Well it was a mad dash at the end, but I finished the race. "In Search of Me" is done. Of course, the never-ending revision process starts now. But still...it's exciting. The bare-bones structure is complete. Now I just have to add a little flesh in spots, give the thing some color.
I'm going back a little bit, so I can return to Talia's birthday. I've skipped around a bit. From this point on, I'll try to stay (mostly) chronological.
Woohoo! Sure feels good to finish the book! Soon I must start thinking of ideas for book #12...
Love, Lisa
The plan was to wake her up, but I can’t do that. She looks too peaceful.
I slide next to Talia, curling myself into a ball on the edge of her bed. It’s only a double, but she takes up zero room since she’s so tiny. So we have plenty of space. I pull the covers around my shoulders and wait for my sister to awaken. In the meantime, my eyes close for a few moments. I return to the world of sleep, but I don’t dream. It’s been a long time since I had any dreams.
“Honey, we have to leave in a little while,” Mom says, poking her head into Talia’s bedroom. I lift my head and yawn. Talia awakens at the sound of our mother’s voice. She smiles without opening her eyes.
“Morning, Mama,” she says quietly.
“Good morning, birthday girl,” Mom responds. “I’m cooking chocolate chip pancakes in honor of the big day.”
“Yum,” Talia murmurs. Her eyes remain closed.
“Krista, thirty minutes,” Mom reminds me before disappearing down the hallway.
I shift my weight, moving the mattress a tiny bit. Talia turns toward me, blinking in the early-morning sunshine. She grins and pulls me into a messy hug. We get tangled in bedsheets, but neither of us cares.
“Happy birthday,” I tell her. “Get up, lady. I’ve got a surprise for you in the kitchen.”
“A surprise?” she repeats sleepily.
“Yes. I got you something you’ve been wanting for a long time,” I assure her.
Talia sits up. She leans against the headrest. “Krista, you didn’t have to do that. I wasn’t expecting anything from you; it was nice enough that you and Mandy baked me cupcakes yesterday.”
I shake my head while heading for the hallway. “Did you think I’d stiff you on your thirteenth birthday? No way, Talia. I wanted to do something special.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
While Talia washes her face, Mom and I slap a bow on top of the guitar. Mom wraps an arm around my shoulder, admiring the Yamaha. It's in great shape. Dad sets the table, placing four plates near each seat and a massive serving tray in the center. When Mom makes pancakes, she always makes a million of them. This is a good thing; we have delicious leftovers for days to come.
Talia shouts as she steps inside the kitchen.
She hurries toward the guitar, strapping it over her shoulder. This is a great look for my sister. She’s got the bohemian-teenage-songwriter vibe down pat. I can already picture her on stage, singing her heart out. Talia will gain energy from the cheers of strangers. She’s always been extroverted like that.
“Krista!” she shrieks. “I can’t believe you. This is awesome.”
Mom takes a sip of coffee, leaning against the countertop. Her black hair falls over her shoulders, covering most of her blouse. I’ve always loved her hair. It’s a silky texture that mirrors Talia’s. It’s thick and soft. I missed those genes, somehow.
“Your dad and I signed you up for guitar lessons,” Mom tells Talia. “So you can start writing your own music soon, baby.”
Talia looks at us with amazement in her eyes. She gently removes the guitar from her back, leaning it against the wall. Then she pulls Mama, Daddy and me into a group hug. I can’t remember the last time we all embraced like this. It sure feels good.
“You know, the music gene runs in the family,” Dad tells Talia with a wink. He was in a band during college, some goofy-looking rock’n’roll group. They couldn't snag a record deal. They were pretty intense about their music, though. Dad’s got tons of old photo albums filled with pictures from their gigs. They played in bars and parks, hoping for a big break. It never came.
“I’m not sure if your band’s stuff could be considered music, Dad,” Talia teases.
“What?!” he exclaims, his voice drenched in shock.
We always insult his band; it’s become a family joke. But Dad takes the subject quite seriously. Those are some prized memories, I guess.
“Bite your tongue! We were good," he insists. "And I was the best drummer your mom had ever heard.”
“Riiiight. We all believe that,” Talia says with an eye roll.
“Do you want to see the pictures?” Dad asks, making a beeline for the coat closet. That’s where Mom keeps all the ancient photo albums.
“No! Please. It’s my birthday,” Talia reminds us. As though we’d forgotten this fact. “I’d prefer not to be nauseous on my thirteenth b-day. Thanks.”
“A dagger through my heart,” Dad says, pretending to insert a knife through his chest.
“Enough of the theatrics. Your food’s getting cold,” Mom warns. She and I have already sat down at the table, but we waited before grabbing breakfast. We wanted the birthday girl to get first dibs.
Talia reaches for the first pancake, breaking the ice. Hungrily, we all dive into the stack. Mom usually makes these ones, with little chocolate chips and butterscotch clusters, on holidays. Thanksgiving, Easter, and Christmas. I take a bite and suddenly I’m in elementary school again. It’s cold outside, the kitchen smells like a bakery, and Monday morning is a million years away. I glance around the table, admiring my little family. We’re small but happy.
And then reality wafts over me.
I am fifteen, not seven. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in twenty minutes, one that is going to determine the course of my life. My best friend is going to North Carolina during a difficult time, a period when I need her most. I want her to chase after her dreams, but I also want her by my side. It’s a tricky situation. There’s no solution, no happy ending.
“Krista, I want to be there today,” Talia says, breaking the silence. She swallows the last bite of pancake, then stares at me. “Please let me come with you.”
Mom and Dad glance at each other. I know exactly what they are thinking, because it is the same thought weighing heavily on my mind.
“Talia, this is your big day. You should go celebrate with your buddies. Didn’t Brandice invite you to a movie?” I ask. “Besides, who wants to be in a stuffy old doctor’s office today?”
“I do,” she insists. “Please, Krista.”
I look at Mom. She shrugs, informing me that this is purely my decision. After a moment of deliberation, I fold my hands on top of my lap. “Ok. But you have to promise me that you won’t let this ruin your birthday. Whatever the results, whatever Dr. Oraham says…you still need to go out with all your friends tonight and enjoy the evening. Got it?”
She nods. “Yes ma’am.”
