It’s been a crazy road since I started this journey back in January 2016 and I still can’t help feeling like it’s just begun. From the moment my fingers took to the keyboard that cold winter day I felt deep in my bones that this is what I’m meant to do, but it's been quite a journey from then until now. I remember the first week I started writing and the excitement that spilled from me in torrents. I didn’t have a fully developed story yet, but I had a plan and I was going to make it work. 

​

I furiously spewed out those first pages like a meth head after a big score; I was running on adrenaline and little sleep was involved. Proud of myself for the ten pages I'd written, and of course the utter brilliance that those words must hold, I immediately set about trying to hook an agent. Because of course that’s what every agent wants; barely legible crap in its infancy. I’d sent out eight query letters before I had a three full chapters written in the hopes that my utter genius would strike some poor unsuspecting agent like a bolt of lightning and I would have a million dollar book deal before the end of the week (I may have been rocking a naive streak, but we don’t need to talk about it). 

 

As you can expect; rejection letter after rejection letter came filtering back through my inbox. That didn’t deter me in any way though, I just kept writing those letters and pounding out those pages. Finally at the end of April I’d finished my first draft. This is huge for me because I’m a person who tends to get bored easily and move on to other projects before I’ve finished the first; especially if the work becomes tedious. To finish something I'd started was a monumental step in my life; it meant I was finally breaking my old habits and truly living a new life. After I’d finished writing and was satisfied, it was time to edit the story and get it ready for test readers. I printed off six books and handed them out to various youth and adults in my life, feedback was minimal. Unfortunately for me, I can still feel other people’s emotions so I knew that people were afraid to hurt my feelings. I steeled myself and went back to page one. 

​

As I read through my own work again, this time with a critical eye, I was (I’m sad to say) completely disgusted. Suddenly I wished with all my heart that I’d payed closer attention in English class because the whole book was a complete mess. Run on sentences, terrible punctuation, and an English lady in my head who dictates the story to me that doesn’t speak in contractions; all these things plagued my novel. A novel with a story that is in itself solid and I mean rock solid. However, I quickly realized that a great story wouldn’t do me any good if the writing was terrible. I’m not a traveling bard, so sentence structure matters. I set about after that trying to be as critical as possible. I needed to fix the issues ASAP because I still firmly believed in the tale I had to tell; then life happened.

​

Kids, life, singing, and many other things took me from my work shortly after that and I wouldn’t return to it until two months later; then only to do some quick edits on the first chapters and send another round of queries out. Then nothing; no activity on the Facebook page, no new blog posts to see, Twitter and Instagram went silent, and the silence continued for several months. I wish I could totally blame my health, or my children, the volunteer work I do, or the choirs I'm a part of on my lack of work, but I can’t. While they absolutely played a factor in the slowing down of progress, I think my biggest obstacle became myself. All the old fear and doubt came seeping back through the cracks of my poor grammar.

  

“Maybe I should just give up. Maybe I’m not a very good writer and my friends' lack of enthusiasm was a reflection of that.” These were the questions that circled through my head. People who I’d asked to read the story all of the sudden became distant with me. I could feel the change in them as time drew on, and it began to affect my own confidence in myself. My entire life I've been my own worst enemy and the confidence the world sees is built on a mountain of self-doubt. That paralyzing fear started to grip my throat, but this time I fought hard against my invisible attacker. If the story isn’t good enough; make it better!

​

After a long intense battle I was finally able to throw duct tape around my inner asshole, get back down to business and hatch a new plan. I was going to make like Frankenstein and fix the part of the story that seemed to be the problem; the beginning. I opened a new Word document and set about copying and pasting the beginning back together with some major revisions. I studied everything I could on grammar and punctuation, and I even had a chat with the English narrator in my head; she's going to TRY and use more contractions so I don’t have to fix them later. Thus far I’m very happy with the direction it’s heading.

​

Is it perfect? Hell no! But it’s better than it was and that’s all a person can do.

Here is the new and definitely improved version of the first two chapters of book one. 

​

 

August 2097

​

Earbuds in, shoes laced tightly she took off into the night. All you could hear was the gentle pounding of her shoes lightly beating the pavement. She takes her run at the same time every night. Goes the same route and maneuvers the same streets. You could set a watch to her pace and route, her footfalls like the ticking of the small hand against the echoing dark pavement. She breathed deeply the night air and often closed her eyes to let her other senses take over. There is no fear for women in the time since the peace. They walk the streets in harmony. They walk the streets alone in safety. They don’t fear for their lives every second of the day, nighttime no longer holds the same terrors. She didn’t remember a time before the peace, but her Grandmother does. Her Grandmother was instrumental in its creation. She is the architect of its design. Worldwide peace and prosperity. No woman goes hungry, no woman is unclothed, no woman is unhoused, no child is harmed or abused, the population is under control, and the earth is finally healing from the dark times. Her mother tells stories of the time after the storms, but her grandmother just smiles with a witty response and refuses to speak on the subject. The elders refuse to speak of the time before and the story is largely unknown. Most don’t care. Most stories are just used to scare little girls about the world of man. No one really knows. Yet.

 

Earbuds in, shoes laced tightly, Nyela ran through the night. Deep auburn hair tied tightly at the base of her neck so that it would swing near the middle of her back with each step. Her rich cocoa skin was littered with freckles and her dark green eyes twinkled in the moonlight. Every night she ran this route, every night she listened to the various vocals and instrumentals of the music her mother kept from the dark times. She didn’t know why, but she had always been drawn to her mother’s music collection. Tonight, was different though. Tonight, she ran with a different secret streaming through her earbuds. Tonight, she’d made off with her grandmother’s recordings. The only remaining records of the storms. She turned right down the next street and stopped before ducking into a familiar alley. With a shuddering breath, she pulled up the files on her AppleDroid and started the file dated September 20, 2022. It was 2097

 

 

“Is anyone listening?” The vaguely familiar 15-year-old childlike voice of her grandmother crackled through the ear buds. Her words dry and choked echoing of a pain and sadness Nyela had never heard. “Can you hear me? Haha,” Nervous laughter. “not that I would know if you could.”

 

“It’s been a month since my last podcast and I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t think straight, and I haven’t the slightest clue what the HELL is happening. My world exploded, has yours? Am I putting out this call properly? I have more questions than answers and I think the fighting’s just begun. I’ll do my best to keep you updated, but time’s short and I don’t really know what I’m doing; please help.” The sound crackled and paused before she broke in with a new date, time, location, and hashtag.

 

“I guess it’s best to start at the beginning. For me that was Friday August 29th, 2022 at 5:30 pm, #blackopsninjasnipersnowflakes” laughter on recording, Nyela rolled her eyes at her grandmothers’ humor. She always was one of those people who tried to make any situation less intimidating with her ridiculousness, even though you could see the haunted look behind her eyes and hear it in her voice her grandmothers’ humor never wavered. Nyela needed to know what caused that look though. She needed to know what happened before the peace. She needed to hear the story of the storms that brought the peace. But most of all, she needed to know what happened to most of the men.

 

She left the dark alley and started her jog, letting the story fall around her while she ran into the night.

 

 

2022 – Catherine aka. Cat

 

The day my world exploded was a normal day; an insignificant and entirely unremarkable day. A day that probably would’ve passed in and out of existence without even a blip on the universe’s radar if it weren’t for that snowflake. Yes, you heard me right; Snowflake. It was about a month ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Chase and I were just hanging around in our tree house minding our own business. Our friendship had such a lighthearted and carefree existence that I was usually hanging from my favorite spot in the branches outside the tree house by my knees reading a book and Chase, being the fraidy cat that he is, could usually be found inside the tree house at his workstation doing science-y stuff with his computers.

 

On that particular August afternoon, I can remember one minute I was hanging upside down reading about Lestats latest adventures in the balmy midwestern summer heat and the next I was plunged into an icy tundra. Without even a moment to process the change in temperature I heard Chase cry out from below me so I immediately flung myself toward him. Without any hesitation, I began a series of downward flips towards my entrance. In a matter of seconds, I’d landed gently on the balls of my feet inside the tree house. I sprang up to scan the room. Chase was standing behind his desk holding his glasses in one hand, rubbing his eye with the other, and muttering to himself. The desk chair was knocked over and lay askew on the floor behind him. There appeared to be a shiny liquid substance spilled all over the desk. This alarmed me the most because Chase never spilled his experiments; ever.

 

“What happened?” I exclaimed ignoring the chill and goosebumps that scattered my arms and legs. He didn’t answer and continued to rub his eye, clearly uncomfortable. “Did you get an eyelash in your eye? Do you need help? Let me see!” Ignoring the cold I closed the distance between us nervously laughing and immediately tried to pry his eyelid open for a closer look. He hastily backed away and held his hand out to fend me off.

 

“Chill out Cat; give me a sec.” He responded, carefully trying to fish the offensive object out of his eye. I stopped and stood there with my arms crossed; concerned for him, annoyed that he wouldn’t let me violate his eyeball to check for foreign objects, and let’s face it, I was cold and scared. Once he finally seemed to remove whatever was bothering him he held it on the tip of his finger and examined it closely.

 

“Eyelash?” I asked impatiently. He examined it in that way of his trying to fully grasp what he was seeing. Once he seemed satisfied with his assessment, he nodded to himself and looked up with an expression the likes of which I’d never see on his face.

 

“Snowflake!” he replied sharply. The underlying sinister edge in his tone mixed with what was written all over his face set off every alarm in my head. Those alarms however were sadly silenced by the fact that he had just claimed he’d been attacked by a snowflake so I’d deal with my gut later. I continued to ignore the growing pit in my stomach and fell back into my normal routine in times of stress; scathing sarcasm.

 

“HA! I love you Chase and I know you’re brilliant, but there are some serious flaws in your logic.” I leaned against the tree trunk, crossed my arms, and cocked an eyebrow at him. “First of all, we live in Nebraska and I know the weather’s crazy, but despite the fact that it feels like an ice box in here I can confidently say that even in Nebraska it doesn’t snow in August!” I continued on, ignoring the chill in the air again. “Secondly, you just fished around in your eye for that thing for a fortnight; it would’ve melted long before you had time to examine it. Clearly, you must be mistaken.” Of course, in true Cat fashion, the moment the words fell from my lips I was hit in the face by something that was cold, wet, hurt significantly more than it should have, and gave me a tiny jolt of what felt like electricity.

 

“What the….” I swiped at my cheek, grabbing at the object that had hit me. As I examined it I realized, much to my annoyed surprise, that it actually was a snowflake. A snowflake that I was holding on the tip of my finger. It was pointy and sharp like a little throwing star made of ice and it didn’t melt immediately. I held my finger up to my face to get a closer look; it held shape for a few more moments before dissolving into my skin with a cool energizing feeling left on my fingertip. I glanced up at Chase in shock. He was already rummaging around his cabinets, wearing an expression that was half anticipation, half abject terror.

 

“What are you suggesting?” I asked, laughing nervously. “Are we suddenly under siege by a team of Black Ops trained Ninja Sniper Assassin Snowflake Warriors; an elite squadron attacking us in the middle of an August heat wave with their tiny, perfectly aimed, snowflake throwing stars of doom? Better tell the world,” I threw my hands in the air, “this may be the end.” I hoped he didn’t notice my hands imperceptibly shaking or the slight crack in my voice; much the same way he was hoping I wouldn’t notice how terrified and serious he was, or how his entire persona had changed the moment I was struck. It’s like he knew what was coming and had been dreading it.

 

“Cat…” Chase tried to get my attention, but I pretended I didn’t notice and continued my rant. At this point I had begun pacing and stroking an invisible beard.

 

“I know! We were targeted because you hacked the weather channel and now we know too much.”

 

“Cat…”

 

“Did you piss off the CIA again?” I countered. “No, I’ve got it…..”

 

“CAT!!!!” he was yelling at me by this point!

 

“WHAT?” I stopped dead in my tracks, turned to face him, and balled my hands into fists at my side.

 

“Get DOWN!”  He yelled while grabbing for my arm. That was when I noticed the look on his. His vision was fixed on something behind me. I let the true weight of what he was feeling hit me. All amusement was gone and the only thing left was fear, thick choking fear. I didn’t immediately obey, choosing to turn around instead. Directly behind me, hovering just outside the door, was the darkest cloud I’d ever seen. Its presence was even more confusing because it was a lone cloud hovering directly outside the tree house door on an otherwise cloudless summer day. There was nothing natural about the ‘cloud’ in front of me and I struggled to wrap my brain around what I was seeing. Slowly tiny black spots began to speckle the exterior of the #OminousCloud.

 

“Chase?” I asked stunned. He didn’t respond. “Did I fall and hit my head? Am I dreaming? Or did my imagination just manifest itself in……?” I was cut off mid-sentence when Chase tried to yank me out of the way before a wave of tiny snowflake ninja stars came hurtling out of the #OminousCloud directly for us. I know what you’re thinking, ‘But Cat, it is just snow. You said it stung a little and was cold and wet. At worst you may need a towel.’ and that is exactly what flew through my mind while I stood stupefied watching the puff of powder fly my way. However, this wasn’t normal snow and these were not light and fluffy snowflakes that drift slowly to the ground. No, what we were hit with was more akin to a million tiny high velocity shards of glass and Chase wasn’t quick enough to save my face from the wave of razor ice that followed.

 

There is something that snaps inside your mind the moment you get hit by those tiny shards that causes brain malfunctions. It has to restart itself because going from, “Oh how pretty.” to, “AAAAHHHHHHH, PAIN RUN!” in a matter of nanoseconds is hard. In a world where single snowflakes have never been dangerous, sharp, or precision guided, it’s really hard to immediately muster the proper response to the situation. My brain wasn’t computing, but Chase’s brain did. Chase’s brain always did. He pulled out the small metal canister he’d been looking for while I ran around ducking snow ice and screaming. He opened it like this thing happened every single day and captured some of the snowflakes. After throwing the lid back on he handed it to me and ran to slam the door shut before we could take another round of snowflake fire (That still sounds stupid). I stood there like an idiot for a moment holding the canister while my face stung from hundreds of tiny snowflake slices. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do with it so I asked. Recovering my wits enough to at least have full control of my sarcasm again as that is a very important coping mechanism for me (you may have noticed) in times of stress and in times of non-stress and pretty much any time I’m actively breathing.

 

“What exactly would you like me to do with this?” I asked, still slightly breathy from the adrenaline. “Science is not my department and you know that.” He ignored me and continued digging through his desk so I continued rambling. “Do you want me to sing the snowflakes a lovely winter song? Write a poem about their deadly beauty? Paint a portrait using only cool blues and whites to show how simple yet deceivingly deadly they are? Convince them to come over to the light side using only my rapier wit and incredible charm? Or photograph them for prosperity’s sake and documentation? Because if you need me to do any of those things, I am your gal! Otherwise, it’s your department.”

 

“Cat, did you know you babble even worse when you’re scared?” I raised a single eyebrow at him in a look that clearly told him I was about to launch into a speech about exactly why I was not scared. I was scared, but there was no way I was letting him know that! Before I could even finish taking the breath I was going to need for that speech he stopped me. “I know. You weren’t scared. That was nothing. You laugh in the face of danger. Blah, blah, blah…..I just need you to stand there quietly and hold the canister. Do you think you can do that?”

 

“Absolutely not!” I replied defiantly! Now it was his turn to look at me weird.

 

“You can’t stand and hold a canister?”

 

“Not silently I can’t” I smiled at him, but he just rolled his eyes at me again and continued to dig through the cabinet. “What exactly are you looking for anyway?”

 

“My portable cooling system” he responded without looking up.

 

That was just how Chase was though; he lived in his head. It had to be hard being so much younger than other kids in our grade and yet so much smarter. I’m fifteen and Chase is eleven, but he is a grade ahead of me in high school and when he gets in #TheGeniusHole, it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t matter anymore. Either that or he just reaches a point where he stops noticing that it still spins around him. He’s probably the only one who can handle my incessant babbling all the time, but I think that’s probably because he doesn’t hear half of it.

 

“You keep a portable cooling system on hand in our tree house?” That doesn’t really surprise me, but you don’t know him like I do. What’s normal for Chase usually isn’t normal for the rest of the population.

 

“Here it is.” He ignored me, turned around, and snatched the canister out of my hands before shoving it securely inside the small metal box. As soon as he’d secured the box in his backpack, he headed toward the rope ladder.

 

“Excuse me, where are you going?” I asked as he slowly and cautiously cracked the door and peered out. After a short tense moment he opened the door wide and it was then I was able to see that outside the door was a clear, cloud free, normal (Well, as normal as Nebraska weather ever gets; which is bi-polar at best), balmy Nebraska day. Sometime during the commotion the temperature had returned to normal and I wasn’t shivering any more. If my face didn’t sting, my body didn’t sing with a light electric buzz, and Chase wasn’t holding a canister of evidence in his backpack, I wouldn’t have believed it was a dream. Chase dropped the rope ladder to the base of the tree.

 

“I’m heading to my lab; I need my equipment.” He responded.

 

“What!?!” I feigned surprise. “You mean to tell me you don’t keep the Offensive Toaster stashed in the heel of your shoe?” I referenced his Electron Microscope. Mom and I are photographers and definitely loyal to Canon, unfortunately for Chase’s microscope it was a not a Canon and it looked like a toaster; making it The Offensive Toaster.

 

“Cat, I need to go.” He snapped while situating himself carefully upon the ladder.

 

“Not without me.” I scoffed. Chase never spoke to me this way so something was definitely up. He stopped his descent and glared at me hard.

 

“Yes, without you Cat.”

 

“Like hell you are.” I snapped and headed for my ceiling entrance. I climbed out of the roof, leapt onto my branch and quickly headed for the ground by swinging and flipping from branch to branch until I landed gingerly at the base of the tree. Feeling somehow more agile and in tune with my body than I’d ever been before. As soon as I landed, I turned and looked up; Chase was only halfway down the ladder.

 

“You can’t leave without me if I beat you to the ground.” I proclaimed. He ignored me as he slowly and tediously picked his way down the remaining rungs. After what seemed like an eternity, he took his last step off the ladder and looked at me squarely.

 

“Took you long enough.” I smiled.

 

“Go home.” Was his only response as he started walking toward his basement lab. I reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him dead. He turned and looked at me pleadingly. His soft chestnut hair fell loosely across his face, partially obscuring his eyes. The crystal blue eyes that I’d looked into every single day since I was five were begging me to leave.

 

“Why?” I demanded. “What in the heck is happening Chase?! I’ve never seen you like this in my life.”

 

“Do you trust me?” He asked earnestly.

 

“What kind of question is that?” I scoffed.

 

“A serious one.” He held my gaze steadily. What I saw in that moment was a wisdom far beyond his eleven years. “Do you trust me Cat?” I held his eye a moment longer before answering. There was a pit of unease growing in my stomach and it was getting worse with each passing second, but I absolutely trusted in Chase. That little boy is my best friend and whole heart.

 

“Of course I do.” I didn’t break eye contact, but I let go of the arm I was holding.

 

“Then trust me right now and go home.” The pleading in his eyes is what eventually sent me home that night. As I looked down into my best friend’s face, I knew that he would do anything for me. So, I could give him one day or at least 12 hours.

 

“Tomorrow morning you will tell me everything, or I will not so gently beat it out of you.” I replied. He nodded slightly in response, wrapped me in a sudden and awkward hug, and walked away.

 

“Alert me immediately if you find something or decide to fess up.” I called after him. I knew he’d heard me, but I also knew he wouldn’t answer so I turned toward my house without another word. My brain was buzzing uncomfortably with the knowledge that Chase was keeping something big from me. I would give him till tomorrow morning to come clean. Then, as promised, I would badger or beat it out of him; whichever was necessary. I tried to ignore my unease and focused on home. I figured there was some music that needed to be listened to. Not to mention, my face was stinging so I wanted to assess the damage those nasty snowflakes afflicted.

 

As I climbed the steps to my front door my brain was still whirring with Chase’s secrecy, so I stopped to take a deep steadying breath before walking inside. Clearing my nervousness and fear with every exhalation. One important thing you should know about my Mom is that, like me, she’s incredibly empathic and perceptive; which means she’ll know and feel that something’s wrong the moment I opened that door if I didn’t take a moment to block her. Good thing I’ve had years of practice containing my feelings and throwing on my fake smile so it glows on a molecular level. At fifteen it’s become almost effortless to clear my mind of worry and put up my mental walls. Once I felt the last of the tension and fear drain from my body I immediately filled myself up with calm happiness, threw on my best smile, and opened the door.

​

My House
7pm
#CreativelyOrganized

 

I took one more deep cleansing breath before walking through the door of my own humble abode, which features roughly a million books and so many art supplies that I’m fairly certain our house is actually made of canvas, easels, and books; held together with paint as mortar and paintbrushes as nails. There’s always a part of me that secretly fears every time I need a book or paint brush that if I grab the wrong one, it will have been the lynchpin that was holding the entire structure together and I will be crushed under the weight of creative chaos. Chase is always complaining about my house being in a constant messy state, but I calmly explain to him that my house is not messy; it’s creatively organized. Of course besides books and art stuff we also have a massive David Bowie shrine. A shrine that has grown exponentially since he died (may he RIP) because my mother has been obsessed (as far as I know) since birth. My home also happens to feature one constantly purring orange fluff ball of awesomeness named Tig, one black slinky ball of feline witchy familiar named Nyx, one little brother, and literally the coolest Aunt a girl could ask for.

 

My brother Tristan is a two-year-old God of chaos and disorder; like a tiny toddler Loki. Tristan, like all the little Gods that have come before him, is beautiful and deceptively sweet. He has pale creamy skin like Mom and I, and light strawberry blond hair that curls in the cutest way. It also sometime curls in just a way that makes him look like he has little devil horns. His blue eyes are piercing and huge and his smile can absolutely melt your heart. He lulls you into a false sense of security and makes you fall in love with him before blowing your mind with crazy. Last month he threw Tig in the toilet! I repeat, he threw my cat in the toilet! Later that same week, he chewed the ends off the plastic nerf darts and mixed them into her food. My poor Tig; she nearly died and had to have surgery. The boy is crazy and speaking of the little curly headed devil; the moment I opened the door he came flying down the hall, arms out, yelling at the top of his lungs!!

 

“Kidy” he cried as he flew toward me with superman speed. I braced myself for impact and swept the little monster up in my arms; spinning him around several times. He immediately threw his arms around my neck and gave me a big squeezy hug. After his hug he giggled, kicked his legs, grabbed my face in his hands (like he was going to give me a kiss), stuck his lips together, and blew baby spit all over me. Cute? Yes. Crazy? Absolutely!! I started putting him down so I could wipe off my face and the second his feet hit the floor he was off like a rocket down the hall toward what I assumed was either Mom or his playroom.

 

“Cat” Aunt Kayla called from the playroom. “Is that you?”

 

“No ma’am” I dropped my voice as manly as it could go and threw a southern twang into it before yelling back. “I’m just your friendly neighborhood serial killer here to slaughter ur entire family. Startin with the baby…git back hir baby!!” I yelled as I chased after Tristan down the hall pretending to be a big lumbering axe murderer.

 

“Oh, ok then sir.” She called back, coming out of the playroom shortly before Tristan made his mad dash for moms’ studio. She scooped him up as gracefully as you can while trying to contain tiny flailing arms. “But hey, before you kill the boy do you mind changing his diaper and putting him in his pajamas? It’s almost bedtime.”

 

“Fine, but then ur next woman!!!” I responded in my lumberjack voice, taking the boy from her. It was about then she must’ve seen my wounds.

 

“I’ll take my chances.” She scoffed. “And just for curiosity’s sake; what happened to your face? You know; besides the usual weirdness, I don’t think you usually come home with dried blood on your mug.”

 

“Not mine.” I gave her my creepiest smile as I shifted Tristan to my other hip. “My last victim was a fighter.”  She rolled her eyes and began to turn back to the playroom. Holding my brother, I suddenly realized that he was covered in a strange variety of sticky foods and needed way more than a diaper change. “Hey, this baby’s filthy!” I cocked an eyebrow and tried to look dangerous. “Sorry ma’am, but I am gunna have to drown it before I change it.”

 

“Hey, it’s either that or you can clean the play room.” She gestured toward the ominous open door that I had yet to glance inside. Tristan squirmed and giggled in my arms as I peeked into the room. The second I peered in I decided that the sticky baby was definitely the lesser of two evils. I surveyed the scene in front of me and sighed; there were what seemed like hundreds of what can only be described as dismembered bodies of fallen goldfish and cheerio soldiers lying scattered across the floor. A clear sign that the stuffed animal militia had won that day’s battle under the orders of their Overlord, Tristan. I laughed and shook my head.

 

“I’ll drown the baby, you take care of his victims, and we never speak of this again.” I dropped my voice into a whisper.

 

“Done.” She smiled before kissing Tristan on the forehead and ruffling his curls. I turned with the squirming child and made my way for the upstairs bathroom.

As for Tristan; he really is cute and honestly, he’s my little buddy. I wouldn’t trade him for anything. Even post bath; when I’m soaking wet holding on to one leg as he tries to crocodile death roll away from me while I attempt to wrestle him into a clean diaper and pajamas for bed. Once the nightly pajama battle had been won, I took him down to Mom to say goodnight. She kissed him on the head, nuzzled his nose, and wrapped him a giant hug. Giving me a look that told me my face didn’t go unnoticed and there would be a conversation later. Finally, Tristan let go of his death grip on mom’s neck and I ran him back upstairs to put him down for bed, but not before I noticed how mom looked. I could tell by the way she held herself that she wasn’t doing well, and I would deal with that after I had the boy down for the night. Once I’d read Tristan his Truck book no less than ten times, and had him tucked in, I made my way back downstairs. Kayla was just putting the vacuum away and headed me off before I got to moms’ studio.

 

“Don’t be mad at her!” She said quietly. I rocked back on my feet, crossed my arms and played innocent.

 

“Why would I possibly be mad at her?” I asked sweetly, batting my eyelashes for effect.

“Because she looks like crap?” I deliberately raised my voice so mom could hear me. “Because it’s obvious she hasn’t medicated or because I am guessing she also hasn’t moved from that easel in hours?!?”

 

“I was at work late so I think she may have missed a dose.” Kayla sighed. “I already tried to get her to go out, but SOMEONE’S BEING STUBBORN.” She yelled those last words over her shoulder.

 

“Someone can still hear the both of you!” I heard mom call back from the depths of her studio. I pushed past Kayla and walked through the door to the room where Mom was painting.

 

She was sitting at her Easel, in the same place I’d left her when I put Tristan down, completely lost in the strokes of her brush. She wasn’t wearing her ear buds like she usually does when she paints (blasting rock ‘n’ roll at decibels that’ll surely cause her to go deaf one day). Today she had a small radio playing softly next to her paints and was humming Laughing Gnome along with David Bowie. Since he died, she hadn’t listened to anything else; it was her way of mourning the one constant in her life. In mom’s life the order of importance goes; #1-David Bowie and then everyone and everything else. I can’t be jealous though he was in her life first and rumor has it he’s gotten her through some tough times. As I gazed down at her I could tell that she looked to be in good spirits, but I saw all the signs she worked hard to cover up. I caught the extra strain at the corner of her eyes, the slight stiffness in the way she held her body, and of course I saw the imperceptible winces of pain that crossed her face with every single movement, and I immediately knew she hadn’t had any medication in a while. Which also meant that she’d probably forgotten to eat. I reached out and gently touched her on the shoulder.

 

“Just because you can hear me doesn’t make you any less stubborn.” Aunt Kayla called from behind me. Mom just laughed and looked up from her painting. She took in my wounds again, only this time she looked at me with such scrutiny that I felt like she was trying to peer inside my brain (I hate it when she does that). I focused all my energy on her and tried to keep myself from thinking about Chase. After another second she seemed to come to an internal decision.

 

“What happened to your face? Did you get into a fight with a book and lose?” she asked sarcastically.

 

“I just assumed it was Chase’s paper shredder.” Kayla piped up again, laughing. “I figured his equipment finally got sick of her insults and launched an assault.”  I tried to give them both my best ‘You’re idiots’ look in response; I raised one eyebrow and attempted to throw attitude, but my heart wasn’t in it. I couldn’t help but notice again how bad Mom looked. My mother’s always beautiful; she’s tall and slender with deep fiery red hair like mine, tons of freckles that only come out in the sun, the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen, and the best sense of humor on the planet; besides mine of course. Right now, however, was a stark contrast; her red hair was thrown sloppily in a bun with art pencils stuck carelessly throughout, her creamy porcelain complexion was paler than normal (which is saying something in our family) with a slight grey hue, and her green eyes seemed dull.

 

“Yeah and I’m sic’ing that same book on you if you don’t explain to me why you look so bad.” I threw my hands on my hips for emphasis. She mirrored my expression before deflating and looking away.

 

“You know I don’t like using it when Tristan’s awake and it’s getting more and more dangerous for us.” She sighed sheepishly. “He took his late nap really early, so it threw off the schedule and then Kayla had to work late. Needless to say, I missed a few doses today.” She looked at me with a small smile in an attempt to cover up the underlying expression. The one that told me how hard she struggled with the law and perceptions of the medication she chooses to take. I hated that she wouldn’t call me to come home for a minute so she wasn’t suffering, but she tried really hard not to let her health impact my life; it annoyed me. “Don’t worry Cat, the paint fumes have been helping!!” She smiled jokingly. OMG that woman’s infuriating!!

 

“Carissa, paint fumes are bad for you.” Kayla said deadpan.

 

“MOM!” I cried, frustrated that she was sitting there in pain joking around. “Not funny! You can’t just skip doses; when you skip doses you skip meals and when you skip meals, your body doesn’t get enough nutrients to fight off the deterioration of your spine.”

 

“I know.” She said quietly. “I still feel bad when your brother’s around and it’s just me. If someone saw me while he was awake, they might assume I’m putting him in danger. The laws may be changing, but perception is slow to change” She looked down spinning the paintbrush around her fingers.

 

“Mom,” I sighed, “Do you remember what happened when you were on societally acceptable drugs or what happens when you don’t eat or sleep?” I put my arm around her and guided her to the couch as Kayla headed for the shelves in the corner. Mom had to move around for a minute, no telling how long she’d been stuck to that chair painting her pain away.

 

“I do.” She sighed. “I just worry what would happen if someone found me with it, with the current climate of the country. This community already thinks I’m weird and mouthy; I don’t want to think about what something like that would do to you and Tristan.” I’d heard this argument from my mother so many times I could’ve had it without her.

 

“Well Sis you are weird, but that’s why we love you.” Kayla smiled.

 

I need to stop here a moment and explain. My Mom has Degenerative Disk Disease or as they call it now Failed Back Syndrome, which means her spine is deteriorating at an incredibly accelerated speed. Since she has very low spinal fluid her disks bulge and tear easily. She’s had four surgeries already and we nearly lost her during two of them. She’s looking down the barrel of a complete neck to tailbone fusion when she gets to the point she can’t walk. Currently she is fused from her tailbone and up three levels. Her equipment’s breaking and her nerves are being choked with scar tissue; which means my Mom lives in excruciating pain daily. That is also just the tip of the bad health iceberg. She doesn’t sleep because insomnia runs in our family (trust me I have it too). Aside from the surgeries nearly killing her and the chronic insomnia, something far worse nearly took Mom more times than either of us care to admit. When you live in extreme pain, don’t sleep, and suffer acute depression, PTSD, and anxiety, the doctors throw so many medications at you it’s sickening. Of course, because of all the side effects of those medications, they throw even more medications at you. My Mom use to have an appetite and was able to keep food down, but after five years of prescription meds her stomach is completely destroyed.

 

Once she got pregnant with Tristan my Aunt Kayla moved in to help and Mom decided to brave the pain without medications. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done. I’ve never seen my Mom more miserable than when she was pregnant with that little boy, but she refused to allow him to come into this world addicted to dangerous drugs. After he was born she tried to do it un-medicated, but found that since she wasn’t eating or sleeping her health went into a rapid decline. She’s a single mother of two; Kayla and I help as much as we can, but I can’t be there all the time, Kayla has a life, and Mom has to be able to function. Since the lack of sleep, food, and the emotional toll of chronic pain was killing her just as quickly as the drugs had, she consulted some out of town doctors. After that she set about doing exhaustive research on the benefits of Medical Cannabis to treat chronic pain, lack of appetite, and insomnia. She found that for her it was perfect; with almost no side effects.

 

When she went to her pain doctor initially to have a discussion, he disregarded all its benefits by saying it had no medicinal value; citing its placement on the DEA drug classification scale as a Schedule One (Tiny side note: The DEA lists Cannabis as more dangerous than Oxycodone and Methamphetamine, which are actively killing people, but they must know best right? I mean, politicians are always honest and never fueled by money. Right?). Then her ‘doctor’ (or as I like to call him; the legal drug dealer) tried to put her on no less than ten different medications for her various symptoms. She looked right at the dealer, told him where to stick it, and walked out. She hasn’t gone back since and jokes that it’s harder to leave a doctor’s office without pills than it is to leave with them. Downfall to all of this, Cannabis is only barely legal this year here in our lovely state.

 

Luckily, a friend of hers was able to get her access to it here and from that point forward I got my Mom back. She was energetic, fun, happy, well rested, and most importantly she was eating again so she was getting healthy for the first time in over five years. She took her chances to be a better mother and she absolutely succeeded, but she still worries every day about what people will think of her. Lucky for her Kayla and I don’t have those kind of hang ups. I got my Mom back and Kayla got her sister back which was enough for both of us to champion the medication; no matter what the uneducated critics say!

 

“I am saying this one more time Mom, you are no good to us crippled or dead.”

 

“But if you do die, I’ve got dibs on your clothes.” Kayla said without turning around as she finished getting moms medication out from her secret compartment by the bookshelves.

 

“I’m no good to you in Jail either Cat.” She snapped back ignoring Kayla’s comment.

 

“I can break you out of Jail Mom, but I am not equipped to bring you back from death.” I scoffed.

 

“It scares me that you think you’re equipped to break me out of jail!” She sighed before she turned to snap at Kayla. “Do you really need to load the vaporizer in front of my fifteen-year-old?” Kayla ignored her comment and finished what she was doing.

“Pfft, like your fifteen-year-old doesn’t know how to do it for you herself.” Kayla retorted. As if to prove her point I walked over to Kayla stubbornly and snatched the small device from her hands. Walking it over to my mother and handing it to her with a giant grin.

 

“Mom if you can explain to me how this is any different from a kid who brings their ailing parent a glass of water and an ibuprofen bottle, I will stop; until then shush, go to the porch, and take this while Kayla makes you some food.” She took the implement from my hands and stared me down hard.

 

“What’d I do to deserve such an amazing daughter?”

 

“That’s a very good question, you are pretty lucky” I smiled and winked.

 

“Hey, I got it ready!” Kayla chimed in.

 

“Yeah, but you don’t count.” I smiled and looked over at Kayla. She pretended to be upset which made me laugh before I turned back to Mom. “Now go and take that before we find how amazing my foot is on your butt.”

 

“Sometimes it’s like you forget I’m your mother.” She shook her head at me while I helped her off the couch. Then she started limping to the screened-in porch.

 

“Gee Carissa, I wonder where she gets her mouth from?” Kayla smiled and walked out of the studio toward the kitchen. “You medicate, I cook!!” She called back through the door. Mom smiled and went outside so I followed Kayla to the kitchen. I am glad she was going to have some relief soon; I knew it’d been a long day for her. While the rest of the world would look at my mom and not even guess she had health issues, I know better and see how she struggles.

 

“And of course, when you say you’re going to cook,” I smiled behind Kayla, “what you really mean is that you’ll…”

 

“Microwave, duh.” She cut me off. “I said I would make her food, I never said anything about it being gourmet”

 

“Your culinary prowess is truly astounding.”

 

“You’re one to talk.” She smiled over her shoulder as we rounded the corner to the kitchen. “How many times have you been foiled by boiling water?”

 

“Not as many times as you’ve been taken down by toast!” I retorted as I grabbed three microwave meals from the freezer throwing the first one at Kayla to heat up. “Here, an offering to the Microwave God.” She took it from my hands and with reverence slid it into the microwave.

 

“Oh, Microwave God, giver of life and sustenance, without you we would surely die.” She cracked a smile at me. “Please accept this offering and continue to feed us daily, Amen.”

 

“You’re such a dork.” I said staring at her dumbfounded.

 

“Hey, lucky for you it’s a family trait.” She walked over and started getting silverware and napkins out. “I got this Cat, you should get upstairs and check your face again. It’s going to give me nightmares.” I’d forgotten about my face and involuntarily reached up and touched my cheek.

 

“Welcome to my world.” I laughed at her before darting from the room. “Your face always gives me nightmares.”

 

“And fix your hair, or I’m forcing you to share your meal with the squirrels that live up there.” I heard her yell. Once I closed the door to the bathroom, I took a good hard look at my appearance for the first time.

 

“Oh good, dozens of tiny paper cuts, just what I was hoping for. Maybe if I’m lucky I can get a black eye tomorrow and my life will truly be complete.” I muttered to myself in the mirror as I cleaned up. Pulling my curly red hair, that did indeed look as if it could house squirrels, into a loose bun and straightening myself up. When I was clean, and the cuts were as hidden as they were going to get I ran back into the kitchen to check on the progress of the food. After Mom had come back inside and the three of us were situated at the kitchen table with our individual gourmet meals, I assessed her again for signs of stress. I was happy to see the set of her jaw had loosened, the tension in her shoulders had dropped, and she was moving like a normal person again. It was obvious she was getting relief, and now that she was about to eat, I was feeling much better. It was about then my mother pounced.

 

“So now are you going to tell me why you’re absolutely shaken to the core, worried about Chase, and trying to hide it from me?” Mom asked around her bite of microwave meal; fixing me with a hard look that dared me to lie. I dropped back defeated.

 

“I hate it when you do that.” I sighed.

 

“Yeah, and…” She waited. I looked to Kayla for help, but she offered none.

 

“Hey, don’t look at me, you’ve met your mother!” She exclaimed with her hands in the air.

“Cat.” She said softly, laying a hand gently on my leg. I knew I needed to tell someone, it’d been driving me crazy, but I hadn’t wanted to face it yet. My mother’s eyes were soft, supportive, and loving, so I spilled the entire afternoon’s worth of events.

 

“And Chase is in the Genius Hole working on this right now?” She asked after I had spewed my tale.

 

“I guess.” I shrugged. “I don’t really have the slightest clue what he’s doing. What I do know is that he’s terrified, he’s hiding something, and he told me to get lost.” She looked at me stunned.

 

“He never keeps things from you.” She said shocked. “He knows better; you’re a human lie detector.

 

“I wonder where she gets it from.” Kayla muttered. Mom smiled, but mostly ignored her and continued on.

 

“Think about it Cat, if he’s keeping something from you he must have a very good reason. You know him better than anyone, what’s the only reason that boy would lie to you?”

 

“To protect me.” I sighed. I knew it, I knew it at the base of the tree. He’d asked me to trust him when I confronted him, and I do trust him.

 

“Cat, he loves you more than anything in the world.” She leaned in looking me right in the eye. “I think you’re his little piece of humanity. Having that big brain of his has to be hard, we both know it, and you provide him with balance; or at the very least continuous background noise.” She smirked. I wanted to be offended and you bet that I pretended I was outraged, but I know I’m a talker; it’s who I am so I can’t really get offended by the truth. No matter how un-American that is. “You know he would never do anything he didn’t think was in your best interest.”

 

“That doesn’t make it any less irritating or worrisome.” I grumbled.

 

“I know” Mom said stroking my hair, playing with a loose strand and wrapping it around her fingers

 

“Hey now you know how I feel.” Kayla responded by getting up and disposing of her meal container in the trash dramatically.

 

“You shush!” I pointed to Kayla before turning back to Mom. “So I’m just supposed to trust him?” She didn’t have to answer. I knew she would never answer a question that I already knew the answer to. Part of what I loved about her was that she usually encouraged me to be exactly as weird or normal as I wanted to be. As long as I was happy and healthy, she trusted me to make my own decisions, and she taught me to make good ones. “Fine I will, but I don’t like it.” I crossed my arms and slid back in my chair.

 

“No one said you have to dear.” She smiled. “Just give him tonight.”

 

“Isn’t it Face Off night anyway?” Kayla asked, changing the subject and clearing moms’ dish.

 

“I believe it is.” Mom said rising and heading toward the living room couch.

 

“Last one there gets there gets the uncomfortable chair.” Kayla chimed in. Mom fixed her with a sharp look.

 

“If I get the uncomfortable chair you get the uncomfortable lawn.” She laughed.

 

“Hey, what about Cat?” she looked hurt.

 

“She’s my daughter and I love her. I have to,” she winked at me, “it’s in the fine print.” I stuck my tongue out at her, but she just rolled her eyes and turned back around. We left the conversation there and finished our trek to the living room to snuggle into the couch together like we did every Thursday night. After the show I helped Mom to the porch off her bedroom on the main level so she could medicate again before bed. Kayla had taken off to her own room for the night and it was time to hurry upstairs to my room. I wanted to get back to work on some of the art for this week’s installment of The Adventures of Cat and Chase since it was due up on the website the next day. What can I say, procrastination and stubbornness run in our family like the force runs through the Skywalker line.

 

When I’d finally reached the point that I couldn’t see straight; I started to shut everything down and sent Chase a quick text. I asked if there was any progress or if he had any confessions he wanted to make. I was met with silence, so I sent one more not so veiled threat about the morning and started to get ready for bed. That is when the temperature did a nosedive again and I was plunged into an arctic chill that had me running for the windows. I threw my arms around myself and glanced outside. The night itself was still and dark; Chase’s house however was another story altogether.

His house seemed to be bathed in a thick amorphous fog and there were dozens of tiny lights penetrating through the fog from the basement. I don’t remember what I thought before I ran for the door, but I know I didn’t think that would be the last time I would know peace. I just knew I needed to get to Chase.

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