The sky that came over Gable Brick Place.

Today is the closest I will ever be to dying. I’m not exaggerating, I didn’t fall off the balcony or burn my hand on the stove (though I would never be on the stove because Margret would cook for me). My head is in an albino lion’s mouth. My albino lion’s mouth, to be exact. I got Ashton when I was 9, a few days before Dad passed away from cancer. I loved my dad and all of the stargazing and movie nights and staying up late when mom didn’t know. I was a hard-core Daddy’s-girl. 

When dad got diagnosed, he gave me my first pet. An albino lion cub he had named Ashton for me, only a month old. I had always begged for a sibling, for a pet, even a goldfish. But, as close as I was with him, he always pushed the topic away. 

Dad presented Ashton to me in his final days. I remember the air, thick with the smell of death. Sitting in the study, I was trying to endorse myself over fairy tales, but it was always the same plot. I dressed in my best clothing, a crimson velvet dress, knee-length. Mum had forced me to wear it, along with white tights, the thin fabric stretched tightly over my legs. My long, auburn-brown hair trailed down my back with a bow tied into it. It was a family tradition to wear your best clothes and have the youngest member of the immediate family await your final goodbye in the study. It was from a story mum had mentioned about some miracle recovery in the 1800s. 

Dad rolled into the room with his wheelchair, with two guards, Mum, And Ellen holding Ashton in a metal cage. Ashton was in a small cage, struggling to get into his legs, as he had fallen onto his back. The cage was placed in my lap. Dad told me to take care of Ashton (even though the animal care-taker Ellen did for the first few days.) and I promised I would. 

“Saturday-Rose,” He had said, his voice stronger than I had heard since cancer. “I am leaving this world soon. We will all come to a point when we register that. But, in favor of you, I am giving you a present. This is not a ‘goodbye’ present, but a present to act as me until I see you again. This is a replacement until we cross paths once more. Not a farewell present. I promise to see you once again. Do not mourn me.” 

I knew I wouldn't keep that promise the moment it came out of his mouth. 

I hugged him, he hugged me. There was a moment of silence. It was then that I registered that my father was going to die. I mean, I knew he was going to be gone, but only in a brief, foggy sense. It was like finally wiping the steam-clouded mirror after a long, hot shower. I could see the real me, the real realization about what was happening. 

When he did die, I remember running into the greenhouse, past Ellen, and the plants and some other animals, all the way to Ashton’s cage. I needed dad with me, and Ashton was the best I would get. Ashton was sitting in his cage, wedged in the corner. He didn’t seem to feel threatened. He seemed to feel... kind of drawn back by an invisible force. His enclosure was untouched by him. Grass sprung up all around the room, not yet stepped on. Wood Chips were scattered in a corner, and his food and water bowl seemed untouched, thick slices of meat in a metal bowl and crystal clean water in the other. Obviously, he felt downright out of place. Not scared, but pulled in. 

Now, our friendship didn’t begin with him coming immediately like the animals in Snow White. I layed there for a few hours, crying on the grass to the point where a patch of it was soggy. Ellen came in from time to time so she could check on me, laying a blanket over my body or leaving some grilled chicken on a plate beside me. At some point, I cried myself to sleep, all the tears had drained me out and I had no means of going back to the house. Mum would make me change my clothes because of the grass stains. I woke up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering. Ellen had left me a note, to come inside the house to call her if I needed anything. I got up. I needed to go inside, I was cold, starving and thirsty. Just as I was going to leave Ashton’s enclosure, a small white blur had rubbed against my leg. Ashton. It was like dad hugging me, telling me it was going to be alright. I started crying once again. But this time, it was more of a scared cry. It made me feel sick inside, broken like shattered glass. The piece might try to be glued back together, but it would never be the same. He licked my tears and made a crying, yawning type noise, and suddenly I didn’t feel as alone anymore. I know it’s silly, but I felt like the lion cub understood my pain. He didn’t seem to feel threatened. 

And then, weeks later, I started spending any free time I had with him, and seemed only he wasn’t the lion dad had given me - he was my lion. 

And I say my because he is definitely not Mum’s. Mum was itching - no, actually, she was dying to take Ashton away from me. Pets make things harder in her eyes; especially a lion. But she knew very well that the lion cub was the very last piece of dad I had with me, and she would not take that away. At least Ellen was an expert with animals and could help me. These days, I rarely see Mum anymore, besides at school events and doctor’s appointments. 

Mum was right about one thing; not the part where she says pets make things harder. Fine, they do. So she was right about two things. Pet’s make things harder, and yeah, having a lion is kind of dangerous.

...

Ashton’s jaws snapped closed as I brought my head out of his mouth. Why did I put it in there? I thought there was a cavity, and I do this all the time (though Ellen highly suggests not to) so usually, he lets me. But this time, he pulled away, and almost cut my neck off.

“Ashton!” I squeal, pushing him away. He gnaws at my fingers lightly, just like Ellen had taught him to do so.

“Ms. Saturday-Rose, are you alright?” George says, peeking his head into my room. He is always standing there, just in case of an accident.

“It’s just Saturday-Rose, you don’t need to call me Ms,” I tell him for the thousandth time. “And yeah, thanks, I’m alright.” I flinch because I sound so sarcastic and rude, even though I don’t mean to be.

“Can I get you anything to drink Ms - I’m sorry, I mean, Saturday-Rose? Or anything for your lio- pardon me, I mean, Ashton.”

“I’m okay, thank you, George,” I say, turning back to Ashton. I know that I should thank him again or compliment him or something, but over the past few YEARS, he’s gotten annoying. Every single second it’s “are you ok” this and “can I get you something” that. 

I sigh and look around my room. Baby pink walls, white bed, lace curtains. Basically a very pink-ish girly posh room. There’s a monstrously big canopy that hangs over my bed. The bedsheets are white, topped with a pink comforter and a pastel yellow sherpa blanket. A big bookshelf travels around the corner of my room, right next to the window seat where Ashton loves to sleep, though most nights he hogs my bed.

“Who’s a good boy?” I ask Ashton as if he’s a dog. His big paws raise up and suddenly he’s on top of me, and I’m laughing and struggling to get up. 

“I’m going to get a snack, Ashy. Wanna come?”

Ashton has no idea what I am saying, but he follows me anyway. George shivers and backs away from the lion as I walk past, muttering something about “a leash”.

I walk down the old, Victorian staircase. None of the stairs creek. Why would they? I mean, Yes, Mum had forced Dad to spend millions on renovations. Yes, I am actually quite embarrassed to say, I am rich. I would rather spend millions and millions helping people in far countries get clean water or donate to kill shelters. But I can’t do that because it’s mom’s money, and I’m not old enough to inherit any of the money.

I live in a giant Victorian mansion named Gable Brick Place. There are too many rooms, too many add-ons. Two giant Mahogany staircases adorn the front room, running up against the walls. A giant light fixture hangs above the front door, with giant ball lights. There are metal tables with cherrywood tops everywhere. Humongous oil paintings of my ancestors hang everywhere in fitting golden frames. And what each room in the house bears is as surprising as the next: Spa room, Maid headquarters, office room, library room, the lounge, Mum’s company room, tea room, (yes, we have a room for tea. Yes, I know, ridiculous.) Gym room, pool room, plant room, Animal room with it’s special outdoor enclosure, Sun room, Mum’s actual bedroom, several bathrooms, and the indoor pool room, and the dining room. Everywhere in the house, velvet and lace curtains hang, lightly covering every window. The house is too big for me. 

I run down the stairs, through multiple rooms, before halting in the kitchen with Ashton skidding to a stop behind me. 

Margeret is there, cooking something. 

“Hi Margeret,” I say, sitting down on one of the leather kitchen stools. “Could I have a snack?”

“Of course,” Margaret says, passing me a plate of fruit, a bowl of thick greenish stew, and a glass of milk. I set it down on the wood bar countertop. Margret turns back to the sink, glaring at a framed ancestor, a chunky man with a mustache and greased hair. 

“I hope you like it,” she says, walking away from the sink to where I sit. She pokes me in the ribs, making me cry out in laughter. Everything about it seemed artificial though. It had no real emotion to it. Everything was like this once dad died. Except when I was with Ashton.

The thick warm stew smells terrific, like herbs from the garden out back, Mint, and a hint of sour cream. I dip my finger in it, and let him lick off. Ashton is full-grown now, it has been almost three years since I got him. I gulp down the stew and fruit, washing it all down with milk. I jump out of my seat and run to the back door. 

“The meal was delicious!” I yell to Margret, before bursting through the back door. 

Big bushes and ferns make a pathway to a paved deck area. Big lounge chairs surround a crystal clear pool that the sun reflects off like glass. An outdoor dining table and big flatscreen are to the left of the entrance, leading to the massive greenhouse. 

Roses, cactuses, fruits, vegetables, anything you can imagine is growing from the soil in there. 

I let myself in. The greenhouse is never locked, except at night. Inside is humid, The air moist and smelling of herbs, roses, and soil. 

I grab a watering can and fill it with the hose that sits wrapped in a circle near the entrance. Skipping over to the vegetables, I sprinkle it lightly over the tomatoes. 

I walk over to the Rainbow Eucalyptus, which is still growing as a small, flailing, green stemmed plant. I can’t wait to watch it grow and be able to see all the colors.

Then I turn to the Wisteria. Then I remember, it’s deadly. I slowly back away.

I reached a flower called the 17th century semper augustus. It was named the prettiest flower in the world, but I honestly have to say that roses are equally as pretty. The 17th century semper augustus is white, with red streaks engulfing it, like somebody smeared it down the petals.

Ashton contemplates taking a bite of a carrot, and then comes back to my side. After I water a few more plants, I make my way out of the greenhouse. 

I walk through more trees, a swing set, more flowers, and finally, a big open field with a big dome in the middle. Ashton runs ahead, and I hear the delighted voice of Ellen.

“Saturday-Rose?” she asks, walking over to me once she sees me. 

“You gave me a fright. I thought that Ashton had come all alone,”

“I’m here,” I assure her.

Ashton and I enter after Ellen. 

The room gives off a honey-glow type of light. Massive cages and enclosures are everywhere. The animals, like kangaroos, monkeys, and iguanas, all are relatively friendly with humans. Especially the monkeys. They have wood chips as floors, and things according to their species: a pool, sand, monkey bars, or nets.

“Hey, Ashton!” Ellen says to him, stroking his now-growing mane. 

Ellen has soft green eyes. Her features are all softened, reminding me of clay. Her white-blonde hair falls in waves to her shoulders, glossy and thin. She has a skinny body, almost too skinny for her age.

She places a cold hand on my shoulder.

“Look,” she whispers, holding a purple-ish flower to my face. It’s beautiful, shades of purple and blue exploding on each petal.

“Wow,” I say, reaching down to pet Ashton. “What kind of flower is it?”

“It’s a Platycodon Grandiflorus,” she tells me. “It’s beautiful,”

“It is,” I agree. I look around the greenhouse.

“Hey, where’s Jubilee?”

“He’s in his cage,” Ellen says. 

I walk over to Jubilee’s cage and smile at the monkey. She is hanging from a branch and gnawing at something, pretty calm for the fact that there is a lion in front of her.

“So, Saturday-Rose,” Ellen says. “You too, Ashton. Follow me.”

“What-” I begin to say, but Ellen shushes me.

Ellen leads us to the house. The sun is beginning to set and the sky is a beautiful twilight. Some clouds are a deep iris, while others are a light lavender. My eyes strain to see as much as they can see; the deep pink, fading into a lighter pink, and then a light purple. A patch of orange and yellow illuminates the darker colors of the beautiful sky.

We walk past everything. 

“Wait inside,” she tells me, and I pull myself inside through a sliding glass door. I hear some chatter, and then finally, I am allowed to come back out after almost 20 minutes.

The first thing I see is the outdoor fire pit. It’s golden flames cast a light across the porch, flickering with every second. There are s’mores and drinks and wonderful food, all waiting for me.

“What…” I begin, but I am speechless.

Ashton comes up to my side and demands attention, so I scratch his ears.

“We wanted to give you a special day,” Margaret says, looking at Ellen. “We thought that maybe you would like to eat out by the fire and stargaze,”

“Thank you,” I whisper. Fairy lights are clinging to the wood porch, a table of pink and yellow drinks right underneath.

We eat and laugh and sing and dance. It’s amazing.

Later at night, I’m sitting in my room with Ashton. 

He is snoring on my lap, his head resting on my knee. I stroke his silky fur and smile when he grunts as I massage his ears. Ashton was Dad when we were at the little party. Ashton was there with me because dad couldn’t be. Margaret and Ellen were there because mom didn’t want to be.

Or maybe she did want to be there. But it’s not likely. Mum is always angry, never wanting to see me. Mum knocks on the door, her solemn face peeking in.

“Mum,” I say in surprise.

“Can I, uh,” She says, embarrassed. I've never heard her say “Uh, or can. Only “I”.   

“Oh um, yeah come in,” I say, calming the now awake Ashton.

Mum sits down next to me.

“I saw that little party. I’m glad you had a good time,” she tells me. Her voice is like a whisper. Mum would never say these words as her true self. never say something like this. The closest she’s got was my fifth birthday party, when she said “It was fun talking to Susie’s mom”. But it didn't even have to do with me. 

Ashton lets a low growl out to Mum. She backs away from Ashoton a little but. 

“Thanks,” I say. 

We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then mom starts to cry

Her tears aren’t normal. Normal tears don’t make it seem like your Mum’s world is falling apart. They don’t make you feel like your own world is falling apart.

Then, it happens. I thought mum and I would always be separated, always be like yin and yang. But, as her arms hug me, it’s not really yin and yang anymore. It’s just a gray circle. 

This aching feeling fills my chest, and it starts to get hard to breath. 

My mother is actually hugging me. She hugs me tight as if she never wants to let go, and suddenly I’m crying silent tears that sting my cheeks like thorns. 

Ashton joins, nudging us.

And finally, in this big Victorian mansion with these wood walls and exotic animals and a greenhouse, with a yin, a yang, and a lion, I finally feel at home.