Heather Buyce-Vasquez
Rose, Seattle, May 1980
It’s morning. Rose is standing in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. Her dark curls are standing up in creases around her head. She crinkles her nose at the smell of Aqua Net and her fingers tangle in the crunch of her curls. There is a laugh from behind her and she sees her husband Raul lounging on the bed they share. His black hair is sleep tousled and his brown eyes are low and glinting. Ignoring his bark of laughter and his very inviting gesture she tries to run her fingers through her hair only to be stopped by the sticky flaky mess that is hair spray.
“Raul please just go see if Jim and Lyllian are ready.” She sighs into her arms. They are supposed to be headed to a family lunch down on the pier and Rose thought it might be a good idea to prepare for the inevitable waterfront wind with a little extra hold. She is feeling tired and distracted. Two-year old Lyllian has been as easy going as a freight train and five year old Jim just dug a hole in the backyard, dumped water into it and decided to bathe himself.
Raul rises elegantly from bed and wraps his arms around her. He kisses her neck, pats her hair, and saunters off down the hall humming. She smiles. Her husband is a kind man, a handsome man, and sometimes an infuriating man. She first saw Raul in 7th grade at Thomas Edison Middle School in LA. He was sitting with some other boys at a picnic bench under some early Fall colored trees. She remembers her eyes catching his smile and the way he watched her all the way from the gym to the school doors including when she walked into them bruising her nose and sending her hurrying into the girls’ room red from shame. She can smile softly about it now but at the time she decides she was going to just stay in the lavatory and have her books brought to her. Until junior high graduation ten months later.
Theirs was the thing of stories. How he simply melted into her life and carved a spot. A spot that had been growing increasingly dark and filled with howling wind and anger. They had had some adventures for sure. And some epic fights is certain. But more laughs than tears. And more love then sadness. Now, five years later they are married, two young children, living in a small suburb just outside of Seattle.
Rose still plays her guitar and on some nights, when the Raul and the kids are especially hypnotized by canned laughter sitcoms Happy Days and Mork and Mindy she writes music. Scratching out notes that dance around in her mind. Her notebook full of her plans and her ideas. Her highs and lows. When was the last time she wrote? The demands of family sap her once bottomless energy until after a Hamburger Helper dinner, baths, books, and tucks she realizes the day has flown by again. Regrets? She has a few. But there is no world beyond what God has gifted her. So she smiles and packs another lunch, band aids another scraped knee, patches another ripped dungaree, and sits curled in her husband’s arm on the hard pew for Mass. The anxiety of the occasional mind bending waking dream notwithstanding.
Stripping down again she quickly jumps into the shower. She feels her hair melt back into softness. Back to Square One.
It’s then that she realizes she is not there anymore. The water is gone. The bathroom is gone. She is sitting on a hard chair looking out a window at grey earth. The tree branches are sparse and skeletal. They shiver though there is a weak sun. She is not alone. A hand reaches for hers. It is dirty and pale. She grasps it to her and there are no words. She turns to look at the boy sitting with her. His eyes are dark and grey like the dusky sky and his hair is curly and looks windblown. He is looking over his shoulder in a furtive way that makes her nervous. His eyes are soft as he looks at her. She feels he is about to speak. She yearns for it. But a door opens near them and a woman is blown in from the gusts followed by two girls both wearing kerchiefs covering their hair. The boy moves away from her and there is a feeling of loss immediately. The woman looks cross and stern but says nothing.
Her world is spinning on its axis. The water is running over her face and she breathes it in. She cannot open her eyes for the stream. Then Raul is there and lifting her head his eyes wide and anxious. His lips are moving but all she can hear is the wind in those bare trees.
Raul is laying her gently on the bed wrapped in a towel. She is blinking. Questioning.
“Rose. Rose are you ok?” Raul’s eyes are still wide and he looks from her to the small face of her daughter Lyllian. She is holding her little giraffe doll and sucking noisily at her fingers.
“What happened?” Rose asks. She is thoroughly confused.
“I don’t know. There was a news report that Mt Saint Helens blew and then I found you on the floor of the shower.” Raul’s hands are rubbing her arms. “I thought for some crazy minute you’d fallen because of the eruption!”
“Eruption? No, no there was a house. And a boy and trees.” She slows her talk at his expression.
Little Lyllian pulls herself onto her father and pushes dark curls from her face. “Mountain blew up mommy.”