She shrugged as if refusing any guilt for my beautiful notion. “I’d never seen a woman, so young, already love the baby in her belly so irrevocably as she did.” She grabbed my chin, her eyes welled to the brim. “That special soul chose your life over hers. Your survival was all she begged for in those mere last minutes.” Tears fell down Noma’s face that was aging by the hours of being on the run.
Remembering the past was as haunting as the roads we traveled. But these were answers I could only get from her now.
Even with the pain of such memories, I was full of gratitude. “Thank you. I didn’t know how to ask, but always wanted every detail.” I swallowed as I dared to ask more. “Did she—did she know what was… happening?” That I was losing her?
Noma swallowed, too. “She spoke of crazy things toward the end.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “I was too distraught to remember them all, but I’ve seen death with my job. And I’ve seen recognition in a patient’s eyes.”
My heart raced with realization. My mother knew she was about to die.
Noma appeared lost in the memory of that fateful day. “Her awareness, it was as if Death was presenting her with a last-minute gift. One of knowledge and understanding most of us can’t comprehend.”
I sucked in air. I knew that gift well.
Hearing me gasp brought her back to the present. Her lightly tanned skin paled in an instant as a definite comprehension took root. She mumbled to herself, “Resuscitated.” She leaned closer to study my eyes as if a soul reader. “You know what she—what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
Almost petrified of this intense moment because of what it meant, I could only nod.
Her brows bunched together, and she seemed to be hanging on by a thread. “Is that— You mean—The little girl?”
My breathing picked up pace. “I’m not sure.”
She spoke so fast. “Talktome, babyboy.”
“It was… the water… blue… then—sparkly.”
Suspicious, her head drew back, making her neck wrinkle. “Water—sun reflections. That doesn’t seem so far-fetched.”
“What if every bit of water I’ve seen since?—”
With me pausing, she leaned in inquisitively. “What if every bit of water, what?”
Without looking away from her stare, I gestured to the water in the tub. “What if… every bit… of water… now… sparkles?” I even gazed at her wet glittery cheeks.
Her mouth fell open as she gawked at the water around me. “Right now?”
Struggling with this admission, I answered, “Even when it rains.”
“But, but… not until the accident?”
It had not been an accident, but I understood her meaning. “Not until after.”
She fell to her butt, mouth ajar. “But… how could you—” As if something locked into place in her mind, and there was no denying it, she covered her mouth.
I was figuring she was regretting taking me from the hospital, but then she asked with so much heart, “What else did you truly see in that ocean?”
My throat threatened to collapse with emotions. Speaking of my new friend out loud for the first time since the hospital was overwhelming and frightening. “A sad little girl. With green hair and a tail like a mermaid.” Now that I was finding relief in being able to speak of her, I couldn’t seem to stop. “I miss her, Noma.” Someone had to know of my internal anguish. “And I don’t even know if she’s real.”
A silence so thick I could hear it hung between us.
Then…
Noma rushed from her knees and yanked my upper body to hers, soaking her shirt. Petting my wet hair, she said, “Shhh. It will be okay. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”
My grandmother never made a promise she didn’t keep. Her word was iron. That meant I was going to eventually find myself in a mental institution where I could get proper treatment or would someday find my way back to a figment of my imagination.
Until then, she would do her best to offer any peace possible.
After I dried off and was back in fresh clothes, I felt clean. Refreshed. A little more whole than I had been before my bath. I was sitting on the motel bed, my back resting against the headboard, when a knock came at the door. I jolted. Noma, already at the window, peeking around the thick brown curtain, raised a hand to me, a reminder to be quiet.
