Violet Awakenings

 

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Prologue

It was terrifying, horrific, spending moonless nights trapped alone in the silent forest. Certainly it was teeming with life but so few of those creatures ever directed a communication toward me. Instead, life continued in the forest as if oblivious to my constant presence; one that did not have a foreseeable end, despite the impending harsh winter and my dwindling food supply. In the day time, I watched as the chattering squirrels organized their food for their long dormancy and the birds slowly disappeared, departing on their migratory southern routes. At night, I huddled in my makeshift shelter, hoping to remain anonymous here. Hoping that those creatures that might want to communicate with me would be unable to locate me. I would get neither hibernation nor vacation. No, I would be left nearly alone in the forest to face the long, freezing winter. Nearly alone…that thought brought me hopeful joy as well as paralyzing fear.

 

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Part I

~ Spring ~

 

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Chapter 1

 

I blinked, opening my eyes to stare at the painted ceiling above my bed. My room had changed little during my nearly 16-year occupation. The walls were still a dusky purple and the ceiling remained sky blue, with puffy white cumulus clouds dotted throughout. Although I might enjoy a color palette a little less childish and a smidgen closer to my own preferences, I kept the décor, mainly to please parents who were becoming increasingly aware and alarmed of the approach of my adulthood. The fact that today was my birthday would do nothing to alleviate their stress.

But why had I woken up? I had been in the middle of the most enjoyable dream…

I struggled to bring it back to the surface, but all I saw were flashes of green and brown, nothing solid enough to give meaning to what I had been dreaming of so happily. Instead, the light rapping on my door explained my sudden alertness. Of course. The knock on my door would be my Aunt Lizzie. Despite the fact that my alarm clock would sound in just a few minutes, leaving me without any option but to wake given the decibel the thing beeped at, Aunt Lizzie never trusted me to wake up on my own, to get ready for school in my own time, to show any outward signs of responsibility and maturity. It was driving her crazy that I was getting older, attempting independence, even as I tried my best to keep those attempts minimal, knowing it upset her to see me growing up. But even something as simple as doing my own hair in the mornings, refusing Aunt Lizzie’s traditional brushing and braiding, had resulted in hurt feelings.

Knock, knock. I knew I had to answer her. The light tapping on my door would continue until I called out a “good morning” and allowed her entrance. “Come on in,” I called, in my best imitation of a cheerful voice, preferring to go along with Lizzie’s wants as opposed to making  a scene about the fact that today I was 16 years old, certainly capable of waking up without assistance. It was 6:47 am. School didn’t start until 8. Really? You couldn’t let me lie here undisturbed for just a few more minutes? Like everything else about my life, Lizzie knew that I set my alarm, daily, for 7 am.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Lizzie said in a gratingly annoying way. “Happy birthday. Think you can get up and at ‘em quickly this morning? Your uncle and I have something we’d like to give you before school.”

Of course. “Sure,” I quickly replied. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you both downstairs.” It made my life so much calmer when I just agreed with what Lizzie wanted me to do. It made her less stressed, almost happy, when I complied so easily. She closed the door, smiling, and I bounded out of bed, hopeful that I would be able to get through the morning birthday celebration quickly and out the door to school, perhaps feigning the need for extra help in French class, or stating that I wanted Connor’s assistance with my geometry homework. Lizzie loved Connor and I knew he would cover for me if she called his mom to check on my story. He always did. That’s what best friends were for. Especially best friends who understood the stifling environment in which I lived.

I dressed quickly in jeans and a sweater. It was late April, but the cold, damp air necessitated the heavier layers. Massachusetts was not known for its temperate spring season. A quick look in the mirror told me that my hair would have to do. As often as I could, I twisted my long hair up on my nape, not seeing the point of any more effort. I didn’t bother with makeup. I never did; I just couldn’t see it making any difference. My face was, in my opinion, plain. A little narrow, perhaps, but that just went along with my whole body. Everything about me was narrow, delicate, from my nose to my chin to my hips to my feet. The one feature I found unique was my eyes, a bright green, a shade I had never seen on another person. Even Aunt Lizzie, my biological mother’s sister, didn’t have eyes even close to mine; hers were hazel-ish, light brown with green flecks.

Collecting my books and stuffing them in my backpack, I headed out the door and down the stairs. There, Lizzie and my Uncle Pete sat waiting. My cereal bowl was already laid out, a glass of orange juice poured, and a banana placed horizontally across the placemat found at my assigned seat around the kitchen table. This was normal, not just a birthday thing. I had never once, in my entire life, prepared my own breakfast. There had been a few times over the years when Lizzie hadn’t felt well in the morning, but Pete always made the effort on those days. The breakfast was nowhere near as complete when he was in charge of it, but it was there nonetheless. The overprotective nature of my family was something that I had just come to expect. Along with that, however, came a lack of privacy; I didn’t make a move without my aunt and uncle knowing about it. I know that they thought that they were simply being involved, but to me it felt more like they were trying to completely control my life. Helicopter parents to the max. My daily wake-up call was just one example of the constant surveillance that I was under. Clothes shopping, research papers, friendships; all of these things and more also fell under their purview.

I sighed as I sat down, prepared for the onslaught of birthday wishes, questions about my plans for the day, and the unavoidable anxiety that would invariably color their tones. As if my daily routine wasn’t consistent enough, Lizzie and Pete’s fears about me were omni-present as well. I don’t think there’s another kid out there who has been as “protected” as I have been during my whole life. It’s like my aunt and uncle are afraid of leaving me alone too long, or giving me too much freedom…I just don’t really understand what they’re really afraid will happen to me. It’s almost like they’re afraid that I might start to think for myself or something.

I’m not sure what they believe is a risk to my safety. We live in a happy, sleepy town. Concord, Massachusetts is a town known all across America, but not for anything that’s still going on today. Sure, it’s a nice enough town. But when you’re famous for something, you tend to stick to that fame; so Concord is still pretty similar to how it was back in 1775 when the redcoats fought the patriots at the Old North Bridge. There are still really quaint shops and inns, museums dedicated to the occurrences of the American Revolution, and big houses spaced far apart from each other on long, winding roads. The town may only be a half hour from Boston by car, but it’s not like I would leave Concord to go looking for trouble there. And even if I did, Boston’s a pretty safe city- just not one that Lizzie and Pete let me go to all that often, and definitely not one that I’m allowed to go to alone. They might make an exception if I was going with Connor, but I haven’t ever tested that theory. I’m not sure Lizzie’s love for him extends quite that far.

I let out a little sigh and made my way into the kitchen where the curtains, a cheery yellow and white gingham, do little to block out the bright sun of the early spring. As Lizzie and Pete sat down at the table with me, I noticed a wrapped present in the middle of the table. I glanced at it and then at Lizzie, whose expression no longer seemed nearly as giddy as it should; presents are usually something that brings out her natural enthusiasm. Her reaction worried me a little.

“For me?” I asked, shooting a look toward the carefully wrapped gift. Further inspection showed that it was not Lizzie’s usual perfect wrapping job. The paper looked a little frayed and faded at the edges. Weird.

The look of unease that spread across Lizzie’s face was also a little perplexing. Lizzie never looked upset, unless I pushed some boundaries. In fact, I was relatively certain that she went out of her way to always appear at ease, even if she wasn’t, although I didn’t really understand why she made such an intense effort. Just another in a long line of things I didn’t understand about Lizzie.

“Emma,” Lizzie began, “it’s not from us. You need to understand that this gift is something that I was told to give you on your 16th birthday. I promised I would, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have some…reservations about doing this. I think we should just do this quickly and then tonight we can move on and have your real celebration.”

Her words surprised me. Lizzie rarely did anything she did not want to do. Despite the outward protectiveness of me, she really was a relatively selfish person, putting her own happiness and comfort above pretty much anyone else’s wants or needs. One of the reasons I allowed myself to be so sheltered by her and Pete was that whenever I fought back, no matter how small my resistance might be, she went into a severe depression, mumbling on and on about her failures as a parent. It just didn’t seem worth it to fight, so most of the time I put up with the restraints, only making exceptions for things that really bothered me, like the daily brushing and braiding used to. Now, I was apprehensive of the gift that seemed able to make Lizzie act out of her usual character.

“Who is it from?” I asked warily. I was too cautious to hope that it might be from the only people from whom I had ever wanted anything. The only people who could never give me anything.

Lizzie sighed. Uncle Pete put a hand on her shoulder, trying to be supportive, but also not appearing very happy about this morning’s events. “When your parents died,” Lizzie began. Then she stopped, shooting a look at Pete and then staring down at the flowered tablecloth. The yellow and white daisies, Lizzie’s favorite blossoms, did nothing to bring a smile to her face. Pete cleared his throat, in an apparent attempt to take over, but Lizzie wouldn’t allow that. “When they died,” she continued, “their will was very specific. The lawyers located me and Pete quickly, and you came to live with us. Most of your parents’ belongings were already out of the house, in storage, preparing for the move down to New York. Your father had just been offered a job there and your mother was very excited to have a change.”

I wondered if I looked as shocked as I felt in that moment. Lizzie never spoke of my parents. In her mind, she was my mother.  If I was being honest, I had accepted that she and Pete were my parents years ago. I had been only three months old when the lawyers delivered me into their hands. I had never known my parents. Even though I wished for knowledge of them daily, hourly, I would never hurt Lizzie by demanding to know more. She was too fragile for the kind of pain I knew it would cause her.

I tried to keep my face blank as Lizzie appraised my expression, cautiously continuing her story. “When you were given to us, this gift was among your things. The lawyers’ instructions were very clear. This gift was meant for you on this birthday. No sooner, no later.”

I stared at her. Somewhere, my brain registered what she said. But I made no move to open the gift. This was a shock I had not been prepared for when I had woken up this morning. However, through the mental fog, I suddenly heard the honk of a horn outside the house. I looked down at my uneaten breakfast and up at my quiet aunt and uncle, their faces identical masks of restrained stress. HONK, it came again, louder this time. Quickly, I stood up from the table and grabbed my bag, turning to leave, knowing that Connor was waiting in the car outside. With a start, I paused. Turning back to the table, I reached for the gift in the middle of the table, and stuffed it into my backpack. I exited without another word, anxious to get some space and gain some perspective on this morning’s events.

 As I stepped outside, the tears overflowed. I glanced back at the house that had been my home for almost 16 years. The house had never changed; it was still the same shade of pale yellow, the shutters still hunter green, matching the bushes that lined the walk. It had been a constant in my life, as constant as my imposed daily routine. Suddenly, that consistency had been shattered by the appearance of one silly birthday gift. I felt as though my entire world had been rocked, and I ran to Connor’s car, unseeing, diving into the passenger side. Despite the anguish I was experiencing, I felt lucky, this morning, that Connor is a year older than I am, even though both of us are in the 11th grade. That one year meant that he had a license and a car…which meant I had an escape. Connor took one look at my face, threw the car into drive, and floored the accelerator, knowing, as only he could in that moment, that I needed to get away from this place.

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