Page 3 of The Rhythm of their Souls

Nora: Morning, love muffin. HAPPY MOTHER FRIGGING BIRTHDAY.

Me: Why, thank you, sis! Care to join me for a Witch Doctor?

Nora: Sure, what time are you thinking?

Me: Let’s do 11:30. I love you, big sister.

Nora: I love you most, Olive.

Things have been off with Nora lately; she’s been through the wringer. Five months ago, her boyfriend Jake had a tragic accident that left him unconscious at a friend’s house. There were at least eight people there at the time of the accident.

The ambulance and paramedics arrived quickly, but there was no saving him; he passed on the way to the hospital. During his in-depth autopsy, they discovered he had overdosed on Fentanyl laced marijuana. It was under investigation for months, but law enforcement could not prove someone guilty. It was a bad batch, and he was the one to test the waters first. Fentanyl is becoming a common cause of death in this generation. I’m recognizing the names on many gravestones.

Jake’s passing took a huge hit on my sister. He was her first everything; they had lived with his parents until he turned twenty. After that, they found a small two-bedroom ranch home for rent just miles from his parents. Two months after his funeral service, Nora broke the lease and moved back in with his parents.

I offered for her to stay with Danielle and me, but she refused multiple times. She didn’t have it in her to leave his parents alone with broken hearts. Jake was an only child, and they adored him. I don’t blame her; his parents were more involved in her life than our mother.

I’m just worried about Nora and her mental state. I know she still feels guilty for what happened. She had worked that afternoon, and Jake wanted her to take off so she could tag along. She believes the outcome would have been different if she had been there. It’s been hard to convince her that there was nothing she could have done to change how it happened.

All I can do is continue to be there for her. We’ve been through the wringer throughout life. Our mom made sure we got a good taste of chaos early on.

And I can’t imagine the hurt she is feeling internally. A human can only survive so much.

Nora arrives fashionably late, but it’s okay. I’m happy she’s here; we don’t see each other as much as I’d like. She looks exhausted and worn but still stunning as ever. Her beautiful long brown curls form perfectly around her frame. Her big smile is contagious and could snatch any guy’s attention.

Damn, I miss seeing that smile. The light she once desperately held onto is dulling in her eyes. I can almost see it flickering, painfully struggling to stay lit. Something about her is different; this isn’t my beautifully broken, strong Nora Ray. I quickly mask my concern before she catches me having a deep conversation in my head.

We spend around an hour talking about my job and a little about our mom. And how neither of us has visited her in quite some time. We talk briefly about Jake’s parents and how they’re doing. I tell her about the stupid party Danielle is forcing me to attend. I invite her to tag along, but she swears she has things to do back home.

I’m sure it’s just an excuse not to go. It’s fine, and I will not push her on it. She needs time to heal, and God, do I want that for her so badly. I hope she knows that I’m here for her, just like she has always been for me.

Once I return home, I am greeted at the door by my sweet Lottie girl. She is a miniature Pomeranian. My mom purchased her when she was around eight weeks old. She was a gift for my fourteenth birthday. Maybe it was her way of apologizing for her absence during prior years. Lottie is by far the sweetest, cutest ball of hair with four legs. We’ve grown up together, and I don’t think I’ve ever loved a pooch so much. She is a blessing that I surely needed.

I didn’t feel as alone when Lottie came into my life. When I was younger, there were nights that I’d shut myself in my room and cry. And it’s almost like she understood my pain. Her sweet, tiny self would nestle up to my neck and stay there as long as I’d let her. My little Lottie Love. She approaches me and wags her tail to say hello; I scoop her up for quick kisses and snuggles before going to my closet.

Danielle isn’t here, so I assume she’s out shopping for a new outfit for tonight’s dreadful party. That girl will buy new clothes just to wear to the mailbox. I spend a good thirty minutes trying on different options. I peer at my figure in our full-body mirror. All I can say is thank the lord for growth and puberty. I was that awkward, skinny kid, and I caught a lot of shit for it at school.

I never enjoyed getting called anorexic by my classmate Bennett Weaver. He had many nicknames for me growing up, like Trailer Trash and Crackhead Girl. The not-so-funny thing about that is my mom was keen on a little rock in her pipe occasionally.

Bennett’s bullying caused a lot of self-doubt that was difficult for me to shake. I never understood what his problem was with me. I guess he had insecurities and needed to project them on someone else. I was the easiest target to aim for.

Somewhere along the way, life decided I deserved a little grace in some areas of my life. Or either it’s one good thing my mom passed down to me. I was a late bloomer, and my appearance changed drastically by the age of sixteen. And damn, was I relieved to break free from that long awkward stage of my life. I was always so hard on myself. I’m now a little on the taller side of five foot seven.

Some would say I was gifted with a long torso and legs and a small waist with a donk like the ones T-Pain talks about in his songs. My ashy silk brown hair flows down to the middle of my back. I didn’t get my mom’s full curly locks like Nora Ray did, but depending on the weather, my hair is wavy in different styles. The only tight curls I inherited are around the frame of my face; they come out to play only on humid days.

I finally go with a short-sleeved, form-fitting sweater dress. Its sage tone meshes beautifully with my olive complexion. I pair it with my favorite white sneakers. I’m going with a subtle makeup look: a touch of mascara on my long lashes and a shimmery highlighter on my lower lids to bring out the warm honey flecks in my light brown eyes. I dust my high cheekbones with a pinkish blush and gently color my ample lips with a mauve-shaded gloss.

This small primp says a lot for me, considering I usually only doll up for work. I dress comfortably on most workdays, considering I sit in a cubicle all day. My go-to attire is baggy shirts or sweats. If I knew Danielle wouldn’t scold me, I’d show up to this party in what I slept in last night. Hopefully, she’s impressed with my quickly thrown-together outfit. She can kiss my ass otherwise.

Chapter 3

5th grade

On the school bus, I squish the side of my face into the window as hard as I can— anything to distract myself from Bennett’s harsh words. Every day is different with him. Some days, I am nothing more than a ghost in his presence. Other days I know as soon as he spots me, venom will shoot from his sinful lips.

“Oh, here comes the trailer dump princess!” Bennett spews out.

This kid has had it out for me since we were in third grade. It gradually got worse once Danielle left me for middle school. Now, I’m just stuck dealing with this alone. I try so hard to be cordial and kind, but the nicer I am, the meaner his words spill.