Family Is Forever

I have been watching the trees passing overhead for hours, it seems. At the last rest stop, William told me that I should lie down and get some rest because I am now closer to my family than I have been in months. In less than an hour, we will be reunited. I snuggle into the blanket he threw across the seat of truck and look at him surreptitiously out from under my own dark lashes.

His face is calm and controlled though I know he worries about the wisdom of allowing me to travel. I am sure that even he fears he may not be able to defend me again. I feel as if an aura of fear swarms across my skin and outward to anyone who comes too close. It has been a couple of months since the dragons attacked me at the carnival and nothing notable has happened. Decay has to be building up to something, for they refuse to give up on attaining me. I can feel it as if the slimy oils of their malfeasance have already touched my skin again.

I roll slightly and feel the ghost pains of the dragon's claws across my back. Could its blood have poisoned me? Is it possible that no matter what I consciously decide, my own blood may turn to that oil? I must not think of these things. I must remember that I get to see my family again. I get to hug my father and mother and take in their scents. I get to be comforted by their presence. I get to be near them. Maybe, we can even come up with a way for me to stay with them.

I adore the other superdudes, but they are not my family. They are not my parents. They are not the people who have been with me since the beginning of my life in a world that I fear I shall never understand. I smile to myself though to think of all my wonderful friends. I would like them to meet my family. I suppose I would like to have both worlds merge, but if I can not have both, I want it all to go back to what I knew before. I want my innocence returned, unmarred by the scars that mar my skin and fill my mind with such fear.

I try to calm down, counting the trees as they zoom by. I try to see fluffy bunnies and other innocent things in the occasional cloud that crosses my view. I listen to the reassuring beat of my own heart, beating out a rhythm, "I'm alive, I'm alive."

It is this singsong that lulls me to sleep. At one point, I feel the gentle caress of William's hand on my forehead, but then I sleep again. I sleep and do not dream unless what comes next is a dream.

William is shaking me gently. One hand is still on the wheel and both eyes are concentrated on the road, but the gentle smile on his face is for me, "Bellabooo, wake up. We're almost there."

My excitement wakes me up as nothing else can. I stretch gently, balling my hands into tiny fists and reaching them toward my toes which are still bunched up near my waist. Then I swing my legs over to the floor and sit up. Only then can I stretch out my legs. William pats me on the head, "Excited?"

I nod emphatically, peering into the side mirror through the streaked window to see if my hair looks okay. I frown at the white scars on my cheeks. Though my parents have already seen them, I wish they were not a part of me. I wish that I could be the perfectly ordinary little girl my parents thought I was before I proved to be a superdude waiting to supernate.

We pull into a gravel driveway. I assume it is a driveway because there are no houses on either side, but I can not see any house ahead of us either. As we come around a turn in the road, I finally see the house. It is more of a cabin, perfectly blending into the rustic scenery. Dark timbers have been laid one on top of the other to form the house. A fragile-looking porch of lighter, thin wood stretches out toward the road, overshadowed by a few smaller trees.

A porch swing with plump, beige cushions sways gently as my parents rise from it and come down the stairs to meet us. My father scoops me up into his arms, holding me close as my mother wraps her arms around both of us. As her cheek meets mine, I can feel the warm moisture of her tears. I breathe them both in, inhaling deeply for a moment.

Then I find myself being gently set on the ground again. My father turns his attention to William who looks as if he feels out of place. The two begin to shake hands and then embrace warmly in the half hug, half handshake of old friends.

"Thank you for taking care of my daughter."

"No problem," William replies, softly, as both their eyes turn to me.

I feel myself blushing slightly under their gaze. Even my own discomfort does not keep me from noticing the similarity of the look that both bestow upon me. For a moment, it feels as if I have two fathers. The moment passes and I find my mother's hand gently holding mine. I look up and she smiles down at me.

"Bella, honey, I thought we could bake some cookies while you tell me about your new friends," she suggests.

"Oh, cookies," I say.

Baking cookies with my mom has always made everything seem so much better. It may be because I tend to eat most of the dough, but I think it is because I like to talk to her. I always know she is listening, and that is when we seem to open up to each other. Something about the smell of sugar and flour and the feel of cookie dough on my hands can not be equaled for making me feel at ease.

It is as we are rolling little balls of cookie dough and placing them onto cookie sheets, that my confessions come to the surface, "Momma?"

"Yes, darling."

She smiles at me with those eyes that are so like my own yet not the same, for now they seem younger, less ravaged by time and experience. I pause for a moment, collecting my thoughts.

"Momma, why can't I stay with you and daddy?"

"Oh, darling, it's not safe. We can't protect you."

"But I love you. Isn't love enough?"

"Oh, sweetie," she says, reaching out her flour-covered arms to me.

I step into her outstretched arms and try to say it again, "Momma, I don't want to be away from you. I love you."

"It hurts us, too, my angel, but you know that no matter what, we'll always find our way back to each other. Families are forever."

"You promise," I ask, wanting to believe her words.

"I promise," she says, squeezing me tightly.

We sit like this for a while with the smell of cookies baking in the oven wafting around us and nothing but the sounds of our breathing and heartbeats to break the stillness. It is as we are sitting like this that William and my father come in. My father kneels beside us, wrapping his arms around us both silently. In the background, I hear William opening the oven and taking out a tray of cookies before putting another in. I smile a little, feeling some of my pain washed away in this moment, assured that nothing will truly separate me from the ones I love.