Ophelia (2 page)

“Lia?” I recognized her soft voice, the one that always calmed me. She was sitting in the corner in a brown leather chair.

“Beverly, what are you doing here? Get me out of here, okay? They think I’m crazy,” I said sobbing.

“They don’t think you’re crazy, Lia. They think you need help, and you know what? They’re right.” The look on her face said it all, she felt sorry for me.

What? “I can’t believe you are on their side.”

Beverly got up, hurt. “Stop. I’m on your side, Lia. Always will be.” She paused. “Your parents were....”

“Murdered.” I said it out loud and felt nauseous. I hated that word.

“Yes. They were murdered savagely. You saw them and all these things are now in your mind. The people here want to help you with that. You need them, so just let them help you. The detectives also want to meet with you. My mom has been begging them to give you some time.”

“I don’t want to be here, Beverly.”

“I get it, Lia. The place stinks, but you don’t have a choice. They are here for you, work with them. You’ll feel better.” She wiped the tears away from my face with the cotton blanket on my bed. “I’m sorry, but I have to go already. Don’t forget that I love you and you are my best friend.” She kissed my cheek and gave me a hug that didn’t last long enough. “I’ll try to stop by again, if they let me.”

Soon after Beverly’s departure, a woman came in, one I had never seen here before. Even with my face covered in tears, she smiled at me.

“Ophelia, I’m Josie and we’re going to work together, okay?”

I nodded. She talked to me like I was a five years old, but I didn’t care, I was so broken and lost that her manner made me feel loved. She sat next to me on the bed and stared at me. “Your friend told me you’re a pianist. How long have you been playing?”

I sniffled and wiped my face of all tears with the sheet of my bed. “Fifteen years.”

“Being here, is it something that you miss, the piano?”

I never spent a day of my life without playing piano. Music had once meant everything to me, but at the moment, not seeing my parents, not hearing their voices, not having their support, knowing that I would never have any of these things was what was hurting me the most. “I want my parents,” I answered with a broken voice.

“I know, Ophelia. It’s why I’m here. We’re going to figure this out.”

She was my savior.

... O ...

I spent sixty-four days at the hospital and had hundreds of hours of therapy under my belt. I was nothing like before the event, but I was okay. I was going to spend the weekend with Beverly before moving into a foster center. My worst nightmare. In my parents’ will, they asked for my grandmother to take care of me if she was still able to. They requested I stayed in Brooklyn until I finished school. Beverly's mother, Misha, did everything in her power to keep me with them, but apparently, it wasn’t that simple. The State figured it would be better to send me to the other side of the city, surrounded by strangers who had no clue what I had been through. I only had a couple of months to endure before turning eighteen. I had to stay strong even if I felt anything but powerful at the moment. I had to keep in mind that in a couple of months, I would be free and able to start over. I only had to figure what I was going to do then. I thought about asking for an emancipation, but I knew I wasn’t quite ready for it. I didn’t want to be alone; I needed support more than anything.

“Do you have everything?” Beverly asked.

I looked at the plastic bag containing my dirty clothes and nodded. “I have everything.”

While I was at the hospital, I met with my parents’ lawyer. It was devastating. In my memory, the day seemed worse than the funeral. I was so numb and lost at the funeral that I couldn’t think through what was really going on, but when I met their lawyer two weeks ago, everything had become clear. My parents were dead and not coming back. They had their will done and up to date. The lawyer had to deliver the news that my parents were free of debt and all the assets were going to be transferred to me. I vowed to never go back inside that house. If I had a say, I would demand to burn the house down. It had to be haunted by revenge or anger. I asked my lawyer to take care of everything and he did. Everything I wanted was sitting in a warehouse waiting for me. Beverly's mother packed my clothes and the few things I wanted to keep while I was at the hospital.  I had to remember to thank her for that. It must have been a really difficult thing to do since she was best friends with my mom.

“I'm not sure if I can even look at the house.”

“If you don’t want to look, Lia, you don't have to. Your lawyer took care of everything. The house is cleaned and your stuff is packed away.  There is a “For Sale” sign up front. There were a couple of showings last week, but I don’t know anything more about it.”

“I miss my home, but I'm afraid that when I step inside the memories are going to come back again.”

Beverly was silent for a couple of minutes while driving her father’s sedan. “If you want to go, I'll go with you.”

“Thank you,” I said, lost in my thoughts.

We were now getting closer to our houses – and my heart was beating faster. It was so strange to feel anxious about a place where I used to feel so safe. When she parked her car in our double driveway, my eyes were fixed on my house. I could see my dad’s car in the garage through the small square windows but everything was pitch black inside the house. It felt so cold, so unusual.  I hated it, I hated this feeling growing inside of me. I couldn’t really tell if it was sadness, anger or frustration but it was there and it was draining my energy. I had to get this done with.

“I have to go inside,” I said and she simply nodded.

Inside, the house smelled as if every inch had been sprayed with an aromatic disinfectant. It was too much, too heavy. Most of the furniture was missing. I remember how destroyed everything had been in the living room. I walked to my room and all of my things were gone, as I had asked.  I didn’t know where I was going to live, but I knew that I was going to need everything I had in my room.

“Are you okay?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know how I feel.”

“Do you want to stay or...?”

“Hold on.” I walked in my parents’ bedroom. It was empty, clean and the walls were covered with new paint. It broke my heart and I couldn’t hold the tears any more. Their little nest had been destroyed without pity and transformed into something that didn’t represent them at all. Any sign of the massacre had been hidden behind those freshly painted walls.

“Come here.” Beverly waited for me with open arms. “You are going to get through it, Ophelia, I know you will.”

I hugged her with all my strength, I missed being hugged. Any human touch had been barely possible during my stay at Kingsboro. Beverly’s love and friendship were all I had and needed.

“I'm done here.”

We walked out of the repaired door for the last time. My heart ached and my soul felt lost. My family was a thing of the past. It hurt and saddened me, but there was nothing I could do about it. My only option was to try and make the best of my life. Josie would have been proud of me for even thinking about having a good life.

Beverly's parents were waiting by the door and they welcomed me with open arms. They were the closest thing I had to a family and I was happy to spend a short weekend with them. I had to be at the center by eleven in the morning on Sunday. Staying there had to be the best option for me. They offered the support I so desperately needed, and I had to give it a try before living on my own.

“Would you like to eat something? I made lasagna with extra cheese.” My favorite.

I wasn't hungry but I couldn’t deny her lasagna and I knew she'd made it only for me, to please me and probably to make sure I ate something. She knew me too well. It was delicious and I felt better after eating my second plate.  Right after dinner, I called it a night. It was barely seven, but I was tired and needed a good night of sleep without any doctors checking up on me. In the past two months, I had survived on four hours of sleep a night, I needed to catch up.

I woke up before sunrise. Quietly, I tiptoed down the stairs to watch from their living room window as the sun came up. A simple thing to enjoy, and I cherished the peaceful moment.  The coming months were probably not going to offer me any privacy. I was about to live with a pack of strangers and the idea didn’t please me one bit. I could have demanded to be emancipated, but I clearly couldn’t take care of myself. Even though the idea repulsed me, I believed the center would offer me the support I required.

“Up early?” Beverly wasn't a morning person. It surprised me to see her down the stairs.

“Yeah, you too.”

She shrugged. “We only have one day together, so I might as well make it worthwhile.” She yawned. “Hungry?”

“Not really.”

She looked at me, eyeing my waist even though it was hiding under an oversize hoodie. “You have lost at least ten pounds since...”

“Yeah, I know.” I cut her off, not wanting to be reminded that my parents were dead.

“Sorry.”

“I know.” This conversation was about to turn awkward and I hated it.

“Are you up for a big glass of chocolate milk?” She winked at me.

She knew how to get to me. “Yes, sounds good.”

I got up and walked to the kitchen. Chocolate milk was the one thing I needed on a daily basis, like a drug. Our fridge at home was always full.

I sat at the lunch counter and she handed me the biggest glass she owned and smiled like the goofball that she was.  There was probably half a litre in there. We both laughed as if we were little kids again. I almost peed my pants. It had been so long since I’d laughed so much.

“What do you want to do today?”

I shrugged. “I think I'm going to get a tattoo and I need new pants. Mine are too big now.”

Beverly looked at me, twirling her curly blonde hair around her finger. “That’s all?”

I nodded.

“Why a tattoo?” she asked.

I was never the type of girl who liked tattoos but I wanted something inked on me for my parents. It seemed like the one thing I would never regret. “Kind of like a commemoration.”

“How are you going to do that? You’re not even 18.” She was right, I was under the legal age to get a tattoo.

“Who am I going to ask to for permission? I’m by myself now.” I hated that.

“Right! We'll go together.” She whispered as if she wanted to hide it from her parents.

... O...

We finally got to the tattoo parlour. My sweaty palms were making me doubt myself, but I wanted to do this, now. I wiped my hands on my pants and entered the shop. I looked around the place, noticing that they had a couple design frames on the wall, but nothing fancy.

“Hey, can I help you, miss?” A tall man came up from the back of the shop. He was fit with a big neck tattoo that caught my eyes. He was probably in his mid-forties but he dressed up like a young man. He looked us over from head to toe, probably trying to gauge what kind of customer we were.

I nodded. “Yes, I’m here to get a tattoo, a cross on the back of my neck.”

“Okay, do you have the design or do you want me to draw something real quick for you?’’

“I don’t want anything special. Just a black cross, straight lines. That’s all.”

He nodded and sat at his drawing table. I could see him working on it, making sure the lines were perfectly straight. “Is that size okay?” He handed me the little piece of paper with the design.

“Yep, it’s all good.”

“Are you eighteen?”
Fuck! Beverly was right
. I looked at her. She was sitting on the old couch by the entrance of the shop.

I bit the inside of my cheek. I had to do this. “Almost.”

“Well, I won’t be able to get it done today, miss, unless one of your parents is present.”

I chuckled without humor, I expected him to say exactly that. “Do you watch the news, sir?”

He frowned, confused as to why I would ask him that. “Yeah... why?”

“Did you see the story about two months ago where a couple was murdered in their home and found by their daughter?” I actually had no clue if this had made the news but I had to try.

“Yeah, a little punk killed them both, part of a gang initiation...”

“Stop!” I urged him. “I don’t need details. They were my parents, so I’m sorry, but they won’t be able to come here. I got cash though. Your choice.”

He eyed me, thinking. “Alright, alright. Get your ass over here.”

“Thanks.” I said, pulling my hair up in a bun, and then joined him on the empty chair.

“Are you doing okay?”

I hated when people asked me that question. Did they really expect me to say yes? “As good as can be expected.”

“All I can say to you is to remain strong and don’t be too hard on yourself. Every day is a new day, that’s how I roll. There’s way too much shit going on in this world anyway. Surround yourself with the people you love and ask for help when you need it.” The tattooed man gave me the best advice he could think of, squeezing my shoulder in a comforting manner. I would never have expected it from him but I took his advice, I mean, my life was beyond ruined at this point. It was the lowest low of my existence and like my therapist said, it can only go back up if I put my mind into it. Slow progress was the key.

Beverly walked to us and she sat on the free chair by the artist’s station. “This going to be nice, Lia. Can’t wait to see it done.” I motioned to her to hold my hand. As much as I was trying to be strong and stable, I wasn’t. I was a crumbling brick wall, but I hoped that I could still be patched up.

Getting a tattoo hurt, but the pain felt good. I marked my skin permanently in memory of my lost ones. I didn’t know if I was going to get more than this one, but I was very excited about getting it. Beverly insisted on taking a picture with her cellphone before Bruce, the artist, covered it in plastic wrap to protect it. He gave me a lotion that I was going to need to apply on the tattoo for a couple of days and few instructions on the healing process. I nodded and mentally noted everything he said.
Piece of cake
, I thought.