Uneven Odds

The frigid cold bit at Rachel’s bare skin. The white of the world and the accompanying winds shoved her back, almost as if saying, You don’t belong here. Leave.

She took another breath, another step forward. The cold invaded her body and the pressure of the blizzard drove into her. She found herself gasping for her next breath and was met with the same hostility.

Finally, she collapsed onto the side of a nearby building, letting her bag slip from her shoulder as she slid down the wall. Her bag gave a crackling thud as it landed on the icy ground beneath it, and Rachel's body fell beside it soon after.

The wintered landscape of her old suburban neighborhood blew down and along the streets, wrapped in an impenetrable cold white.

“Feels like home already,” Rachel sighed, dragging her bag towards her and reaching inside. She felt the warmth of the wool scarf and gloves and began pulling them out.

She stopped, feeling her hand brush against her notebook, the paper crinkling under her touch. She could almost feel the words she’d written the night before, hear them call back out to her.

Her eulogy. Her requiem.

Her eyes began to water as she was reminded of why she was there, why she needed to return home. She brought her hand up to wipe away her tears, but her skin stung and cracked as she touched it.

Three tears streaked down Rachel’s cheeks before freezing onto her skin, forming perfect crystallizations of her grief.

Before she could cry anymore, she inhaled deeply, feeling the cold freeze her lungs. She forced her gloves onto her hands and tightly wound her scarf around her neck. She shrugged her bag onto her shoulder and pushed herself back on her feet. Her knees wobbled as they rose, but she soon found her ground.

She took one more deep breath, then turned back toward the end of the street and ran. Her joints creaked with every movement, and her feet felt numb as they pressed against the pale earth beneath her.

Her breath was ragged and she could hardly see what was in front of her, but she continued to charge forward regardless. Houses rushed past her as she ran, seemingly flitting in and out of existence with the fog. Blurs of grey, brown, tan, and white passed by in the corner of her eye, and she ran. She ran until a blossom of green entered her view.

She stopped. Turned. Stared.

Rachel found herself in front of her old family home, the image of its lime walls rippling across her own seaweed-green eyes and reminding them, just for a moment, of its past light. For a moment, she could feel her mother’s soft hand gently caressing her cheek, holding her gaze within her own emerald eyes. For a moment, she could hear her mother’s voice whispering in her ear… they’re beautiful.

Just for a moment.

Rachel shook her head and walked toward the door.

“Goodness,” she mumbled to herself as she raised her hand to knock. “Even the door is still…”

“Let’s paint it green,” she heard a familiar voice call out from behind her. 

Rachel’s pale cheeks suddenly flushed with warmth as she felt the words pierce through her from within. The echo diluted the pain of the wind and snow, and for a moment, the storm settled. She clenched her fist tightly, clamped her dry eyes shut, and turned her head. White light trickled in as she opened...

There was nothing. Nobody.

The warmth was gone as quickly as it came.

There was just more snow. Just more cold.

Rachel turned back to the door, taking a deep breath and letting the disappointment and pain settle back into her stomach. Then she raised an arm, and knocked. 

Her knuckles stung as they slammed against the wood and green paint. A slow rustling could be heard from behind the door, and it opened soon after.

Rachel winced as a rush of warm air opened onto her.

“Oh, Rachel. It’s you.” The voice was one of a controlled dullness, given by a blonde nineteen year-old girl.

“Oh, Trisha. It’s you,” she mocked quietly, meeting her gaze with a trace of a mischievous smile. Trisha hadn’t changed much from the last time she saw her. She still had the figure of a cheerleader and the fashion-sense of a teenage boy, but her eyes now had a subtle weight to them, like she hadn’t gotten enough sleep or… she’d been crying.

“Hurry and get inside, idiot. It’s freezing out there.”

Rachel didn’t hesitate or argue this time, and the loud storm behind her was soon muffled and out of mind. She immediately felt the warmth of the house begin to thaw her blood.

“You look like shit,” Trisha remarked, standing aside and watching Rachel as she took off her coats.

“Right, you too,” she countered, pulling her sweater off over her head. “The difference? You’re not the one who just walked half an hour through a snowstorm.”

Trisha opened her mouth to retort, but hesitated. “Damn, that was good,” she muttered to herself.

“I wasn’t really trying there,” Rachel sighed. “I’m mostly just bitter that I just walked half an hour through a snowstorm.”

“Right, right.”

Rachel kicked off her snow pants and followed Trisha down the hall, leaving everything else on the ground by the front door.

“They have bags now,” Rachel said, watching Trisha’s back. “Your eyes. College killing you, too?”

Trisha didn’t respond, and walked on into the family room. Rachel gave a subtle pout, but soon drifted into her own thoughts. She’d somehow forgotten that it’d been three years since she last set foot in that house, and since she’d last seen Trisha.

It still smells the same, she thought. Drywall, paper, Trisha’s perfume… wholly uninteresting and not particularly pleasant, but it was the same.

The family room ahead had no lights on, and was dimly lit with the little sunlight that trickled in through the snow, fog, and curtained windows.

Rachel took another step, passing through the invisible veil that separated her from the room.

An explosion went off in her head. Rachel faltered, falling onto her back foot. Her head rang as the dull light of the room blasted into a warm orange.

She felt a shove from behind, then felt it ethereally pass through her. A ghost wrapped in warmth frolicked through her in the form of a little girl with black hair and green eyes.

Rachel, confused, looked to Trisha, who had disappeared. In her place was another ghost—a shy and reserved girl with bright blue eyes and beautiful flowing blonde hair.

The girl with black hair danced around the room, admiring the full bookshelves that lined every wall, and the framed pictures of the blonde girl’s family.

“Rachel, be careful.”

Rachel held her breath at the sound of the voice.

The girl with black hair turned in Rachel’s direction and smiled unrestrained. “Yes, mom!” she said.

Rachel, her heart pounding, forced herself to turn around. She blinked. Behind her stood her mother and her foster father, making conversation in the hallway.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Anne,” Ryan said. “I trust Peter. He’s your husband; you should too.”

Ryan’s voice was soft and measured, like it had always been as far as Rachel could remember. His blond hair was messy, like he’d just woken up, and he wore an oversized t-shirt.

Anne looked uncertain, staring at the ground and occasionally glancing in Rachel’s direction.

“Promise me anyways,” she said, extending her fist out to Ryan’s shoulder. Before he could respond, they both faded away into specks of light.

Rachel took a step forward and reached out to them, but they were already gone.

Again, she felt a shove from behind, and little Rachel and Trisha sailed past her. They both seemed to be a little older than they were a moment ago, and carried plastic katanas in their hands.

Little Rachel jumped onto Trisha and pinned her to the ground. They skidded across the hardwood floor for a moment as Trisha’s sword clattered out of reach.

“Haha, I’ve got you now, Trisha!” little Rachel cackled evilly, raising her sword above her head. “Try to defend against my special finishing attack!”

“Wait, no, Rachel!” Trisha panicked. “I give up, I give up! Please! Stop! Stop!”

They both faded away just like Anne and Ryan had, and Rachel turned back to the family room.

The two girls were playing Jenga on the glass table now, probably about thirteen-years-old.

“If I win, you have to tell me who your crush is,” Trisha declared, carefully picking out a block from the tower.

“Right, right,” Rachel said in response, giving the same mischievous smile. “And if I win, you have to do the same.”

Rachel remembered this day. She remembered knowing that Trisha actually had a crush she had fallen desperately for, and used the fact against her.

Trisha’s face turned red, and almost toppled the tower.

“F-Fine.”

Rachel closed her eyes as she heard the door to Ryan’s office open. She remembered this day, this moment, that sound. How could she forget?

Ryan stepped out into the family room, his right hand shaking. He stared at the ground, clenching his teeth.

“Rachel...” he began. His voice shook for the first and only time she could recall. “I need to tell you something.”

Rachel kept her eyes shut as the scene faded away.

“What happened?” young Trisha whispered. “You can tell me. You’re like a sister to me.”

“Yeah,” Rachel scoffed bitterly. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Right.”

The scene changed one last time.

This time, Trisha was sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel heard herself say. Her voice was more mature now. “I didn’t know he would react like that. You have to believe me. We’re sisters, right?”

“Yeah,” Trisha laughed bitterly between her sobs. “Sure.”

Finally, Rachel opened her eyes. The ghosts were gone. She took a deep shaky breath, and finally walked into the room. Trisha was sitting on the couch, staring blankly. Rachel took a seat beside her.

“I forgot that you were really reserved as a kid,” she said, awkwardly.

Trisha turned to her. Smiled.

“Yeah, we kind of switched roles, didn’t we?”

“Well,” Rachel said, bouncing her feet up. “I’m still the smarter one.”

“You’re also still the bigger ass.”

Rachel smiled and nodded. Can't argue with that, she thought. The two girls sat in silence, basking in the dissipating glowing dust floating around them.

“There are four generous offers to buy the house,” Trisha finally said, breaking the silence. “It’d pay for the funeral, you know, but…”

“But we can’t sell this house.”

“Yeah.” Trisha paused for a moment before continuing. “Hey Rachel, you never did explain to me… why you came to live with us. No one told me.”

Rachel hesitated, settling her legs.

“I don’t–”

“And why is this house so green?” she continued, pushing herself onto her feet. She put a hand against her forehead and stared at the ceiling. “The carpet, the walls, the door, the furniture.”

“I…”

“We spent days repainting this house… ‘For Rachel,’ he said. And you were always sad. You were always so sad...”

She trailed off, letting the muffled whistles of the blizzard take over.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel whispered, clenching her fists on her lap. “I'm sorry.”

Trisha fell back down to the couch and buried her face in her hands.

“I know why,” she said, her voice strained. “I know everything. I looked through Dad’s things… he had a letter addressed to you. I read it. I’m sorry Rachel, I’m so sorry. For everything, for... everything.”

Rachel was stunned. The letter was on the table in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed, but it was there the entire time. 

“For Rachel,” she could hear Ryan say in her mind. She silently picked up the letter and began reading it.

​

​

Dear Rachel,

Oh, I can see you playing with Trisha from behind the door. You’re so happy right now—you haven’t heard the news yet… I can’t bring myself to tell you. You’re so young, Rachel, so this letter will be for when you’re older, and after you’ve experienced the pain and heartache and grief that you’ll inevitably experience. 

Once upon a time, your father and I were best friends. We crawled out of high school together, barely alive… I was his best man at his wedding, and I was the third person in the world to ever hold you as an infant. So you’ll understand when I tell you how much it hurt for me to see him break down when he finally told me about your mother’s condition.

She passed away three days ago.

Your father was barely stable once they first received the diagnosis, and now that she’s actually gone, I guess he just lost it—that after it all, he just couldn’t return.

Before your father fell too far into his alcoholism and his depression, he gave me strict instructions on how to raise you… for me to make sense of love and faith no matter how much like Hell life will be like.

When you find out Rachel, soon now, I don’t expect you to understand… just to live whatever life your broken heart can. Time will move on, as it always does, and one day you’ll wonder if your heart had gotten stronger or if that time had simply shifted weight.

And I know, I know… you’ll always remember the moment God took your mother away—you’ll always remember the moment when it seemed the weight of the world could crush you, and you’ll remember the moment when it does. But I want you to remember, Rachel, that no matter what happens, that you’re truly loved. Peter would cry a sea of tears for the years he’s let you go. Anne would chip away at a mountain of ice if you were stuck inside. I’d paint a thousand houses for you. And Trisha, I’m sure that she’d try to melt the lonely winters of your heart when she finally finds you in them.

You’re loved, Rachel. You’re loved.

Never forget.

Sincerely,

Ryan

Rachel put the letter down; the paper was almost completely drenched with tears. She felt her body convulse, felt it shake. Her vision blurred and her ears burned.

“You’ve lost so much,” Trisha said, tearfully watching Rachel collapse. “Your mother. Your father. And now ours.”

Rachel curled up into a ball as the pain came back to her. She remembered the years she spent crying over her mother’s grave. She remembered the years she knocked on her father’s door, answered only with the muffled shattering of glass.

“Rachel...” Trisha pulled her close and hugged her tightly. Hugged her until her cries subsided, until she stopped shaking. Trisha let her go, and lifted her chin. Stared into her eyes. They shone brightly, brilliantly reflecting the dim light and the color of the room. She took a sharp breath and smiled.

“They’re green,” she realized. She took her finger and wiped Rachel’s tear-streaked cheek, where she felt the three frozen tears melting. “They’re green.”