Page 17 of The Rhythm of their Souls

Pulling into the trailer park gives me a sense of “home,” but it also makes my stomach turn in unimaginable ways. This is where I grew up. From the start until the day I moved out years ago, I have some of the best memories and others that haunt my dreams.

There are parts of this place that are the same as I remember it as a child. But since then, there have also been changes. I felt a tinge of sadness when Danielle’s parents’ old trailer was torn down years ago and replaced with a newer model just because her house was my break away from the chaos at home. Sometimes, when mom would leave me by myself for days, I would run to Danielle’s, and her parents would always welcome me with open arms.

As far as I know, my mom is the only person who has lived here for a decade. She has no choice but to. No one has the money to move her elsewhere. Times have changed tremendously. Rentals now require background checks and good credit. Let’s not forget that mom lives off a disability check. She doesn’t even meet one requirement. She’s very inconsistent with her life choices. So this is what it’ll have to be, at least for now.

Pulling into the driveway, overgrown grass and weeds invade the ground. Wispy vines are weaved and wrapped into the vinyl of the house. They creep up to the roof and cling onto the neglected gutters. This place looks abandoned. Guess I’ll need to find someone to come and take care of the lawn again. This is the reason my visits have space in between them.

I can’t deal with this shit all the time. I feel I was robbed of having a mother and, in return, forced to be the mother figure to the one who birthed me. It’s a fucked-up situation, but here I am, playing mom.

Walking to the front door is a challenge. It’s like I am walking through an undiscovered jungle. The long blades of grass and thick weeds harass my legs. By the time I reach the stairs, my legs are itchy, and I bear scratches from my short travels. The door is cracked open, so why knock? Stepping inside, I scope out the living room.

It looks the same as it always has. Mom’s dusty chestnut-washed china cabinet still holds the small porcelain figures my mom used to love to collect. When I was little, I used to love carefully playing with them. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Do you know how certain smells stick with you for a lifetime? It’s the realest thing. This place has a distinct smell that lingers with flashbacks. I can picture little me and Nora Ray sitting on the floor playing Crash Bandicoot together. My heart aches with the good memories of this house.

I can tell Mom has cleaned very little, which is still weird to me. She once was a cleaning fanatic. This place was always spotless, with not one speck of dust to be found. Nora and I had daily chores to keep this place in tip-top shape.

Now, I look around and see a disaster. There are piled dishes that have probably been there for weeks. Dirt piles and hand-length dust bunnies latched onto things. I let out a long, agitated sigh. I might as well get this place in decent condition before it turns into something more. I can’t afford to hire someone to come tidy this place up especially since I’m already needing the weed infestation taken care of.

First, I need to figure out where Mom is. I know she’s here somewhere. My first guess is her bedroom. She’s always spent most of her time in there, well, when she’s home. Since her DWI years ago, she doesn’t go anywhere anymore. But if Jewels need to go somewhere, she will find a way.

I walk towards the hallway and glance at the bathroom. I instantly feel chills run up and down my spine. Unwanted visions throw themselves into my thoughts.

I close my eyes and rub my temples. Not today, Olive, not today. I walk across the small hall and peek into my old bedroom. It looks the same from the day I moved out, untouched and flooded with nostalgia. My two Backstreet Boys posters still hang on the aqua-blue wall behind my old, unused bed. The memories ambush my mind every time I step into this room.

I walk over to my small, battered dresser and pick up origami notes between Danielle and me. They’re still folded to perfection. And I can’t help but smile, thinking back to those adored moments with my best friend.

I close my bedroom door and head towards Mom’s room. Sure enough, I find her lying on her stomach on top of the bedcovers. Her room reeks of alcohol. Beside her lays an empty pint of Tito’s vodka. I’m assuming she passed out and forgot to put the lid back on the bottle. There is a small spill circling the opening of the bottle. Mom isn’t one to leave a bottle half full. Which tells me she drank the entire pint in one sitting. And now she’s intoxicated and passed out.

Me being me; I grab the small, quilted blanket hanging on the bedpost and quietly cover her. She’s probably not waking up anytime soon. When she gets in these drunken states, she normally sleeps it off, just to start again as soon as her eyes fly open.

Her head barely rests on the pillow, and her thick curls wrap around her face like a protective cocoon. Seeing her so vulnerable reminds me that she is a human and humans make mistakes. But it still doesn’t make it okay. I never asked to be born into such heartbreak. Nora and I deserved better. But didn’t our mother deserve it, too? I glance at her one last time before shutting her bedroom door.

After straightening the living room and kitchen up, I locate a pen and scrap mail. I leave Mom a note letting her know I stopped by. I stick a fifty dollar bill with the note. In the back of my mind, I know she will most likely spend it on something I don’t agree with. I can’t control every action made by Jewels. If she wants to waste it, that’s on her.

But at least I can say I helped. I can’t live with the racing thoughts and guilt that ambush my brain. I’ve done my part, even though I shouldn’t have to.

I lock the doors and head out the side door. There’s one more thing I want to do before leaving. Walking through the backyard brings back young summers here. Those were days I cherished as a child. Because smiles and happiness were far in between, those sweet moments have stuck with me.

Even with the yard being overgrown with tall greenery, I spot the small trail at the edge of the yard line. Walking through, I get hints of honeysuckle and pine. I feel a sense of security being here on this trail.

And there it still sits high off the ground, “The treehouse.” The only fatherly thing our dad ever did for us. Aside from the overgrown vines that caress its wilted boards, it hasn’t changed much. This place holds a huge piece of my childhood. Memories begin to flow endlessly through my mind. There were times when mom would be fighting with one of her flings or, in a drunken rage, high on drugs.

Nora’s bedroom window faced the backyard. We would climb out and run straight for the treehouse. Nora and I made a pact that anytime we got scared, this is where we’d go together.

I climb the wooden ladder, careful not to get a splinter. At the top, I unclasp the small lock on the uneven door. Crawling inside, I finally stand and look around.

Ancient cobwebs are formed in every corner of the four walls. I can’t help but smile being up here. This was my favorite place, my safe haven. My and Nora’s little plastic table with chairs still sits in the same place we last left it. The little drawings we created are all over the table, faded but still visible.

I run my fingers over the words in the center of the table. “Nora Ray and Olive Oil, sisters forever.” The corner of my eyes fills with tears. I still remember that day.

It’s bittersweet thinking that long ago, Nora and I were in here with our wondrous imaginations. We did not know that it would be our very last. Because life got in the way, we grew up and left behind the very place that made our childhood worth remembering.

I walk over to the cutout window, which holds no glass or frame. I always loved it because we could hear the crickets chirp at night. And even from time to time, we’d catch a small forest-scented breeze.

Our dad knew what he was doing when he picked where to cut out the window. You’d never guess that there would be views worth seeing while living in a trailer park. I stare off into the endless forest beyond the window. Nora and I used to love coming up here at night and watching the moon. We had the best view of it. There was something about the moon that would draw Nora in. Sometimes, I’d watch her instead.

I think she would have stayed up here all night just to watch the moon illuminate the night sky. Every night around 10 p.m., the moon’s natural gleam would shine through the forest and cast its glow into our treehouse window. It was a beautiful thing to see.

And what made it even more special was seeing a content smile on Nora’s face while she stalked the moon. She was so beautiful in the moonlight. The way its light magnified her dazzling facial features. It’s as if they were connected. Or maybe the moonlight healed her each time. Nora never wanted me to see her vulnerable side.