DIGGING TOO DEEP
Maryah
My hands were cramping from clenching Faith’s fuzzy pink pillow too tight. I tossed it on her bed and cracked my knuckles. She needed to hurry up. I didn’t want food or a movie. I wanted to pick her brain about reincarnation.
My reflection in Faith’s full-length mirror caught my attention. The mirror hung on a door that joined Faith and Harmony’s rooms. Should I walk in there and ask her to help me talk to my mother? See if she could explain more? If I did, Harmony would know everything. She’d think my mother and I were insane. Or she’d think Louise was insane. Either way, communicating with spirits about being part of some eternal family did not sound anywhere remotely close to normal.
I flopped down on Faith’s bed and threw my arms over my head. My ring flew off and bounced onto the floor. I slid off the bed to search for it and saw a pair of scissors and the corner of a plastic storage bin peeking out from the bed skirt. Through the white plastic of the bin, I could see a glue stick, markers, and other craft supplies. I pulled out the box to toss the scissors inside, but sparkly pens rolled over a picture of me at my birthday party. Scrapbooking. Another hobby Faith attempted to get me into but failed.
I leaned down and looked under her bed, still searching for my ring. It was sitting against a bunch of photo albums, so I grabbed it, slid it back onto my thumb then reached for the nearest two books among the piles. I made myself comfortable in Faith’s beanbag chair. At least I’d have a distraction while I waited for her to get back.
Faith’s artistic flare adorned every colorful page of dance recitals, holidays, and Colbert family history. She and Shiloh must have known each other forever. In a few pictures they looked like they were only four or five years old. I opened the second massively thick book, handling it delicately.
The pages looked old; faded to a color between white and brown. There were no stickers, sparkly quotes, or descriptions. The first few pages were hand-drawn sketches of people. Further into the book, little corner tabs held black and white photos in place. I studied each one, smiling at the old clothes and hairstyles—until one photo made me lift the book to examine it closer.
An old couple stood in front of a '57 Desoto. They looked old enough to be grandparents. Behind them was the gated archway to the Luna house. I carefully removed the picture from its tabs and stared at...my car. I turned over the picture and there, written in my handwriting, were the words Nathaniel and Me—Sedona—new house .
I read it over and over, expecting the words to say something else, but every time it said the same impossible thing.
I kept flipping through pages. Familiar eyes stared back at me from every page, but they were on faces of people I didn’t recognize, until one photograph caught my attention. Three faces I did recognize stared back at me. The colors weren’t as vivid or bright as today’s digital photography, but Mary’s green eyes looked just as bright as they did on Nathan’s nightstand. She wore a wedding dress—and next to her, stood twenty-something versions of Louise and Anthony.
No. Freaking. Way. My ears buzzed so loud they hurt. I pressed my palm against one of them, but kept studying the photo.
The elderly Asian couple didn’t look familiar at first. Then it hit me. It seemed genetically impossible, but the short woman in her silky kimono stared back at me through Faith’s blue eyes. Add some height, braids, and youth to the old guy and the resemblance to Shiloh was uncanny. I turned it over. Again, my handwriting: Our wedding (19).
A dried white flower and a peacock feather were pressed into a piece of folded wax paper on the same page. What did nineteen mean? What did any of this mean?
Faith’s voice coming down the hallway jolted me out of my disbelief. I snapped the book shut and shoved it behind the beanbag chair then jumped to my feet just as the bedroom door opened.
“Sorry, I thought I’d be back by the time you…” Faith paused and set the bags of take-out on her dresser. “Are you all right? You look pale—paler than usual.”
My ears still hummed and my mouth felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton balls, but I forced myself to speak. “Getting a headache.”
“No headaches allowed on your birthday. I’ll get aspirin and make us party drinks!”
As soon as she left the room I grabbed the books and slid them back under the bed. I felt like I’d wandered onto another planet; a planet where lack of oxygen made it hard for me to think or breathe. How could my handwriting be on those pictures? Mary-Maryah. It couldn’t be. I couldn’t be her.
Faith came back holding two pink Shirley Temples in her hand. She set one on her nightstand and reached out with a closed fist. I opened my palm and watched two white pills drop into my hand. Every move I made felt alien to me, like I was disconnected from my body.
Faith took a sip of her pink drink then did a double take and focused on my thigh. I looked down. One black photo tab was stuck to my sweatpants.
When our eyes met, her face tensed. She grabbed my hand and the aspirin dropped to the floor. She squeezed my fingers tight. “Maryah, don’t be scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I lied.
“You’re terrified, and you’re nauseous too.”
My eyes widened. The room spun. I pulled my hand away from her. “I have to go.”
“Please don’t leave. We need to talk about this.”
I kept walking, praying she wouldn’t try to stop me. My mind was still stuck on the photos and drawings, but my feet kept moving. I passed Harmony in the hallway but couldn’t look at her. I waved goodbye to their dad, and left the house without another word.
When I was a safe distance away, I parked in an empty lot, unclenching the steering wheel. My thoughts corkscrewed around each other. Why was the Desoto in that photo? My parents had the car before I was born, but had they ever mentioned who or where they got it from? Those old people couldn’t be Nathan and me. That bride couldn't be me. All of it was insane. I hadn’t moved to Sedona, I’d moved to the Twilight Zone.
I dialed Krista. Please be awake. Please be awake. Voicemail.
“Kris, it’s me. Call me as soon as you get this.” My voice cracked on my last words. “I want—no, I need to come home.”
Next I tried River.
“What’s up?” he shouted. Loud music and a rumble of incoherent noise blasted through the receiver.
“Where are you? I need to talk to you.”
“What?”
I yelled louder. “Where are you?”
“I told you, my uncle’s in town. You bailed on me so I’m out with him and his friends.”
A girl laughed. She sounded so close she must’ve been on his lap. “Is April with you?”
“What?” More loud noise.
“Can I meet up with you?”
Another girly laugh was followed by rustling on the phone. I strained to hear if I could make out any of the conversation going on in the background. “I can’t hear you,” River yelled. “And my phone’s about to die. I’ll call you later.”
He hung up. My head fell back against the headrest. I had no one left to turn to.
I cranked up my Beatles CD and waited for Krista to call back. I didn’t care how long I had to wait. I wasn’t going back to the Luna house.
