Chapter 207: Prologue-2

"Be real quiet Bumblebee... I - I love you... don't come out... not until you hear daddies voice." "Shhhhh..." the recorder picks it up and I know she's hiding me in the crawl space in my room. It was small but I fit, I remained in that spot for hours I remember. The recorder picking up some conversation that at the time meant nothing to me. "Look what we have here... Elder Bellamy - or should I call you Anya? Norine?" "Albert..." Momma says to the man, her voice is different than when she was speaking and playing with me. "Where are the violins Norine? Elder Bellamy? Anya?" "What Violi-" the tape clicks right after the gunshot, no more memory and my tears can't stop falling, remembering the shot that took her life, the order the man gave to find the violins, clean up the blood and get out before the human got home. 'Let them think she ran away,' A loud knock on my door startles me, I push the recorder away hiding it, wiping at my tears before I open the door to look coldly at Sarah, "What?" she doesn't speak right away, her eyes scanning over my face, "well?" "Dinner's ready-" "I'm not hungry," I say closing my door before she has a chance to reply. Don't worry we won't be alone soon, the voice in my head tells me, comforting me. . . . The night my mother died, even with what I heard I still asked my dad when she was coming back, not that he had an answer that soothed me but I asked. I heard his voice calling out for Momma and a crying Ben, and left my hiding spot, leaving the recorder in its place. Hidden as I was waiting. I remember him asking me questions, and then police asking for questions but I was my momma's good girl, I didn't say a thing, didn't speak a word of anything, any of it. For a long while, my mind blocked out so much, but each day something happened where I didn't continue to ask when she was coming home. Instead, I knew the answer, could read the grown-up faces, and then as I stopped asking, I forgot about the player. Missing momma, denying what I heard, and still expecting her to come back because out of everything I didn't remember about that night, I remembered without the tape recorder how many times she said she loved me. And a person can't say 'I love you' that many times and not find a way back to that love. Four years later, when I was turning seven, Sarah and Amelia joined our family, moved into our house, and while hiding my toys so I wouldn't have to share them with Amelia I found the player and my anger. I wasn't mad at momma though, or daddy but at Sarah, her family, this town, all the people that whispered nasty things about momma. She abandoned her kids. Left those two beautiful babies. Heartless they called her. Things weren't supposed to change, for us daddy left everything the way they were but when Sarah moved in, I know he loved her but he erased momma. He started agreeing with everyone else, not saying those things to us, Ben and I, but he said them nonetheless. When I was just going to tell him about that night, about the player things had changed. New furniture arrived, old pictures and albums with her photos gone, replaced with new photos. The room he used to store her things, emptied, nothing kept to make that room, Amelia's room. Within one week, this was no longer momma's house. This was Sarah's house, with her things and her likes, so I took my recorder back to my room, keeping the one last thing of Momma I had. Her voice. With my new hearing, I listened to the family downstairs, daddies and Sarah's here to celebrate Amelia's birthday, a party in my momma's house. A sharp knock breaks my thought, I sigh standing, walking to open it, already knowing in my new way that it's daddy. I open the door, and I know Sarah told him about the tears, but he still seems to analyze my face, checking. Turning around I go sit on my bed, dad comes in, closes the door behind him, "You okay Bee?" I only hear love and concern; I nod, not really wanting to speak to him, or anyone else; not with all the things piling up, not when he wouldn't understand. "I'm fine dad," he doesn't push to get the reason I was crying earlier, but he does something worse, "Bee come on downstairs, it's Amelia's birthday, the family is here." "I don't want too," and I don't not because I'm difficult or wanting to cause trouble, but because going down there would be more disruptive than being up here in my room alone. "Honey, for me - just at least eat dinner," when I nod after a few minutes, I walk to dad, and I'm engulfed in his arms, and miserably sad all over again. Worse when my new super senses are invaded by Sarah's perfume, I scrunch my nose pulling away not meeting dad's eyes. Closing my room when we hit the hall I see a small bag, and dad reaches for it, and we go down to the den, he follows me to the dining room, and the family greets me, my Aunt Kelly and Diane are here with their families, as are my uncles Marvin and Grant. After greeting them, I just sit near Ben whose already holding his fork, eager to shovel the food into his mouth. And like I've been doing for years, I don't acknowledge Sarah's family. The tension is worse because I'm here now, but uncle Grant, dives in, "How's school Oak?" at thirteen years old, I skipped a grade, leaving newly turned fourteen year old Amelia in 8th grade but I was still a freshman, taking Juniors math and reading. Dad swears I got my smarts from mom since he was never book smart. But that's only something he used to say before Sarah and Amelia came around. I know he does it to protect Sarah's feelings, but I'm sure he has to know how it hurts mine. Right? Because parents always know. Mom would've. "It's great, I'm taking this Aquatic Biology class at the community college-" "Oh so you no longer want to major in Biochemistry?" I just roll my eyes, "I do, but you know I don't like to be in this house so I took this class plus it's fascinating," I finish easily. Aware of what I said, the gasps and all, but Uncle Grant he's different, he just looks into my eyes, not with pity and no judgment. It's easy to talk to him, not because he's a therapist but he never bashes momma - then again maybe it is because of his profession.