I pull my latex gloves down tighter on my hands, steadying my breath to get into work mode.
“Okay, Timmy. You’ve got to promise me you’ll stop trying to fly.” I say as sternly as I can muster.
Timmy sighs, holding up his casted arm and offering a pathetic expression. “But Johnny said he flies off trees all the time.”
His mother, Kendall, has had enough of the antics. “Johnny is a liar and a bad influence! Son, humans can’t fly.” She snaps.
“Well he did. He told me so.” Timmy replies, his eight-year-old imagination getting the better of him.
Kendall looks to me with pleading eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Castelle. He’s got quite the imagination.”
“That’s okay. My little sister is his age, so I get it.” I feign a smile, having a hard time relating considering Mia is a stickler for good behavior most of the time.
Timmy rolls his head back. “He’s not lying.” he cries. I admire the wild imagination and sincere curiosity of a child. One believing in fairytales without a second thought, even as his mother and nurse tell him otherwise.
I look to Kendall, handing her his paperwork. “His arm will have to be in the cast for six weeks. But for his cuts, I suggest applying flowering yarrow paste to them daily.”
Dr. Devers walks in, shaking his head at me. “When are you going to start recommending real medicine to my patients, Ms. Castelle?”
Kendall smiles at the doctor. “That’s quite alright. I prefer it, as it’s much safer than chemicals.”
Dr. Devers huffs before moving to have a word with Timmy.
I lean in to whisper with Kendall, knowing exactly how the Doctor feels about my preferred methods of healing the body. “Here’s instructions on how to use the flowering yarrow as well as my turmeric paste for keeping infections away. Just don’t tell him,” I nod my head in the direction of Devers and wink.
I’ve only recently graduated nursing school, and while I’ve only been here for a month, I’ve seen little Timmy three times. I’m thankful Mia’s never been the adventurous type, although I would prefer her to have more friends her age. She’s so wrapped up in her music and our lives that she never really takes the time to be a kid.
When they leave, Dr. Devers gives me yet another lecture about medicine, one to which I nod my head and feign agreement. When Mom was sick, I saw what her medicines did to her body, and while she may have never recovered from her illness with any form of medicine, I feel like she would have been more comfortable.
My goal in life is to one day open my own clinic so I can help others. While I fully believe in all forms of medicine, I also believe in natural remedies, so I hope I’ll be able to pursue my dreams one day.
Mia walks in, chucking her bookbag on the table and giving me a sour face.
“You better not be making broccoli for dinner.” she says hotly, squinting her eyes at me. I’m thankful for the after-school program that keeps children until six before the bus brings them home so that parents can work, or in our case… sisters.
I stifle a laugh, having just gotten home and desperately unprepared for dinner. “I’m not! Let me see ...” I rummage the pantry, cursing myself for not swinging by the store on the way home. Luckily, a frozen pizza is hidden deep within the freezer. “Pizza night?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Yay! That’s perfect.” She squeals, pulling out her binder and getting started on homework.
I preheat the oven and toss the pizza in, pulling out papers of my own to budget our monthly bills. While I’m in a good position with work now, we’re still struggling. With the harrowing mixture of Mom’s medical debt, bills, and student loans, I have no room for error.
Frank’s house is paid for, and that is the only contribution my father gives. He’s too drunk to find work, and I’ve got to keep food on the table along with lights for us to see.
By this rate, I’ll be able to financially support myself and Mia in a mere ten years. With all of the expenses, I’ll have a grand total of thirty dollars for us to live off of for the next two weeks.
“I’m so sick of this.” I mutter to myself. Mia turns her face up from her homework in inquiry and I luckily remember her recital. “How was your rehearsal?” I deflect.
She beams. “It was wonderful. I got a solo!”
I do a little dance in my seat. “That’s amazing! I told you that you would! Congrats,” I smile, my heart full knowing that she has something positive going on in her life.
“Thanks, Ari.” She looks away and bites her lip. I can tell she wants to say something.
I put down my papers and set my elbows on the table. “What is it?”
She inhales. “I know you do a lot, and I’m really sorry to ask ...” She trails off, nervous, before clearing her throat. “The Orchestra director said I need new strings to play the lead.”
“That’s fine.” I assure her. I’ll find a way. I always do.
She grins. “Thanks, Ari.” Then, her nose wiggles. “Oh no,”
“What?” I ask, but the moment that all-too-familiar burnt stench seeps into my nose, I know. “Shit!”
“Bad word!” Mia yells.
I huff, grabbing an oven mitt and tossing the burnt pizza onto the stovetop. “Mia, I’m exhausted. I’ve worked ten hours straight, give me a break, please.” Why is it sometimes she can be so understanding, and other times so annoyingly immature?
“But I’m hungry,” she whines.
I look around. “I am too. I’ll fix something else, okay?” I suggest, praying for a break.
Mia shakes her head. “I wish Mom were here. She wouldn’t burn the stupid pizza!” Her words cut like a knife, and I attempt to shake them off. Before I can find words to say back, Mia rushes to her room in tears.
“I wish she were here too.” I whisper, my thoughts rolling back to how lucky we were. The loss doesn’t lessen, it doesn’t leave.
With the nauseating stench of burnt pizza wafting through the kitchen, I light a lavender scented candle and place it on the counter. The doorbell rings, and I lazily walk to it, knowing it’s going to be my father. He’ll probably be stumbling in drunk from the bar, as usual.
I let out an annoyed sigh when I see who is standing on the other side. This visitor was definitely unexpected, and not in the least welcome.
A shrill voice sounds from behind the door, “Hey,” It’s Dan, my ex.
I don’t even bother fixing my hair as he walks in, uninvited.
“You haven’t returned my calls.” he says, giving me an accusatory glare. He throws his elbows on the bar top while I discard the burnt pizza.
“That’s because we broke up, remember?” I tell him with a frosty glare.
He flashes an award-winning smile, but I don’t fall for it. “Ari, you know how this works. You get mad and break up with me, but you always come back.”
I shake my head, stifling a laugh. “No, Dan. You cheated on me, and you always show up thinking I’ll take you back.” Aside from his wandering eyes, the truth is that Dan has never been enough for me. That may sound harsh, but he doesn’t get me. Not in the way that ...
The thought is useless, and my imagination needs to wind down.
He throws his head back, changing the subject. “You could come live with me. Get out of this dump.”
“What about Mia?” I ask for the hell of it, already knowing what his answer will be. This is the same conversation we’ve had dozens of times.
He shrugs. “She’s not your problem.”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand, “First off, she’s not a ‘problem,’ and secondly, we are not together.”
Dan crosses his arms, standing up. “Why are you always so stubborn? Just live a little.” he chides.
At the perfect timing, dear old Dad stumbles through the door. “Who the fuck are you?” he slurs, pointing a crooked finger at my ex.
“Arianna’s boyfriend,” Dan replies curtly, seeming unfazed by the fact that he’s met my dad numerous times and the conversation always flows like this.
Dad grabs a beer from the fridge and leans against the counter for support, knocking off my freshly-lit lavender candle in the process. Glass shards spread everywhere, and hot wax splashes across the floor.
“Clean this shit up.” he spits at me.
For once, I throw the towel in, literally. “No, get it yourself.” I’m emotionally and physically exhausted, can’t I have a break? Dealing with him is just another chore. An annoying chore.
Dan sends me a pleading look. “Arianna, do as your father asks. Just clean it.” He shrugs, acting as though he has a say in any of this.
“This is exactly why we’re not together.” I tell him, still confused as to why he’s even here. We were never serious; our relationship never held any depth.
“What?” He raises his brow, confusion settling on his face.
I walk towards him and he steps back each time.
“You have no backbone. You can’t even stick up for me to my own drunken father? I don’t want to see you again!” He continues to walk backward as I walk forward. I slam the door in his face when his feet land on the front porch before turning to rush upstairs, now fed up with everyone and everything.
I collapse onto my bed, shoving my comforter over my body while tears flow onto my pillow.
I try to imagine a different life for myself, one that I’ll never experience fully.
It’s a childish dream that I have, one to live with Alexander in his magical, dreamy land. I assume that he has a small cottage next to a river. We would have three children who would grow up to be happy. That’s all one can wish for. We would live a simple life and on a summer day, Alexander would fish for us and I would hang up laundry to dry in the fresh breeze. These are things I think of to help me fall asleep. To let me escape, if only for a brief moment.