Page 2 of The Rhythm of their Souls

She never cared to explain when inconveniences happened. I would just always assume she blew through her disability money. It seemed like her booze and drug habits were more important than the essentials we needed for survival.

One afternoon, I walked home from the bus stop, but there was no power at our house. When Mom finally came home, she said no word. Nothing new there. We went almost a whole week without power. We ate from cold aluminum cans and managed to stay warm during the brisk nights. We would snuggle up together under massive blankets.

And in a way, I loved those cold nights; it was the closest I’d been to Mom in a long time. And I’d desperately take anything I could get from her to subdue my aching needs as a child.

I appreciated school days more during this time. Sometimes, I would sneak off to the bathroom to embrace the free, cozy heat. It took six days for Nora to find out about our living conditions. She was livid that I didn’t tell her, and I don’t blame her for it. It’s not that I didn’t want her to know. I just didn’t want her to scold Mom, even though I knew how wrong the situation was. Plus, we would have only had to suffer one more week. Then, Mom’s disability check would have been deposited, and just like that, we’d be back to civilization.

Nora paid the bill, restoring power to our small trailer. She restocked the cabinets with food and gave me enough money for a week of school lunches. She always tried her best to make sure I didn’t go without. I always felt bad asking her for anything; I wasn’t meant to be her responsibility, and I felt like a burden most days.

Unfortunately, we had to mature at an early age, which is a harsh reality. Survival is a word that still clings to me. I am still to this day just thankful to have someone like Nora in my life. Because without her, what would be the point of my survival? She is the best big sister.

It’s appropriate to say that we received the last shit pickings in the parent department. Maybe that sounds cruel, but does it seem wrong?

Life can be so damn ruthless. It will take something that was once pure and set it ablaze, and then it will take a seat and observe the destruction it caused. And I truly believe some of us are born broken. Why? That’s a question I don’t have the answer to.

All I know is that our parents are both examples of it. And somewhere along the road to misery, Nora and I became very much broken, too.

And as I grew older, the monsters crept out from under my bed and infiltrated my mind insidiously. They manipulated my emotions and evoked feelings I struggled to put into words. The relentless monsters inflicted unhealable wounds deep inside me. They had discovered their perfect home and resolved to make it their permanent abode. I was to be internally feasted upon for the rest of my existence. I quickly realized that there was nothing to shield me from them now, not even Nora Ray.

This was when I discovered trauma and mental illness, two very real things. And I don’t think people understand the dynamic of the two, working together to destroy anything in their path. Leaving behind debris that sticks to everything like thick honey.

Chapter 2

Today is my birthday, and it’s just another day—there’s no need to make a big deal out of nothing. I lost interest in celebrating it at age nine when my mom didn’t have the decency to at least come home for my birthday. She missed two of them after that and showed up days later like nothing was wrong. There was no birthday phone call and no trace of where she was. Thankfully, I had Nora there for two of my birthdays before she moved out.

As a young teen, she tried her best to make it special for me. She would make strawberry cheesecake muffins and use a lit match as a candle. Those few birthdays, I made the same wish every year. All I wanted was for my mom to choose me over the drugs and the temporary men in her life. My wish never came true, and that’s when I decided my life was futile. And well, fuck my birthday.

My best friend Danielle seems to think otherwise. She made that clear by rudely waking me up at 7 a.m. with the song “Birthday Bitch” by Trap Beckham blaring in my ear.

This was her new tradition when we moved into our apartment three years ago. I was sixteen and beyond, ready to get out on my own. Danielle was two years older than me, so things worked out the best they could. We’ve known each other since we were in elementary school. We grew up inseparable in the same lovely trailer park and promised each other that we’d one day live together. So here we are, “roomie besties” in our little boring town.

Danielle plops down on my bed beside me. “Get up, Olive.”

I roll my eyes and blow out a loud huff. “Don’t you have anything better to do other than torturing me?” I say through gritty eyes.

She smacks me with a pillow and annoyingly chirps, “Uh, hello? It’s your nineteenth birthday! Get your grumpy ass out of bed.” She can be a sharp thorn in my ass sometimes.

I glare at her but force myself up and go to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I see nothing new; I look the same. The age of nineteen sounds so bland. I don’t see the hype in celebrating it.

I walk to the kitchen and contemplate feeding my growling tummy. Danielle is already standing by our kitchen island with her arms crossed, giving me a sly look. I pinch my lips together in annoyance. “What is it?”

She gives me a massive grin. “Don’t forget our plans for tonight, birthday girl.” Damn it. Somehow, I let her talk me into going to a random house party. It just landed on the same day as my birthday. Taylor, an acquaintance from high school, bought her first home a few months ago in a town called Marshville. The only thing I know about this place is that country singer Randy Travis grew up there. I’ve seen on the internet that they have a mural of him on a building.

We heard through the grapevine that Taylor started dating a guy near there. They’re not living together, but they’re only fifteen minutes from each other—about an hour’s distance from us.

Danielle says a lot of faces from school will be there, so it’s sounding more like a high school reunion to me. I have instant anxiety just thinking about it. Danielle is really the only person I have a relationship with from school. I have a few girls from work that I keep in touch with and see occasionally outside of my work. Aside from that, I keep to myself, which means less drama.

I discovered close friends can backstab you just like anyone else. My old snake friend Chloe made that clear when she fucked my ex-boyfriend, whom I dated for a year. Long story short, I don’t trust many people.

It’s Friday, and Danielle begged me to take off a month ago. She doesn’t believe anyone should work on their birthday. I started working at a Call Center three years ago. It didn’t take any experience aside from a school diploma. The money is decent; I talk to strangers all day on the phone. And for some odd reason, I get constant compliments on my country-drawn accent.

Hey, if it makes the customers happy, I’m all for it. And the good thing about working over the phone is that even when I speak to the occasional asshole, I’m able to flip them off or even mute the conversation to say how I feel.

For example, grumpy Brenda from Arizona does not know that I called her a snooty fuck twat. It’s quite therapeutic in a sense.

I’m sure Danielle has a whole weekend planned for my birthday. I’m already dreading this party tonight. Some days, I love conversation and interaction with other people. Most days, I want to be left the fuck alone. I guess it’s a happy medium somewhere in between.

So now I need to prepare mentally for human interaction. I decide to message my big sister Nora to see if she’d like to grab lunch at our favorite eating joint, What-A-Burger. Retrieving my phone, I didn’t realize I had multiple unread messages. Oh, right, it’s my birthday.