Imperfect Truth(35)

As I step out onto the street, the weather mimics my mood.

The air is still.

The sky is bleak.

It looks like it’s about to open up and take on a life of its own. People scurry into storefronts, but I make no effort to move any faster, instead stopping on the corner of Lexington and 25th and looking up to the heavens. Black clouds gather above me. The thrill of the darkness feels primal. I revel in the knowledge that in a matter of seconds I will be cleansed by the impending rain. It’s cathartic. The faint familiar sound of the tiny pitter-patter of the drops hitting the pavement sends a chill down my spine. I stand painfully still underneath the eye of the storm brewing above me, embracing the strong currents of energy all around me. In the distance there is a crash of thunder, and the sky flashes white. The ground under my feet shakes from the force of the lightning and then the sky opens and collapses on top of me. The cold, torrential downpour continues, and my clothes are soaked through. The weight of my clothes becomes painful and the storm does not cease. But then, just as suddenly as it starts, the storm fades away leaving only a sweet sticky smell in its wake. I feel cleansed…and sopping wet.

But most importantly, I feel found.

I enter my mom’s apartment looking like a drowned rat. Tara rushes over to me with towels in her hand. My mother is sitting at the round mahogany table in the dining area of her living room.

“Hey Mom, how are you?”

Her eyes aren’t vacant today. Instead, she smiles up at me. Her smile shows no recognition, but it’s still a smile, that’s something I can work with. I take the seat next to her.

“How was your day today, Gail?” When she is in this cognitive state, she fairs better if I act like I’m an acquaintance rather than her daughter.

“I had a few patients. One was a child. Poor little thing. She needed to have an IV put in, she was dehydrated from the flu, broke my heart,” she speaks to me as if it were thirty years ago, but she is calm, and that makes me calm.

“Was she able to go home, or did you admit her?”

“Oh lucky for her, we sent her home. Her parents were so concerned. It’s so hard when someone you love is sick. I hope I never have to go through that with my daughter.”

My eyes fill with tears, but I wipe them away and smile brightly at her.

“Me too. Me too.”

I spent the afternoon speaking to my mother. She told me stories from a time before me. Stories that happened years prior, but in her mind just that afternoon. By the time I left her, my heart was full.

I walk through the halls of my apartment complex. My clothes are wrinkled from the earlier rain, but I hold my head up high, and secure the walls I need to survive in my life. Reaching into my purse, I grab my keys and open the door. I glance around and see Alexandre sitting in front of my painting. Running my fingers nervously along the fine lines and detail of the tarnished key to my sanctuary, I move closer to where he sits.

“What are you doing?” I ask as he stares at the fine lines.

“Where did you get this?” His eyes are puzzled; his thoughts seem to be weighing him down.

“I saw it at the gallery during your mother’s fundraiser.”

“I don’t remember you telling me you bid on anything.”

“Oh no I didn’t, I came home. But the next day I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and so I called and purchased her.”

He looks at the painting then back at me, and I wonder if he believes my story, if he believes the lies I feel myself spewing. I walk past him, no longer feeling the need to explain myself. Walking into the bathroom, I turn the water on in the clawfoot tub. I walk around the room lighting tea lights and dimming the chandelier that hangs above to a soft romantic glow. As I strip off my still damp clothes, I pull out my phone and send Ryder a text. I hope he’s in a better mood.



Me: Heading into the tub…thinking of you ;-)

Ryder Matthews: Enjoy, baby.



I smile to myself, placing the phone on the marble countertop, and walk back to the waters beckoning me. I slowly submerge myself in the bliss of the bath and breathe out a sigh. The tea lights flicker and dance on the ceiling, and the smell of lavender fills the room. This is perfection, unequivocal perfection. The tension I’ve coiled up so tightly in my shoulders is released, and I close my eyes. The calm has set in.

After my bath, I sit on my bed, my computer propped on my lap. It rests against my legs, and I sit upright, resting my back on my large euro pillow. I sign on to Facebook and look over my friends list.



Ryder Matthews: Hey, gorgeous, how was the bath?

Ava Readsalot: Absolutely divine.

Ava Readsalot: Although…

Ryder Matthews: Although?