Page 38 of Beyond the Blues
I open up my email to see my editor had responded with the final edits for my poetry book. With a smile from ear to ear, I read through each poem, ecstatic with the final product. I still can’t believe having my little poem in a local magazine led to my getting noticed by agents and publishers. I didn’t think I’d be able to finish this, really. But as I was writing it, alongside dealing with the never-ending feelings of grief, I remembered my dad’s words ‘finish that book for Coco’.’Now here I am. My first poetry book is being produced, and it’s all about the journey of grief. The book takes you on a journey from when I found out, to now, I guess. I asked about the possibility of releasing it on the day Coco passed, and it was approved. I’m convinced that she is watching over me, pleased that my work is finally being read by someone other than her. I’ve updated Nora every step of the way, although it takes days for her to reply, but I guess she is busy.
I’ve watched pretty much every show she’s done. Her band has only gotten bigger. The arenas are full, and girls are throwing themselves at the band. I offered to visit Nora for a couple of days whilst we were both free, but once again, I’ve heard nothingfor a while. I watched her live show last night, and she looks tired. But I know they have a week without touring in a couple of days. I open up my calendar and conveniently; I don’t have loads of meetings. Maybe I could surprise her? I reach out to the lead singer of her band,Scarlett. All her band mates followed me almost instantly after she’d touched down in
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America. As soon as it’s sent, she’s already seen it.
I think she’d love that! We’re staying at the Caesars Palace then
I look up the flights and debate doing it. Does she even want to see me? I mean, it has been five months, but in all honesty I just want to have a catch up with her. My finger clicks down and somehow I’ve magically booked it. I cover my mouth with my hand. Did I really just spend hundreds of pounds on a flight to see a girl who barely answers me anymore? Fuck. Well, I’ve always wanted to visit America, so I guess this will be interesting either way. My phone pings and I look down.
Nora - sorry for not answering, been busy, super tired, miss you.
I smile down at my phone. At least that’s a little reassurance she’ll be happy to see me. I walk downstairs to the living room and find my mum and dad cuddled up on the sofa, watching some dramatic soap.
“You okay, darling?” My mum asks, a glass of wine in her hand. My mum’s not necessarily strict, but she worries a lot about me since Coco passed. Even after my work being published.
“So, I have some news.” I say awkwardly, picking my nails.
“Pause the show.” My mum says to my dad. They both look at me, my mum’s face filled with concern whereas my dads say ‘hurry, so I can finish the show.’
“I’m going to Las Vegas.”
“What?”
“In two days.”
“What?!” my mum shrieks, standing up.
“Mum, please, it’s fine!” I raise my voice a little.
“To do what?” Hopefully Nora.
“To see Nora.” My mum rolls her eyes. My mum wasn’t very impressed when I told her about Nora, not because she’s a woman, but because it hadn’t been long since we’d known each other for. I had come home head over
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heels, blabbering on about Nora. Then came the week where I was a little heartbroken to say. Soaking my pillows with tears and snot, barely eating and binge watching ‘Friends.’ She didn’t understand how I’d fallen so quickly, but then again, she wasn’t in my position.
“Do whatever, Ophelia, because no matter what I say, you never listen.” Mum angrily wanders around the kitchen, doing ‘chores’ although I know it’s just a distraction.
“Fine.” I say bluntly, walking out the kitchen.
“Fine!” my mum yells back, clattering about the kitchen. I just wish she’d realised I’m not that vulnerable, grief-stricken girl I was almost a year ago. I’ve grown, and I’m not a risk to myself anymore. Living is something I truly love. I love seeing the things I’ve accomplished when I put my mind to it. If only she could see that.
As I lay on my bed, doom scrolling through my phone, someone gently knocks at my door.
“What?” I say muffled, my mouth slightly covered by the pillow. My mum walks in, like a cat with a tail between its legs.
“I’m sorry, Ophelia.” She says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“I just… after you lost Coco, I was so scared for you. I thought I was going to lose my daughter.” Mum’s voice is shaky.
“But, I get it now. I realise I’ve been overbearing, constantly worried, and watching you, so I owe you an apology.” I’m glad she’s come to the realisation of how she’s been for the past year.