Lavender Dreams

“One night, a long time ago, I saw something. Something I’ve never admitted to anybody before. My parents were fighting in their room. Screaming. I sat on the stairwell, watching them from the shadows. I remember hearing his hand striking my mother across the face. It was a blow so intense, it knocked her back off her feet. When she stood, she rushed him. The next part is all so blurry. The next thing I knew, my father was lying on the floor, gurgling and sputtering, as my mother stood over him. After that, I ran to my room. I didn’t want her to know that I saw. But I still remember it so vividly. I watched from my bedroom as she dug deep into the earth. After she covered him with dirt from the field, I remember her looking up at me through my window. We stood there, staring at each other. Knowing what had happened, and recognizing the pain in each other's eyes. After that, it’s just darkness. My mother's eyes, watching me from the garden, haunt me. Every time I used; I saw those eyes, glaring at me from the yard...” Meadow trailed off, her eyes filled with tears as she bit down on her lip.  

The room was silent after Meadow’s admission. Most of the stories shared in her Narcotics Anonymous class were about the lows people had reached when using. Nothing of that magnitude had ever been discussed. Not in the two years she had been attending.  

“Thank you for sharing, Meadow,” Billy broke the silence.  

After class dispersed, Meadow stayed still in her plastic chair. Billy stood over by the refreshments table, waiting for privacy. A few semi-stale donuts and a pot of black coffee remained untouched. She watched him cross the room with two small white Styrofoam cups in hand. Sliding a chair across from her with his boot, Billy took a seat and stared. His emerald green eyes never breaking her stare. Meadow knew what he was going to say, but she refused to speak first. She would not give him that power. Once every few months, they had the same conversation. For some reason, he refused to give up. 

Meadow broke the silence, “I don’t need a sponsor, Billy.” 

“I know you don’t think so, Meadow, but I worry about you. What you shared tonight...that’s some dark shit. You shouldn’t have to shoulder that on your own. Look, just meet me in the middle here,” he leaned in towards her, his elbows resting on his knees.  

“That was a long time ago, Bill. We all have our demons. Besides, I never said I was alone,” Meadow stood up and walked out of the dark and dank room. She dropped the untouched coffee in the trash. 

Sliding smoothly behind the wheel of her 1974 Nova, Meadow let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. That night twenty-something years ago was one she had never talked about before. It was a strange weight off her shoulders. Meadow never trusted anyone. But a small group of partially anonymous people, of which she knew could name the approximate date, place and specifics of crimes each one had committed – she felt was as safe as it could get.  

She drove down the dark highway in a trance; the cold breeze from the open windows blew her dark blonde hair in all directions. A long strand stuck to her lip. When she finally stopped her car, a few hours had passed. It was just after midnight and the gentle purr of her engine was the only sound to be heard in the quiet suburb. Gliding out from behind the wheel, Meadow headed for the backyard. A loud creak broke the silence as she swung the wooden gate open. It had been years since she had stepped foot in this place, a force she could not explain pulled her back. 

Her canvas shoes sat next to her in the dirt. Wiggling her toes, she dug them deep into the ground. The wind howled and sang, dancing its way through the lavender field; the tall purple spikes a swaying ocean. Meadow closed her eyes and felt the wind on her cheeks. She drank up every moment, for the wind was free. What she had always desired to be.  

Long, thin fingers touched her shoulder and sent chills down her spine. With her eyes still closed, she leaned into the touch. Her ear and cheek rested on cold skin. “Hi, Mom.” 

“Hi, my little sun. What are you doing back here?” sitting next to Meadow, she leaned in close and handed her a cup of tea. 

The tea was in a hand-crafted mug her mom created. She had tried to teach Meadow pottery years ago, but she never quite got the hang of it. Meadow took a long sip of the tea. Hints of apple, rose and other earthy notes swirled around her taste buds. 

She wiped her dirt covered hands on her ripped jeans, “Nothing, Mom. I just went for a drive and ended up here.”  

Leaning in, her mother kissed her forehead. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the flowers move. She needed her mother’s strength and resilience. In her darkest moments, her mother was there. Ready to hold her up. Meadow turned her head and looked up at the window of her childhood bedroom. After all the years that had passed, things looked different than they did that night long ago. Yet it all still felt the same. She turned back towards the flowers that served as her father's secret grave. Before she could say what was on her mind, her mother’s soft voice carried across the wind. 

“You’ve never told anyone our secret, right, little sun?” she squeezed Meadow’s hand tightly.  

“Of course not, Mom. I’ve never told a soul,” the lie escaped her lips without thought. Meadow held the purple spike against the side of the mug with her index finger as she took another sip of the lavender tea.