This Is Not Really Happening

I grabbed my purse, jumped into my Kia Solace and screamed out of the condo’s garage, barely waiting for the gate to fully open. I arrived at Daniel and Madeline’s old high school after midnight, making the journey from Houston to Baton Rouge in less than 4 hours. As I pulled up into the school’s parking lot, my thoughts turned to the last time I was here. It was at Madeline’s graduation. It had just been a couple of months after Daniel was shot. He was supposed to be up there with her. She refused to walk. I screamed, yelled, and guilted her onto the stage because that’s what a great mom I am. Getting out of the car, I noticed there was something different about the building. It was hard to define, but…ah, the school mascot was gone.

I walked over to the front of the building to find the sign saying, All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church. I forgot; they moved the school since Madeline graduated. Did she want me to go to the new building? I didn’t know where it was! I was about to prompt Jimbo when the front door to the building opened and out ran Madeline. I dropped my purse and ran towards her. When we hugged she buried herself into the crook of my shoulder. Her hair had grown out, it was a beautiful wavy brunette curls––curls was Dmitry’s best gift to her.

“Mom…I thought I’d...” Madeline started and she broke down.

“Shh, it’s okay, Love. I’m here. I’m here.” And then I, too, burst out crying. “I’m just so glad you’re alive!”

I lost two years of my life with her. I held her as if trying to take them back. After almost a minute, we released from our embrace. “Okay I got to pee.”

Madeline giggled as she wiped tears from her sleeves. “Well, come on in. The Unitarians gave us sanctuary.”

Us?

Madeline led me inside the former school building where I found a couple of men and women standing watch. Slung across their chests were assault rifles. On their body armor was a patch with the signature Unitarian chalice and flame.

I snorted. “Y’all are Unitarians?”

The middle aged guy nodded. “We’re a more…proactive branch.”

“Wild. So, what do they call you, the Thomas Jefferson Martyrs Brigade?”

“Mo––om,” she bemoaned with embarrassment.

Madeline nudged me past the militant pacifists over to the girls bathroom. After taking a long overdue potty break, Madeline met me outside and took my hand.

“This way. I want you to meet some of my friends.”

The former high school still had lockers along the wall and she guided me into the cafeteria where about a dozen people sat. They varied in age from early twenties to a couple of people approaching retirement age. They were deep in discussion when one of them stood up. She was stunning, a redhead wearing a flowing burnt orange dress. She seemed to be about my age. As she glided over to me, something itched at the back of my mind––familiarity. I saw the glint in her eyes, and registered the slight crook in her smile. I blinked rapidly trying to make sense of it when I finally stuttered, “Heather?”

She held her arms out. “Rhiannon. You look ravishing.”