You're It

"You're it."

Miriam swore when she saw white words written on the back window of her red Ford Focus as she exited a large white church. Uneasiness washed over her causing her to look about the parking lot during her walk from the south exit. Dead vehicles revealed no clue about who had left the message reminding of a text received the day before. It wasn't exact, yet similar enough to stimulate concern.

"Are you it?" read the text following a previous text describing offer of opportunity to subscribe to an online program designed to assist the right person in career advancement.

Miriam wasn't it. She hated text soliciting, and she wasn't online savvy, even though a new career could have been the exact change she needed.

Miriam wiped the words with the lilac handkerchief she held-still damp with tears and snot brought on during the sermon. They stubbornly remained, inspiring her to rush to a car wash.

The car wash bay was dark, feeling eerie in her current state of mind. She feared being watched, and possibly followed. There could have been someone hiding in spaces she couldn't see.

"Relax," she instructed herself in response to anxiety running rampant during the cleaning cycle that seemed to last forever.

Looking through the rearview mirror, she saw the words were gone. This provided a bit of relief though thought continued to ponder from where the words had come.

Her best friend was on vacation with her family, so Miriam was certain she hadn't committed the childish act. Possibly one of the teens at church had done it while skipping the revival tailored for adult members concerned about the nation's future. This idea seemed plausible, so she accepted it as being probable and more ideal than feeling clueless.

Slowly, she obeyed the greenlight at the bay's exit entering the parking lot of vacuum cleaner islands.

"Need someone to vacuum your vehicle?" she read on a sign posted at an island nearest her with a cartoon person holding a vacuum hose above, "You're it."

"This can't be real."

The thought shouted in Miriam's mind as she bypassed offers for free vacuuming on her way to the street. She was starting to feel crazy, but she needed to gather herself for her children.

She and her parents, as a team, created normality for the children after their parent's divorce. The oldest once expressed belief in being the reason for his parents' split.

"I shouldn't have gotten in trouble at school," he stated after receiving the disheartening news on the same day he received detention for breaking classroom rules. Miriam assured him he was loved no matter what, and explained to him divorce was a way some married adults settled disagreement between them.

"What's wrong with me?" Miriam asked herself disliking how she felt.

Her hands were sweaty, while her heart beat rapid and a headache strengthened in her temples.

She scolded herself for allowing spookism to get out of control, yet the part of her psyche that believed in illogical communication pushed back with intense desire to understand.

Driving three miles away from the city into a rural section of the long street delivered Miriam to a house located at the edge of a lake where she lived as a child.

Three children ran in play around and between an older man and woman, both, seated in metal rocking chairs beneath the final shine of sun.

"Momee," acknowledged the youngest girl, excitedly, when Miriam parked in the driveway.

Miriam smiled her happiness to see the girl along with the other two, who raced towards her.

"Hey guys," she greeted. "Mom. Dad."

She waved.

"Grandma needs to talk to you," the boy informed, standing as tall as his mother.

Miriam pulled him close locking an arm around his back. She allowed herself to be guided in follow of the elders. They all entered the home.

Less than an hour later, the three energetic children situated themselves in the backseat of the Focus as Miriam took her place behind the steering wheel.

"Is everybody ready?" Miriam asked, trying to sound normal.

She viewed the crew through the rearview mirror.

"Yeees," they chimed.

Miriam tried not to think about the plaque she noticed in her mother's kitchen. It wasn't new, but it had added to her internal disturbance.

The plaque was simple-yellow background with navy letters matching the colors of the wallpaper and decor. It had been a brilliant yard sale find, Miriam once thought years ago. This evening, she questioned its appearance in her experience.

"Dishes need a dishwasher and YOU ARE IT."

Reading these words, as though for the first time, had caused her to pause mid-sentence during talk about the camping trip her parents were planning for the boy's birthday. She had started to say she wouldn't be able to attend due to work, but found herself unable to finish.

"Darling, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," her mother noted noticing her daughter's reaction.

Miriam nodded, refraining from sharing the unsettling events she pondered.

"I'm tired. A good night's rest should do the trick," she replied.

"Stop poking me," demanded the girl seated directly behind Miriam to the youngest seated in the middle.

"Tag, you're it," the petite girl said with giggle.

Immediately, Miriam glanced through the rearview mirror as though she had heard cursing. Each of the children poked another proclaiming them to be it. Miriam had had enough.

"Guys, settle down," she instructed wanting to silence the haunting words.

Back home, the children were fed before being instructed to take their baths. Afterwards, Miriam read a story titled, A Kissing Hand, and then tucked each of them in bed with kisses and wishes of pleasant dreams.

The day was over, finally. Now, the exhausted mother readied herself to be alone although alone wasn't preferred. She missed her husband and the life they once shared.

Meditative music often eased her when she found herself feeling vulnerable, so Miriam loaded a CD labled, Flowing Flute and Water into the stereo system inside of the back screened porch. Once a handful of white votive candles were lined and lit along the edges of the hot tub, she put on her bathing suit, grabbed a flute of sparkling juice, and then immersed her appreciative body within bubbling steamy water.

After a few sips of juice, Miriam closed her eyes and fully exhaled. She inhaled the sweetness of the candles. Her vibe moved with the melody played by the flute. She imagined herself in a rainforest at ease with nature surrounding her. Feeling peaceful inside she drifted into sleep.

Awake in a dream, Miriam felt panic. A gigantic fallen tree separated her from her children. She experienced a feeling of urgency to get to them, but the tree was too large. Its bark was too smooth to climb. For some reason, in this dream, she couldn't maneuver around either side. She was a failure, a horrible mother, who had somehow become separated from her offsprings. She yelled for help only to hear her voice echoed back to her.

"Momee," she heard the youngest cry out.

Miriam imagined this was because of danger.

"Hold on, Baby. Momee is trying."

"Help," she called out, again.

Feeling helpless, she wanted to cry. The tree spoke to her in response.

"You're it."

Acting as though it was normal for a tree to speak, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Help yourself. If you can't climb over or go around, then you must go through."

Miriam was desperate. She did not question the odd advice the tree had given. Instead, she pressed her small body against its mass and found herself on the other side.

She awakened when she heard a quarrel taking place in a backyard nearby.

"You're it," a female yelled after being asked what was her problem. "You're the reason we've had to go to counseling. You're crazy and it's making me crazy."

The timer had stopped the bubbling of the hot tub. Cool water prompted Miriam to get out and dry off. She tried to remember the dream she'd had.

"You're it," came to mind.

This time she agreed with the words. She was all the help she needed in her life, because she was it. Feeling satisfied with this identification, she showered and retired to bed.

The next day, she informed her employer she would be using one of her sick days to go camping with her family for her son's birthday. Afterwards, she browsed the local newspaper for employment opportunities.