he persuaded the landlord to sell him the house. So, he now pays for a little piece of Jackson County; his piece of the American pie.

James no longer lives with his sister and dad. He moved to Eugene a couple years ago to go to school. But his bedroom is just like he left it, a shrine to his past; faded posters plastered on the walls, basketball trophies collecting dust on the bookcase, and a half consumed bottle of mescal with the nasty, pickled worm hidden in his closet. Everything’s immortalized and ready whenever he and his fiancée, Sacha Martinez, come for a visit.
Suddenly Aimee's cell phone vibrated for a couple seconds and stopped. She touched
View
.

Hi…got work early…will call tonite…hope u n dad ok…have a good one…later…sach said hi

Aimee closed the phone and laid it next to her pillow. It was five nineteen. She still had a while before she needed to get up and dress for her run. She yanked the quilt back over her shoulders, smothering out the cool air, and her thoughts quickly returned to her family.

Aimee's story actually began in Galveston, Texas eighteen years ago. Her dad moved them to Oregon when she was almost four. They escaped on a whim leaving behind all of their family and friends, and most of their worldly possessions. Mel Franks, her dad’s good buddy from his surfing days, convinced her father to move west to make his fortune. …

…“Mike, I promise you, man, this is the perfect place for you and your kids. And the surfing, dude, is outstanding, one hundred times better than any friggin’ waves back home. And, man, with all your experience in construction, I know you’ll make a killin’ here. Hell, I’ll even front you if you wanna start a business.”

“I don’t know, Mel. I mean, I appreciate the offer. It’s really tempting, but I gotta think about my kids, you know. I have to raise them without any damn interference from Marie’s family. If I come, man, it’s gotta work out. I can’t go back to Texas.”

Mel wasn’t going to let Mike say no. “Mike, if you can’t make a living here, you’re either a friggin’ lousy builder or you just don’t give a damn about making money.”…

…Her dad was positive they were, well, starting over, and the ideal place to do it was Medford, a sleepy little town on the verge of a building boom nestled in between the jagged gray Cascades and the green speckled Siskiyou mountains.

Lauren, Aimee's mother's baby sister, freaked when she found out they were moving. …

…“Mike,” she started when she finally got him alone, “…what the
hell
are you doing?”

“It will be a healthy change for the three of us…,” Mike said, “…a fresh start.”

“But, Mike, Oregon is clear on the other side of the world, practically! What about us, your family, and the kids’ family? It’s just not fair to them to move to some place they don’t know a soul.”

“I don’t have any family here,” Mike snapped back. “And the kids will be fine. They’ll make friends, and besides, they’ll have me. I’m the only family they need.”

Lauren glowered at Mike, but she didn’t say a word. She knew better.

“You know, Lauren, every time I look at you I just see Marie. The farther away I'm from you, and your family, the easier it will be for me to move on with my life.”

“But what about Aimee? She’s a spittin’ image of Marie. What are you gonna do with her, leave her with me so you don’t have to be reminded of Marie? For Christ’s sake, Mike, be rational…”

Mike interrupted, “She’s mine, Lauren. And I’ll
never
do anything to hurt her.” After a few se
conds of silence he said, “Don’t worry. They’ll get to visit you, and after a while when I’ve had some time to get this behind me, you can come see us. But I swear, if one word is ever mentioned about
Marie to anyone, I’ll…I’ll...” He stopped at that. Nothing else needed to be said. Lauren knew
exactly
what Mike would do. …

…So, with a pickup crammed full of boxes holding everything they owned, or would possess in the months to come, they set out for the Northwest to chase her father’s dream, or perhaps, just to escape.

Raising Aimee and her brother, James, hadn't been easily, but it was the kick in the butt her dad needed to get up and face the cold, cruel world every day. Now at forty-one time hasn’t fazed him much. He holds on to his misplaced youth by wearing his hair long enough to pull back into a tiny, straggly ponytail, and a standard uniform; a Hawaiian shirt, faded blue jeans, and running shoes. He looks pretty much the same as he did twenty years ago except for a few more pounds around the middle which he sucks in whenever he's in front of the mirror.

A few times a year he pretends he's eighteen again and heads for the coast with his surfboard and Mel, his best friend. Aimee worries about him drowning in the treacherous waves on Oregon’s coast. She doesn’t want to be an orphan. Fortunately, he rarely sticks his board in the frigid water, but Aimee still tags along so she can keep an eye on him in case she has to save him. Actually, she's pretty good on a board. Her cousins in Galveston taught her when she visited, but she didn’t surf well until she got to ride the west coast with her dad. So on their trips Aimee catches waves, and her father and Mel usually catch a buzz.

Aimee worries about her father when she leaves for college in the fall. He never remarried, and rarely dated, despite the devious single moms in their neighborhood who occasionally showed up on their doorstep with homemade goodies, low cut blouses, and skimpy skirts. His priorities have always been obvious; Aimee and James, his work, and solitude, but not necessarily in that particular order. And even though he chose to live alone raising two kids, he can't conceal the fact he hasn’t escaped the isolation of this choice, so as often as he can afford to, he breaks the chokehold of this self-imposed seclusion. He takes to the sky in one of Mel’s planes. Soaring through clouds has kept him sane over the years.

James turned twenty this past December. Minus his dad's beer gut, James could pass as his dad’s twin with his dark blonde hair, perfect white teeth, golden skin, and deep brown eyes. But unlike his
father, who prefers to be a loner, James’s charming personality attracts people like a magnet. He is
so
opposite Aimee, and she envies him.

Like most older brothers, James was the bane of Aimee's existence when they were kids, making Aimee the scapegoat for his mischievous pranks. Fortunately, their dad rarely suspected Aimee as the instigator, much less a partner in crime, but James enjoyed the torture he inflicted. Still, Aimee secretly considers James her gallant white knight, always prepared to cover her backside if she needs him. These past couple of years she's really missed him.

Aimee looked at the clock. Five thirty-four. Too late now to go back to sleep. She turned over and noticed Mom and Dad’s picture again. She loves that picture. It’s the only physical thing she has left of her mom, Marie Aimee Schmidt - her namesake. You see, Aimee's mother died when she was born. She's often prayed she can somehow have her mom for a day, or even an hour, but the picture is
all she has. On the back of the photo in her mother’s handwriting is scribbled
Mike and Marie, Surfside 1983.
Her parents are on the beach leaning against an old, beat-up pickup. Two surfboards are
propped up against the truck, and judging by her dad’s long, tousled, wet hair, he just finished a ride. His lanky body is strikingly tan against her mother’s pale frame. Her face is angelic. Her hair flows down her back. She gazes into the camera as she molds into Aimee's dad. His arms are wrapped tight around her tiny waist. His lips touch her ear. A velvety smile on her face hints, perhaps, he is whispering sweet nothings.

Aunt Lauren told Aimee her parents were like free-loving hippies from the sixties stuck in the “me” generation of the eighties. Even though they both went to the same high school, they didn't meet until their senior year. Two years later they married. Her dad was crazy in love with her mom, according to Aunt Lauren. Like a siren, she stole his heart the second he met her. Aunt Lauren tells Aimee she favors her mother. Aimee's not sure. Maybe. Aunt Lauren's right about one thing, though. Aimee's mother had the most incredibly beautiful, but mysterious eyes. Aunt Lauren said they were blue, like Aimee's. In the picture they look intense, like they possess a secret, but whatever it was, it disappeared when her mother died.

Her father won’t talk about what happened during the birth. But Aimee had to know. A few years ago James told her when a person dies, a certificate gives the cause of death. Aimee couldn’t ask her dad for it, even if he had one, so she bugged Aunt Lauren until one day she finally gave in and sent Aimee a copy. Aimee had to swear she wouldn’t tell her dad. She lied telling him it was a letter when it arrived in the mail. After he went to bed, Aimee locked herself in her room and stared at the envelope for an hour before she got up the nerve to open it. But when she finally opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet of paper, reality set in. In black print, her mother’s death was summed up in one cold, emotionless sentence…Marie Aimee Schmidt expired November 22, 1987, 3:04 pm, due to heart failure secondary to emergency Caesarian. At long last, Aimee had the answer, but it only created more questions, like did her mom know she was dying? Did she suffer? Did she even see Aimee before her last breath? Is she in heaven watching and waiting for her? Aimee touched the date on the paper -
November 22, 1987 -
her
birthday. Tears ran down her cheeks while she ripped the certificate into tiny
pieces. No evidence remained. Her mother died that day for Aimee.

Aimee's dad rarely talks about her mom. Even after all these years, Aimee sees emptiness in his eyes whenever Marie is mentioned. She guesses that’s why he calls her Aimee instead. So, when she visits Aunt Lauren, Aimee probes for pieces about her mother, anything no matter how insignificant. Only Aunt Lauren, too, seals her mother’s memories away in a sacred crypt. But Aimee isn't going to let it go. Somehow she's going to find out more about the woman who died giving her life.

Aimee is Mike's child, not her looks like James, but in her insulated personality. After countless hours of therapy her impenetrable façade has begun to melt. She still struggles to share her feelings. She easily regresses to her old, comfortable habits of guarding her inner thoughts, desires, and fears. With years of practice, like a chameleon, she can blend into any crowd. Being plain greatly improves the odds to exist unnoticed. Aimee prefers it that way.

Even though her dad won’t talk about her mom, he’s told Aimee her death wasn’t Aimee's fault. He feels she's ridiculous for thinking it was. The only thing he's ever shared with Aimee is it was just her mother's time. Aimee knows he loves her with all of his heart. Still getting past the guilt of her mother dying because of her birth has taken years, and helped pay for the sweet Mercedes Dr. Sanders drives.

How much they both lost was imprinted into Aimee's being early in life, and confirmed the day she received the death certificate. Children shouldn’t have to deal with death, but it cemented an unbreakable bond between her dad and Aimee. They both seek solace and peace. Escape makes the emptiness less painful. Her dad flees in his plane. And Aimee, well, she blends to esca…

...Buzzzzzz. Aimee jumped, then reached over and slapped off the alarm. Five fifty-five. Time for her run. She still felt wired like a dose of speed pulsed through her body. She had been awake since after four. A jog in the cool air would clear her mind. Aimee threw on her clothes and pitched opened her door. The rich smell of dark roasted coffee filled her lungs as she made her way towards the kitchen.

“Good morning, sweetheart. Did you get back to sleep?” her dad asked peering over the readers sliding down his nose. He was in his usual spot with the sports section of the morning paper spread across the tiny kitchen table.

She yawned and turned on the faucet to fill a glass with cool water. “Nope,” she answered.

“I’m sorry.” He picked up the paper and turned the page. “I dozed right off when I went back to bed.” He dropped the top of the paper and looked over it at Aimee. “You going for a run?”

“Yep, wanna go?” she shot back.

Sheepishly he said, “Well, maybe tomorrow. I need to leave early this morning, but thanks for asking. Go be healthy, but be safe. Okay, honey?”