To You, Iyla, page 2
She shot me a glare as I fell silent again, turning my attention back to my textbook. It was no secret that Claire wanted me to come with her. We’d had the same conversation year after year. Except this would be the last time, with graduation looming around the corner.
“C’mon, Celeste. This is our last spring break,” she groaned, seemingly reading my mind as she pushed my textbook down and planted herself firmly on the bed in front of me. “Besides, it’ll only be a couple of days.”
“Claire, I really don’t think this is a good—”
“You want me to beg? I’ll beg.” She leapt off the bed, dropping to the floor and onto her knees as she interlocked her hands to form a fist in front of her chest. “Please,” she pleaded. “I promise Celeste, if you come with me, I will never ask anything of you again. Please.”
I exhaled, genuinely considering her offer. Claire and I had always spent our spring breaks apart despite her relentless efforts to convince me otherwise each year. She would opt to travel out of state, adding Miami, South Carolina, and even Hawaii to her list of destinations over the years. Yet, in spite of a location change, each year would end up the same. Claire would drink and party the week away, fall in and out of love with a new guy every night, only to join me back on campus at the end of it all to enlighten me on her adventures.
To Claire’s knowledge, I spent each year flying back to Oregon and spending time with my foster mom, but that’s always been a lie.
A part of this story that we’ll soon get to.
Sure, the intention to go home was there, but as every spring break rolled around, I found myself doing the exact same thing—rationalizing the fact that there was nothing more important than staying on campus and using the week off as an additional study break.
Thrilling, I know.
But truthfully, the idea of partying non-stop for an entire week has never appealed to me. The most important thing had always been doing well at UCLA and getting into Stanford’s law program. From the moment I first stepped foot onto the campus, that was what I’d set out to accomplish.
Now, you might be wondering why.
Why was it so important that I got into Stanford? Why did I want to become a lawyer so badly?
Remember that lingering part of the story I promised?
Well, here it comes.
It all started when I was nine years old. Young enough to live freely but old enough to understand entirely. It was late November, and the trees swayed heavily through the gusts of wind as faint layers of snow cascaded over our front lawn.
I’d always loved winter and the cold. It was the time of year when, even though beauty may not exist inside your home, it certainly would on the outside.
My father was always coming home late from work, but as I lay in bed that night, I remembered asking my mother when he’d be back and why he wasn’t the one tucking me in.
“He’ll be home soon, Celeste,” she reassured me as she kissed my cheek tenderly. “Now, get some rest.”
As she pulled away, the infamous scent of her “perfume” lingered. It was the kind of scent that came from an unsuspecting bottle, from an item you’d always find glued to her side.
Whiskey.
That night, I managed to fall asleep despite the gnawing questions. When the early hours of morning fell, I was awoken by a series of loud noises.
“Where the hell have you been?!” I first heard my mother scream. “Been with that skank again, huh?”
“It’s better than being around your drunk ass all the time,” my father yelled back.
I pulled my covers over my head in a pitiful attempt to drown out the noise, but it was no use.
As I heard the argument escalating, an idea came to mind. Maybe if they knew that I was listening, they’d stop fighting.
That naive thought guided my conscience as I slowly climbed out of bed and made my way down the stairs.
The drunken shouts of my parents masked the creak of each step. My neighbors were no longer surprised that my parents were loud. Sure, we’d occasionally have the police show up at our front door for a noise complaint. But after years of warnings, the neighbors seemed to stop calling the police altogether. I suppose they realized that the fights were inevitable.
After taking a few steps further, I peered over the handrail, catching a clear glimpse of my mother slapping my father across the face.
A silence fell over the room until the breadth of my father’s hand wrapped around my mother’s throat, pinning her against the fridge.
I could hear her gasping for air as my father inched closer to her face. “You really want to try this again? You’re a drunk waste of space and piece of shit mother,” he spat before releasing his firm grasp from her throat, causing her to heave in the now-tainted air.
I remained frozen on the staircase, feeling nothing in my petite frame but an overwhelming emptiness. Truthfully, what was unfolding in front of my eyes wasn’t something I hadn’t seen many times before. Their anger and aggression over the years had become my norm, so much so that I’d grown desensitized to feelings of panic. Chaos became a comfort, normalcy became a danger, and periods of solitude became a rarity.
“Sure, I’m a drunk. Blame me. I’m a drunk because of you!” my mom pushed back as I reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Because of me?” he challenged as a laugh escaped his mouth, and he clutched onto his stomach. It wasn’t the same laugh I’d hear when I made a joke, and he’d tell me, “you’re going to be a comedian someday, kiddo.” This laugh was sly, wicked, and possessed a sense of malicious intent.
For a split second, I regretted my decision to leave my room. Still, I brushed off the feeling, for that’s all I ever knew how to do as I steadily inched my way down the hallway and into the kitchen.
“You’re sick,” my father retaliated as he furiously shoved my mother, forcing her body to the ground and causing her head to connect with the kitchen tiles.
“Mommy?” I couldn’t hold in my concern any longer. “Are you okay?”
My father rapidly spun toward me, his agitated eyes turning weary as the faint beams of sunlight made their way through the windows. “Cel? What are you doing up?” He secured me in his grasp and guided me back down the hallway.
“You guys were yelling,” I stammered as I looked over my shoulder to see my mother rubbing her forehead as she attempted to sit up. “I…I just wanted it to stop.”
“It’s over now.” His less than reassuring hand fell onto my back. “Now, let’s get you back upstairs and into—”
A loud shriek from the kitchen forced the two of us to halt in place.
“I hate you,” my mother growled as she shakily stood up from the ground, reaching for her empty whiskey bottle and flinging it down the hallway.
The glass soared through the air in slow motion, grazing past my father’s body and racing toward me. Within seconds, shards of glass shattered throughout the hallway, making direct contact with my skin, scratching alongside my arms and the side of my face and finding securement right into my collarbone.
It didn’t take long for my body to fall onto the ground, just like my mother had moments earlier. Only this time, my father reached out to catch me rather than being the reason for the decline.
“Celeste!” my mother shrieked, her anger being overruled by fear as she ran over to me, reality finally seeming to hit her. “Call an ambulance!” she fell to my side, looking up at my startled father. “Now!”
“You’re going to be okay, baby. I’m so sorry,” she whispered once he’d run off, visibly panicked as the warmth of my blood pooled down my chest and soaked through the front of my pajamas.
But it wasn’t the blood that I was focused on. It was the ceiling, where the peel-and-stick stars that I’d begged my parents to put up years earlier remained.
Even after all that time, some still glowed bright, while others had lost their power—a metaphor for life, as I’d come to learn. The brightest stars will always find a way to shine, even amidst the darkness.
You see, I was a burnt-out star in my parent’s galaxy. And it was only when the ambulance took me away that night that I started to find that glow again.
My whole world began to change when I arrived at the hospital. I was greeted by a social worker who came into my room and asked me some questions about my parents. It turned out that this wasn’t the first time that social services had been concerned about our family. My school, our neighbors, and even the parents of some of my classmates had contacted them several times. They’d claimed that there were signs of neglect and abuse in our household—but until that night, there had been no actual proof.
As I explained to the social worker how I came to get the 12 stitches in my chest, a case against my parents was finally feasible.
Foster care became the first viable option while the court began its legal proceedings.
“Can’t I go live with Auntie Joyce?” I’d pleaded with the social worker. “I really like Auntie Joyce. She’s kind and sweet. She never yells.”
She remained silent, but the look on her face said it all. It turned out Auntie Joyce could barely afford to take care of herself. The love of the bottle was apparently a hereditary trait on my mother’s side.
“What about Grandpa Kinney?” I’d wondered. “He’s so fun. He has a motorcycle and everything.”
She shot me another pained smile. A diagnosis of dementia meant that my only other option was out the window.
“Celeste, we will find you a special home.” She squeezed my hand reassuringly. “I promise.”
Over the next two years, that “special home” became a series of four different homes. Homes where I spent most of my time reminiscing on the happier times of my childhood, grieving the people I once thought my parents were.
All hope felt lost until the universe introduced me to Sharlene Wright. The owner of my fifth, final, and forever childhood home.
Sharlene was a retired nurse with no children of her own. She’d chosen to devote the remainder of her life to creating a supportive, safe environment for children who needed it.
In other words, children like me.
With the love and support of Sharlene, I decided that one day I wanted to work with kids who were just like me—making sure that they, too, went on to live the lives they deserved.
And so, amidst all the drama, the chaos, and the spiraling that was my life, there it was. My calling.
Family law.
Once I turned 18, life changed again. I was no longer an eligible candidate for foster care. Sharlene insisted that I didn’t have to go, but I knew I had to move on to the next chapter in my life. One that I’d been busy building all throughout high school.
Work, study, work, repeat became the motto that ultimately granted me a full-ride scholarship to UCLA’s pre-law program.
For the first time in my life, I was excited about what lay ahead. Going to UCLA would be the first step in taking control of my life. Giving myself a new start. Making a vow that I’d leave the past behind me and never look back.
This started by cutting off the sparse communication I’d had with my parents for good. A decision that meant I would have no family in my life—a term that, at the time, I only defined as blood.
Until I met Claire O’Donnell.
Remember her?
Yes, we’ve finally circled back to that.
On move-in day, Claire walked into our dorm room and tripped over her two left feet. “Shit,” she muttered, her boxes falling out of her arms and spreading across the floor.
“Need a hand?” I asked, kneeling down to help her gather her things before she could respond.
“Thanks.” The embarrassment flooded her cheeks a shade of bright pink. “Great first impression, huh?”
“The best.” I helped her to pick up the last of her scattered items. “I’m Celeste, by the way. And you must be Clumsy Dwarf?”
“Claire,” she snorted. “But ‘clumsy dwarf’ is also pretty accurate.”
We’d burst into laughter together, and since that moment, it felt like we never really stopped. That day, I learned something incredibly special. That family was much more than a spartan bloodline. Claire has proved that to be true all these years.
This leads us back to where this first entry all began. Claire and I have done everything together for the last four years except for spring break.
“Please.” Claire pouted with the biggest puppy-dog eyes known to man.
“Why Long Beach?” I finally decided to entertain the conversation, feeling somewhat intrigued that Long Beach was less than an hour south—meaning if I wanted to come back to campus, it was hardly a hop and a skip away.
“Well, there are amazing parties the entire time,” she justified hopefully, only forcing me to make a face in return. “Wait,” she added, picking up on my disinterest. “I also found this incredible deal at a nearby hotel. It’s newly renovated.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a catch?” I crossed my arms skeptically. “How have you gone from wanting to travel out of state to only an hour away?”
“Well…” her eyes refused to meet mine. “I might be slightly low in the finance department.”
“Meaning?” I pried further.
“Meaning,” she paused, biting down on her lower lip nervously. “I can only afford to go if you come with me. You know, split the costs,” she finally sought approval in my firm face.
“So, is this about spending time together or splitting costs?” I pursed my lips.
“Listen, I’ll be honest with you.” She got up from the floor. “It’s both.”
I shook my head and placed my textbook neatly back onto the shelf. “You know you’re terrible at convincing, right?”
“I’m trying, CeCe.” She reached for both of my hands, now opting to use the nickname she’d come up with for me. “I need this. Hell, you need this. What’s life if you’re not going to live it?”
I paused momentarily, allowing her words to sink in before reluctantly agreeing, to Claire’s surprise as much as my own. “Fine.” I pulled away and reached for another textbook off of my shelf. “But this better not be some party galore trip, okay?”
“Oh my gosh! I am so happy you said yes!” she squealed, ignoring my stipulation as she grabbed her phone. “I’m calling the hotel now.”
“Claire, wait. Maybe we should—”
She slammed the door shut behind her and disappeared into the hallway before I could finish my sentence.
“Ugh.” I fell onto my bed, trying to re-organize my study notes and thoughts.
Had I lost my mind?
Possibly.
No, I definitely had.
“Oh, forgot to mention.” Claire re-opened the door not a second later as she peeked her head through. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Copyright Kate Lauren 2023 thewriterkate1@gmail.com
CHAPTER TWO
I Y L A
“Iyla!” my mom shouted up the stairs. “Hallie’s here.”
I looked down at my phone, noticing it was exactly nine a.m. I wasn’t surprised— Hallie was nothing if not notoriously on time.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I called back down, hastily applying another layer of mascara.
“Iyla?” She did that parent thing where she continued to call my name even though I’d already answered.
“I said I’m coming!” I reached for a clip to tuck a stray piece of my hair out of my face, taking a final glance at myself in the mirror.
Here we go. Life’s about to change.
I glided down the steps as my parents stood in the doorway with my suitcases lined up beside them.
“Have you got everything you need?” my dad asked.
I nodded, anxiously reaching for the front door as I spotted Hallie standing in front of her car, donning a massive pair of sunglasses and a ridiculously oversized beach hat. “The day has finally arrived!” she cheered as I made my way over to her.
I shook my head in laughter. By now, our whole family was unphased by the theatrics of Hallie Jennings.
“Why hello, Larson family.” Hallie pulled both of my parents in for a gigantic hug.
After my adoption, my parents were adamant that we would be a one-and-done family. Then, they gained a second daughter in Hallie somewhere along the way.
“Now, you take care of yourself, young lady,” my dad teased Hallie as I pushed my suitcases into the trunk. “But I know you’re tough as nails, and we don’t need to worry about you.”
“Have a safe trip, my lovely.” My mom kissed her cheek, the waterworks filling her eyes.
“Aw, I’ll miss you guys.” She pulled them back in for a second hug. “I’ll see you soon. How’s Thanksgiving sound?”
My parents smiled as they released her. “Perfect.”
Hallie gave them one final nod before she made her way back over to the car. “LA, here we come!” she sang with a grin, obnoxiously shaking her car keys in the air.
I half-smiled, tucking my hair—which I’d apparently done a terrible job clipping up—behind my ear.
“I’ll give you a few minutes.” Hallie placed her hand on my arm before she hopped into the driver’s seat.
I hadn’t prepared myself for this moment: the dreaded goodbye. I’d known it was coming, but any time I thought about leaving my parents behind, tears would well up in my eyes. I’d always try to suppress the thought, telling myself I had time. But now, the time had come—and just as I had imagined, I was a blubbery mess.
I’d like to believe that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Almost 19 years ago, one phone call changed my parent’s entire life, and since that day, I hadn’t left their side. Now, there I was, heading right back to the place where I was last alone. Ready to start a new beginning. Ready to begin a new chapter.
