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    Far From You

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      to

      rest

      day five

      When I wake up,

      early in the morning,

      the sun barely

      visible

      and the blackness

      disappearing

      just enough

      so I can see,

      I go outside

      and look

      for the angel I made.

      She’s gone,

      of course,

      covered by

      fresh, new snow.

      I make another one.

      When I’m done,

      I don’t get up.

      I stay there

      and dream of

      flying away

      to the place

      where angels

      live happily

      ever

      after.

      a message

      And then

      the real angel visits again,

      her light

      illuminating the world

      around me.

      I try to see her face,

      but she appears to be

      faceless.

      Warmth engulfs

      and soothes me,

      like a warm bubble bath

      on a cold winter’s night.

      She whispers my name.

      “Alice.”

      I can’t make my lips

      say her name.

      “Don’t give up,” she says so softly,

      I can hardly hear her.

      “Help is coming.”

      Then, as quickly

      as she appeared,

      she’s gone again.

      one last try

      After seeing

      the angel again,

      a surge of energy

      fuels me.

      Ivy’s cries

      pull me up

      to face reality

      one more time.

      I make another fire,

      and throw part of my

      heart on it

      when I break my guitar

      against a tree

      and place it there.

      Heartbroken.

      The orange flames

      pop and grow,

      blazing brightly.

      I feel Blaze’s presence

      in the fire,

      and it gives me strength.

      I think back

      to when Vic and I

      sang campfire songs.

      I wish she were here

      to sing with me now.

      As the fire burns,

      wood turning to ash,

      death fills my mind,

      and I swear to myself

      there can be

      no more.

      When the fire

      is big and strong,

      I place the floor mats there,

      to make more

      dark smoke.

      It works.

      I kneel by the fire,

      thinking of Victoria

      and all she

      must have endured,

      and hate myself

      for not making her stay.

      When the car

      runs out of gas

      a little while later,

      I feed Ivy

      the last

      of the formula.

      And then I strip us down

      so I can give her

      the heat of my body

      in the sleeping bag.

      As I hold her

      and look

      at her little eyes,

      her little nose,

      her little mouth,

      and her little fingers and toes,

      I remember my mother’s words.

      Find the gift in the little things.

      And remember, I am with you always.

      I didn’t see the gift.

      Just like I didn’t see

      the angel made of stars

      in the painting at first,

      I didn’t see the gift in Ivy.

      But I do now.

      And I want to enjoy the gift

      for years

      and years

      to come.

      at last

      Ivy and I

      are sleeping,

      deep inside

      the sleeping bag,

      when I hear

      something.

      Is it the angel?

      Has she come back?

      Like that morning

      weeks ago,

      I don’t open my eyes.

      I don’t move.

      I don’t speak.

      Every part of me

      seems to be

      frozen.

      “Ali, sweetheart, we’re here.

      Hang on, honey.

      Just hang on.”

      Dad?

      Am I dreaming?

      up, up, and away

      There is lots of noise.

      There is the feeling of flying.

      There is my body being poked and prodded,

      and warmth and tingling.

      There is me thinking, I did it.

      I made it.

      There is also me wondering,

      Am I the

      only

      one?

      floating

      A warm pillow

      holds my head.

      A warm hand

      holds mine.

      A warm voice

      speaks to me.

      I float

      in the warmth.

      Like I’m

      floating along

      on a warm,

      soft cloud.

      I like

      it here.

      Safe.

      Soft.

      Warm.

      holding on

      She visits me.

      She rubs my back.

      She kisses my cheek.

      My angel.

      She is as clear as the sky

      on a winter day

      when the storm has passed

      and all that’s left

      is baby blue.

      “Did they make it?” I ask.

      “Alice, you have to go back.”

      “Please tell me. I have to know.”

      She pulls me to her,

      holds me,

      and strokes my hair,

      just like I did

      with Ivy.

      “You were so brave,” she whispers.

      Tears spring

      from nowhere

      and everywhere.

      My heart cries the loudest.

      I don’t want to face the truth.

      I don’t want to go back.

      I don’t want to leave

      my angel

      of a mother.

      torn

      “I miss you,” I cry.

      “I miss you so much.”

      She holds me

      like she used to

      before bedtime.

      The words

      from her painting

      sing in my brain.

      I am with you always

      But it makes me mad

      because it’s

      not really

      true.

      I squeeze her,

      wanting to hold on forever,

      afraid of what will happen

      when I let go.

      Finally

      she pulls away,

      but I clutch

      her hand tightly

      in mine.

      “I don’t want to go,” I tell her.

      She cups my chin

      with her other hand,

      and her soft eyes

      hug mine.

      “You don’t belong here, honey.”

      “But Mom, I’m losing you.

      It’s getting harder and harder to find you.”

      She kisses my forehead.

      “Honey, no matter where you are, I’m with you.

      When the breeze brushes your cheek, that’s me.

      When the stars sparkle and shine, that’s me.

      When the tulips bloom in the spring, that’s me.”

      The little things.

      She’s there,


      in the little things.

      Voices

      from far away

      shake me.

      Dad calls

      my name.

      She squeezes my hand and says,

      “It’s time to go.

      But I’ll be with you.”

      “Mom, what was your favorite part in Alice in

      Wonderland?

      I can’t remember, and I have to know.”

      “It’s a famous line of Alice’s.

      About going back to yesterday.

      You’ll find it. When you get home.”

      Home.

      Where I belong.

      With Dad.

      With Blaze.

      With Claire.

      With Ivy (I hope).

      Home.

      And then

      I’m floating again.

      Falling

      and floating

      through a sky

      filled with love.

      So much love.

      Everywhere.

      I land softly

      next to Dad,

      where he whispers in my ear,

      “Don’t leave me, Ali.

      Please.

      I can’t lose you, too.”

      part 3

      family keeps us warm

      gone but not forgotten

      The light lingers,

      but then

      begins

      to

      fade.

      Lighter

      and lighter,

      softer

      and softer,

      until

      it disappears

      completely.

      baby, oh baby

      My eyes

      flutter open

      and meet his.

      Tears

      of joy

      pour

      forth.

      “Ali,” he whispers.

      “Is she—?” I croak.

      “What, honey?

      What do you need?”

      “Ivy,” I say.

      A kiss

      on my forehead,

      his stubble

      tickling

      my skin.

      “She’s fine,” he tells me,

      tears still falling

      from his face to my pillow.

      “You kept her safe.

      And I’m so proud of you.”

      My eyes close

      as I try to keep

      my own tears

      contained.

      But there is one more question

      that lingers.

      I start to say it.

      I start to say

      the other name

      I’m thinking of.

      But I can’t

      because I know

      his tears of joy

      will quickly turn

      to tears of grief.

      And I have already

      seen enough of those

      to last

      ten lifetimes.

      wishing

      Dad puts a straw

      into my mouth

      and I sip.

      The cool water

      soothes my throat.

      But not the pain I feel.

      I wish I hadn’t had a fight with Claire.

      I wish I hadn’t broken my phone.

      I wish I hadn’t fallen asleep while we drove.

      I wish I’d found the lighter sooner.

      I wish I’d made her stay.

      I wish

      I wish

      I wish…

      She probably

      took a thousand

      painful steps

      for a baby

      who will never know

      her mother.

      A thousand

      painful steps

      for me.

      I wish I’d

      taken those steps

      instead.

      what did you say?

      I close my eyes,

      tighter this time,

      like that morning

      so long ago

      when they left

      for the hospital.

      Who was that person

      so angry at Dad

      for loving again?

      Dad reaches over,

      says to me,

      “And Ali,

      Victoria—”

      “No,” I gasp,

      my voice hoarse.

      Another

      forehead kiss,

      and a smoothing

      of my hair

      by his strong hand.

      “Sweetheart,” he whispers,

      “she’s okay.”

      My eyes

      pop open,

      needing to see

      his lips

      speak the

      words I thought

      I heard.

      “What?

      What did you say?”

      “She’s alive.

      She found help.

      And she helped us find you.”

      This time

      I don’t try

      to contain

      my tears.

      I

      just

      let

      them

      f

      a

      l

      l

      like

      order, please

      The IV

      pumps fluids

      through my veins.

      The longer I am awake,

      the hungrier I get.

      The nurse asks me

      to choose from the menu.

      I ask her,

      “Can I have it all?”

      Dad laughs at that,

      and then he says,

      “I guess she’s going to be just fine.”

      melting

      When Blaze walks in,

      any coldness

      that remains

      melts completely

      away.

      Nothing

      has ever looked

      so good,

      so perfect,

      so absolutely

      hot.

      The nurse

      is checking my vitals,

      so he waits

      for her to finish.

      I want to ask her

      if my heart rate

      shot up

      at the sight

      of my boyfriend,

      but I don’t.

      I don’t have to ask anyway.

      I know it did.

      He does that to me.

      He’s always done that to me.

      After she leaves,

      he is there,

      on my bed,

      holding me and

      kissing

      every inch

      of my face.

      “God, Ali.

      I thought I’d lost you.”

      “Shhhhhh,” I tell him.

      “Don’t talk.

      Not yet.

      Just hold me.

      Please.

      Just hold me.”

      And so

      he does.

      Because

      that

      is what I missed

      most of all.

      answered prayers

      After lots of holding,

      I tell him

      about our days

      in the car,

      about chips and ketchup,

      which kept us nourished,

      and the sleeping bag

      that kept us warm,

      and the guitar I burned

      that kept us hopeful,

      and the story of Alice

      that kept us company,

      and how it’s all of that

      and so much more

      that kept us

      alive.

      He shivers

      at times,

      like he’s in the car

      with us.

      I shiver

      at times,

      because it’s hard

      reliving it all again.

      When I’m finished,

      he tells me

      how search teams were formed,

      how he begged to go and help,

      but his mom


      wouldn’t let him go,

      so he walked around in a daze,

      unable to eat or sleep or work.

      We’re quiet for a minute,

      mentally walking

      in the other one’s

      shoes.

      He kisses me.

      A long,

      warm,

      soft

      kiss

      that reminds me

      of watching

      a pink-and-orange sunset

      as the fireflies appear.

      When we’re done,

      he pulls out the key chain.

      “Ali, every day,

      I held this,

      and I prayed you’d come back to me.”

      “Really?”

      He shrugs.

      “Who else could I turn to?”

      I smile, and ask him,

      “So does that mean you’ll go to church with me

      sometime?”

      He laughs and says,

      “You know what? Maybe I will.”

     


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