You Call This a Gift?
Chapter 8: Annalisia

I sat book in hand lost in a world of romance, as Juliet took Romeo’s dagger and plunged it into her heart, unable to bare a world without him. I wondered if I would ever replace that kind of love. They lay there dead and at peace with each other forever. I pondered over the story details when my mom came in and asked me to join them for dinner. I walked slowly down the hall which felt like a tunnel spiraling around me, the grey slightly stained carpet from the time Marina dropped her grape juice seemed to be floating above my head while the ceiling was on the floor. I shook my head gripping the wall for balance as I continued through the hall into the kitchen. The room smelled of chicken and rosemary. I watched as my mother pulled the pan of chicken out of the oven and took it to the table. The stove was covered with three pots, one of garlic mashed potatoes, another of corn, and finally my mom’s signature sweet potatoes. I moved towards the sink to wash my hands. I glanced around looking for the soap. The sink consisted of one of my mom’s fancy dinner plates, the kind with the gold rim, two spoons, and my cup from this morning. I continued looking for the soap when I heard something drop. I looked down, and by my foot, there was the bottle of soap. I looked around the room in confusion. My mother stood smiling at me. “Am I missing something? Is dropping the soap now a funny thing?” I asked myself.

I finished washing my hands and made my way to the dining room table. It was a big table, two captain chairs, one on each end, and little chairs, three on each side. I sat in the captain chair opposite my mom. I looked at the table; my mother always had it set beautifully, guests or no guests. My great grandmother’s eighty-three-year-old white lace tablecloth draped over the table. The vase in the center of the table was pale blue and was filled with pink roses and a handful of baby’s breath. The salt and pepper shakers sat evenly apart from the napkin holder which was silver with a crystal edge. We weren’t a rich family, actually quite the opposite, but my mother would never let anyone know that. This house belonged to my great grandparents who were now gone. May they rest in peace. They were quite wealthy and had the house decorated to match. When they died, they left all their money to my Uncle Tim in California. They left the house to my mother here in New York. She left all the expensive decorations around the house and fooled many people into thinking we were higher up than we actually were.

My mother worked as a veterinarian’s assistant, she had a great love for animals. I remember when I was a child about five or six, I begged for a puppy, but my mom said we couldn’t afford to have one and that sometime in the future we would get one. I never told my mother, but a puppy followed me inside one day and lay with me as I drifted off to sleep. The puppy came back a few times that year, but then stopped coming around. It shattered my heart, as she was becoming my best friend. I had named her Chloe and I’ll remember and miss her as long as I live. I’m sure Chloe has passed away by now, that was ten years ago, and she was already a grown dog. I became sad recalling these memories.

I took the red-handled spoon and scooped a good size blob of potatoes onto my plate beside my chicken and corn. We joined in hands as we said a prayer of thanks, and then began eating. I was so hungry, which was not a normal thing for me. I was never hungry like this. I shoveled every bite of food in, barely swallowing before asking if I could have seconds. My mother nodded in approval. When we finished eating, my sister and I began clearing the table of dishes while my mother wrapped the leftover food and put it in the fridge. I slid my hands down into the warm soapy water grabbing a plate in one hand and a sponge in the other.

I finished the dishes and joined my mother on the couch. My sister was in bed sound asleep by nine. My mother and I sat looking at each other in silence. She asked me to get the remote. I looked around and didn’t see it anywhere. She looked down at my lap and said, “Darling, it’s right there.”

I shook my head in utter confusion. I knew that remote had not been in my lap. I let out a deep, long, well-needed cry, exclaiming, “Mom, I think I’m losing my mind!”

She wrapped me in a tight embrace whispering in my ear, “You’re not going crazy, you’re special, this is all normal.”

With tears rolling down my cheeks, I lifted my head until my eyes met hers saying, “How is this all normal? How is this okay? I’m seeing things that aren’t there, my head is constantly spinning, and I feel like I’m going bonkers.”

She looked at me with her sweet smile of comfort and took my hands into hers. “You just need to have an open mind and don’t think too hard. Too much thought on one thing will hurt your mind more,” she said calmly. I shook my head in dismay mocking her words. “Don’t think too hard? How am I supposed to do that? Especially now that I must try not to. That will make it impossible.”

All I could think about now while sitting here with my mom crying is how I would do just about anything for a pack of skittles, they were my go-to depression snack. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back onto my mother’s shoulder as I let my tears die down. I felt something drop onto my lap and I peered down. I screamed as I flung myself off the couch and gripped onto the fur rug I had just landed on almost slamming into the reclaimed barn-wood coffee table that sat a few feet away from the couch. I stared down in utter fear at a pack of skittles that was sprawled at my feet.

Then, I stared in aggravation at my mom who sat on the edge of her seat smiling at me saying, “Darling, why don’t you think about a Snickers bar for me?”

“A Snickers bar? Why in the world would I think about a Snickers bar, Mom? How is that anything worth thinking about right now? Something is wrong with me!” I shouted as a Snickers bar appeared in my hand. “What is going on, I’m begging you to tell me? I feel like I’m in some fantasy book cursed with some terrible power,” I said lowering my head into my lap.

“Finally, I was waiting for you to say the word ‘power,’ I’m impressed, darling, you figured it out a lot faster than I ever did. It took me weeks to come to the realization, your grandmother was going crazy waiting for me to spit out the word “power,” she replied giggling.