F.M.Pepper

DontBlink

S woosh! Swoosh! The muffled moan of air getting sliced.

Fragmented. Swoosh! A city square. A circle of people. A street

performer presenting a frightening knife- throwing show. His

concentrated stare growing strange, almost empty. The sparkling knives

twirling with incredible speed. The performer approaching. Swoosh! The

sharp blades collide, producing hypnotic sparks and screams of delirium

from the crowd. The exhibitionist coming closer. The darkening sky, the

intoxicating clinking and glistening of the knives, the buzzing of

excitement and… my brain processing all these images with monstrous

difficulty. The lethal blades arriving even closer. My trance abruptly

ended by a piercing voice from behind:

“Get down!”

At that same moment, I sensed that someone had pulled me down

and, as I turn to see who it was, I felt a chilling wind pass through my

hair. It only lasted long enough to hear an ohh!!! from the people around

me. Why was everyone looking at me? Stunned, I finally understood what

had just happened: one of the knives had glided from the performer’s

hand and flown straight at me. It would have definitely lodged right into

my neck if my reflexes hadn’t been so… so unbelievably quick!?

“Nina, are you okay? Are you okay?” screamed Stella nervously. “Oh

my God, that was close!”

“I’m okay, mom! Just a little dizzy.”

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C H A P T E R I

“Come on, let’s go!” She grabbed me forcefully by the arm and led me

away from the crowd. “My God, my God,” she mumbled, looking around

frantically.

“Calm down, mom. It was nothing!” I insisted, slightly disoriented.

I didn’t understand why I still felt so strange, but I wasn’t about to

mention this to Stella, given her current state of mind. Maybe my blood

pressure was low.

Once home, the anger brewing behind Stella’s eyes was evident! The

damage had been done.

“Get your things together,” she said shaking her head, disturbed. “We

leave tomorrow! Time enough to organize some things.”

“I don’t want to leave! Mom, we just arrived in Holland! This is

messed up!” I replied hysterically. “I began the school year in Oslo, soon

after we’re here in Amsterdam, and now you want to move again just

because I’m the unluckiest girl on the face of the Earth? Can’t you see

how this hurts me? Can’t you wait?”

“No! I got an amazing new job offer outside of Europe,” her voice

becoming wobbly.

“I WON’T GO! We don’t need any offers!”

“If I turn this one down doors will close for me. Remember that I was

once at the top of my field not anymore. The market is so competitive

it swallows up people who don’t adapt. We’re going!”

“Why can’t I be like other girls my age? As soon as I start making

friends it bothers you. I want a NORMAL life!”

“What are you talking about? We’ve always had a normal life and…

I’ve never had any problem with your new friendships.” But the guilty

look in Stella’s eyes revealed the contrary.

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“Of course it’s no problem, I don’t have any friends! I don’t have time

to get to know anyone! I barely learn my classmates’ names! Does that

seem normal to you?” I inquired, my face sweating and shiny and my

eyebrows so frowned they practically obstructed my view.

“I get it!” I continued sarcastically, “Normal for you means starting

the year off in Warsaw, moving right away to Vienna and then ending

the year in Copenhagen. Kicking off the new year in Oslo, then moving

to Amsterdam, and later going who knows where which we’ll probably

soon leave anyway, then off to some other place, and then another, and

yet another,” I howled into the air. “As a matter of fact, Stella, that’s

probably why I’m so good at geography, isn’t it?” I asked, wrapping it all

up furiously.

“Don’t call me Stella! You know I hate that!” Then she continued, her

voice choking, “Please, honey, just keep it up a little longer,” she took a

deep breath with difficulty, “then we can settle in the city of your choice.

Things just need to simmer down a little.”

“What needs to simmer down?”

“It’s no big deal, nothing! I’ll tell you when the time’s right.” She

dodged the subject, as usual. “Hey! I didn’t even get the chance to tell

you where we’re going. It’s a place you used to love when you were little.

Want a hint?”

Overcome with sudden rage, but out of respect I managed not to

answer her asinine question belligerently.

“You’re not even going take a guess?” Stella insisted as a cowardly

smile spread across her face.

I remained silent.

“New York!” she shouted happily, waiting for my reaction.

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Bingo! Even though I was trying to stand my ground, my harsh

expression quickly softened. If there was one place that I had good

memories of, it was Manhattan. Not that I didn’t like Amsterdam, the

amazing canals, bike rides through the city, its peaceful way of life. But

something inside me was growing restless. I wanted more. I wanted more

people, more excitement, even more car horns, sirens, pollution and

escalators in my life. That’s it: I wanted more life in my life!

“We leave tomorrow afternoon,” she finished, noticing my improved mood.

“What’s the big rush, mom? Wait, you mean you’d already decided?”

“Nothing was decided! The offer came up and that’s it, okay? End of

discussion!” Her serious tone confirmed that her patience was wearing thin.

There was no point in continuing the conversation, Stella had crept

into her shell. Two triggers led her straight into that shell: the first was

discussing any matter she had already resolutely decided upon, like

suddenly moving from one city to another; the second, which bothered

me more lately, was mentioning our family, especially my dad. Stella

never talked about him. Our fighting had increased exponentially over

the past two years because I wanted to know about him, anything. Didn’t

she at least have a picture? I probably take after him in many ways. Stella

is dark-skinned, short and stocky, with black hair, just like her little eyes.

Totally different from me. My white skin, my lanky body, my thick light-

brown hair and my rounded eyes of the same color were all living proof

of the genetic inheritance received from my father. From her, I had

inherited never taking “no” for an answer and an untamable spirit. So

why couldn’t she tell me about him? I wanted to understand why. Did

he abandon us, was he dead? My distant stare was interrupted by Stella

opening the door.

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“I’m going out to take care of some details for the trip. While I’m gone,

pack your bags. We don’t have much time!”

No matter how upset Stella could make me, my love for her was

immense. I felt a heavy sense of indebtedness. The pain in her weary eyes

silenced me. I knew she loved me, but it was a strange love, warped

somehow. Maybe because we didn’t have a family. It was just the two of

us. Maybe there was some other reason. Every time we argued like this,

guilt would eat away at me. A while back, I even felt glad that she had

never remarried. I never wanted to have to compete for her attention.

Now, I honestly regret ever thinking that way. I realize that one day we

will have to go our separate ways. How will she manage without me? This

question tormented me.

We lived on the top floor, in a spacious old loft. My room faced south

and was brighter and colder than the rest of the house. Oddly, the North

Sea glacial winds managed to find their way through dozens of tree-lined

streets and hit my room head on. The loft was rented with furniture as

old as the building. The only new things were my clothes, shoes and

laptop. I pulled the suitcases out from under my bed and, not

surprisingly, they were less dusty than I expected, since they were in

constant use due to our nomadic lives.

It took just over three hours to pack our bags. Experience has taught

me what was essential. The determining factor was the weather and Stella

often chose cold places. To my dismay, this time would be different. It was

March, and New York would soon bake in the heat I ached for lately. I was

satisfied with the news, but my conscience sent out warning signals like

drops of acid into my bloodstream. I should have paid attention to them.

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We ate dinner in silence. Stella was more quiet than usual.

“Did you go out after you packed?” she asked, poking around her

asparagus soup with her spoon.

“I went to buy Dramamine, you know I need it for the plane,” I

answered unwillingly.

“Hmm. Did you talk to anyone on the way?” From behind her glasses,

her eyes observed me as she slowly sipped her soup.

“No, mom! I didn’t talk to anybody... wait, I did!”

She looked up, wide-eyed.

“I talked to the cashier at the drugstore!”

“Ah, Nina!” she sighed, relieved. I normally begin the conversations,

which Stella then happily contributes to. She usually asks about my day,

what I’ve learned, and if I’ve met anyone. Actually, I’ve noticed that she

gets more worried lately any time I mention talking to some stranger.

Since I was still bothered about our sudden move, I decided to keep quiet

during the rest of dinner.

“No problem. I’ll clean up. You’ve done enough,” she said sweetly.

“Tomorrow we’ll leave after lunch. We have to hand in the keys to the

car and the apartment.”

We never bought anything like homes or cars. Stella always rented.

“I’m spent. Good night.” It wasn’t the right time to chat.

“Good night, darling. And... Nina?”

“Now what?” I replied, with a bit of animosity.

She came over, touched my choker and kissed my forehead.

“I love you, baby. More than anything in this world.”

“I know.” I felt my chest tighten. I shouldn’t have been so rude. I

lowered my head and went to my room.

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I woke up sweating, with Stella hugging me tightly against her chest.

“Calm down. It’s only a nightmare!”

“Huh? Mom?” I asked, disoriented.

“Yeah, my love. You screamed, almost scared me to death. You haven’t

had nightmares for so long.” She looked me into the eyes. “What were

you dreaming about?”

“I don’t know,” I answered cynically.

“It’s better that way.” She took a deep breath and hugged me again.

“I’ll get breakfast ready. It’s getting time to go.” As she stood up, she

added, sternly, “Get ready.”

I lied. I did remember my nightmare, perfectly, and it was too

painful to remind Stella of what I had bitterly put her through. I had

had that nightmare many times before. When I was twelve, something

happened that deeply scarred our relationship. I had sneaked away to

go camping with two classmates. They had told their parents, but I

didn’t. Stella would never have let me go. I wanted so badly to go out

with other people, to have friends. We camped over a four-day weekend

and when I came home, my mom was in the hospital, in a state of

shock. She was so fragile! The strong and determined woman inside

her seemed dead. She was delirious, saying strange and meaningless

things. Her fever was high, mercilessly taking over her body and soul.

The doctors had no idea why.

But I knew the cause: me! Guilt ruthlessly pervaded my conscience.

The moment she saw me, she was instantly cured, but her face was sad

and disappointed. She accepted my apology, on two conditions: I could

never take a trip without telling her beforehand, and I had to wear a

necklace, some good luck charm of hers. According to Stella, it wasn’t

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jewelry. It was made of braided gold chains, simple and delicate.

Hanging from it was a strange pendant made of some unknown stone.

It wasn’t a precious stone, but it was certainly unique. Yellowish, very

sparkly, it exuded a scent that reminded me of lemonade. Although

pleasant, the constant scent initially nauseated me. My mom used to say

that I had a sharp sense of smell, but my friends say I’m just fussy. The

fact is that, since that day, I’ve never taken the necklace off. I believe

some deeper bond grew between us after that horrible episode. From

that day on, Stella senses whenever I’m in a difficult situation and always

appears out of the blue to save me. I enjoyed her spectacular arrivals

sometimes, but her “Wonder Woman” act has been suffocating me

lately, provoking a lot of friction between us. It got to the point of getting

rid of two cell phones just to keep her from embarrassing me. My

classmates used to make jokes about me, which made it even harder to

fit in. Less than a year ago Stella and I had a huge fight. After locking

horns in a psychologically battle, we finally reached a deal after I falsely

threatened to abandon her. Our relationship improved, a lot. There were

a few relapses on both sides, but nothing could shake our new bond. We

were at a happy point in our lives when we wandered into that damn

square. But, even so, I wouldn’t tell her about the nightmare. Why

dredge up the past?

Our departure day went well. It was cloudy and Amsterdam bade us

farewell with cold kisses made of raindrops. We handed over the keys to

the old loft and the Peugeot, and took a cab to the airport. Sitting in a

disturbing silence, Stella stared persistently into the old Mercedes’

rearview mirror. The taxi driver noticed her unease.

“Is there some problem, mam?”

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“No, of course not,” Stella said, exasperated. And, realizing she was

making me even more stressed, rushed to make an excuse, “Sorry, it’s

just that we’re in a hurry.”

“No problem,” answered the driver in a calming tone. “Traveling is

always a bit unnerving, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

But I knew. My mother was a thousand miles away lost in those same

thoughts that made us move constantly, the same neuroses that insisted

on tearing me away from everything around me, isolating me. I should’ve

been used to it by now, but it was becoming more unbearable every day.

I needed other people to complain to, tell my secrets to. I wanted real

friends! The few friends I had made got lost along the way, left behind.

Friendship requires presence, and I was never around long enough.

“Here we are.” The driver seemed pleased. I’m not sure if he was just

a happy person or if he was just glad to get rid of us, two weirdos.

The check-in would have gone smoothly if I hadn’t passed by a

newsstand and seen something that grabbed my attention.

“Mom, look!”

“What?”

I was shocked, terrified. “That street performer! He was… murdered!

They found him floating in a canal, full of stab wounds.”

Stella snatched the paper from me and silently read, not saying a word.

Her body was stiff and her stare blank. I didn’t like her reaction.

“Let’s go,” she said, in the driest tone ever. “We need to check-in.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Nothing. Why?” she answered ironically.

“You look scared... I don’t know,” I mumbled.

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“It’s your imagination.”

Something inside me insisted on asking ridiculous questions: Did Stella

know about the murder and not tell me? Was that why we were leaving in

such a hurry? No! Definitely not! Moving from one place to another was

just her bizarre hobby, and I should have been used to it by now.

BUT NO! In two months I would be seventeen and felt more excluded

and lonely than ever. What I had always kept hidden, I was now too

determined to show: I was unhappy! How could my mother think it was

normal to live in twenty different cities and countries in my brief lifespan

of seventeen years? Why did it have to be like this? I wanted a normal

life! I thought of celebrating my birthday this year, something I never

have the chance to do. There were various reasons: the first, although we

had a comfortable life, there was no extra money. It’s not that I saw Stella

squandering money on purses and shoes, but, somehow, the money

vanished. I know she earns a good salary for being an expert in her area.

My mom had specialized in a branch of contact lens production. I know

she chose this because she loves me. I was born with a defect on both

corneas. Even though I have perfect vision, my pupils have an

uncommon shape, thin and vertical, like that of a snake, lizard or feline.

I prefer the feline comparison. Scary, I know, but thanks to Stella, it has

never been embarrassing for me. She knew that such an aberration could

affect the way people treated me. As a protective mother and a very

intelligent woman, she rolled up her sleeves and started researching

different ways to make lenses. She discovered all the various types of lens

materials, models and shades that existed in the world. She became such

an expert that she was quickly snatched up by the ophthalmologic

products industry. I was raised like any other normal kid thanks to the

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special contact lenses I used. It was our secret. In the beginning, I wasn’t

sure if it was better to use them or not. They were so uncomfortable! But

Stella never gave up. With time, more durable lenses were created and

special-ordered for me. With everything done in secret, no one has ever

noticed. Most people think I just use normal contact lenses for my

normal light-brown eyes. I feel somewhat responsible for our nomadic,

solitary lifestyle because anytime Stella heard of some scientific

advancement in the area, there we went packing our bags bound for

another city or country. I now know that this job of hers serves as a

perfect excuse for her to keep making sudden changes, an escape valve

for her abrupt mood swings.

Another reason for never celebrating my birthday was that Stella gets

tense and even somewhat insane whenever this time of year comes

around. An age complex? Maternal neurosis? I never understood.

Ah! I forgot to mention that bad luck is a constant in my life. For a

single and neurotic mom this would have been almost too much to

handle. Now, imagine an extremely superstitious mother. Whenever

some abnormal event took place, it was a reason to move. Since I have

always been unlucky, I learned to block out the odd occurrences that

seem to constantly happen around me. I remember thinking that maybe

it was some problem with my eyes or my contact lenses, but I finally

realized that it was simply bad luck.

“I’m going to buy a sandwich. Do you want one?”

I snapped back to reality.

“No,” I answered annoyed, wondering if my school year would be

jeopardized.

“What’s wrong?”

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“I could fail this school year, mom. Aren’t you worried at all?”

“You’re an excellent student. You’ll be fine.” Her disregard unnerved me.

“What if the classes are totally different? And if I can’t finish?” I asked

hysterically.

“You always get good grades and, anyway, there are worse things in life...”

“Worse? Oh, no. Worse would be my mom living a normal life.”

“You don’t get it! If you only felt what I feel.” Her words escaped like

a scream from a tortured face.

“I don’t get it? I live with you! I’m the one who puts up with your

depression and selfishness! Do you even think about me?”

“Of course! These moves are for you.”

“What moves? I never asked to move!”

“Look! It’s almost boarding time. Let’s go. I’ll eat on the plane!” She

changed the subject and stood up quickly. “Let’s go, Nina. You’re so slow!”

“What’s the big hurry?”

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” she grimaced.

There she goes back into her shell. I threw my backpack over my

shoulder, grabbed my laptop and got in line, Stella right behind me like

a trained dog ready to defend me against any enemy.

“How annoying!” I grumbled.

She didn’t hear me. Or pretended not to. I decided to listen to my

iPod and not worry what her reaction would be. Clumsily, I let my

earphones get tangled in my hair and they fell out. When I squatted to

pick them up, I felt a sharp pain in my back and a strong shiver go up

and down my body.

“Bizarre,” I murmured. I shrugged it off and kept walking. I turned

around and saw Stella petrified with a persecuted look in her eyes.

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The flight attendant met us with a perky smile, pointing us to our

seats which only fed my rage, — probably she was thinking we had some

problem with numbers, some visual or intellectual deficiency. Yeah… I

was definitely in a bad mood. And flight attendants weren’t to blame for

me having to board yet another plane to another place where I had no

idea how long I would stay.

“Go, Nina! You’re holding up the line.”

“Fine!”

As I pushed ahead into the constricted space of the cabin, I felt the

shiver again. I felt weak for a moment and then collapsed into my seat.

Again Stella had that frightened look on her face.

“Now what, mom?”

“Nothing,” she answered grimly. She looked to both sides and seemed

to be examining each seat on the plane, one by one. Then, she sat down,

completely stiff.

I blew off the freaky occurrence and started flipping through

magazines. Tired of seeing ads, I read a few interviews, including a special

one about the new compilation album of my beloved Pink Floyd and

another one with Brazilian author Paulo Coelho. So cool!

After dinner, I took a Dramamine and slept, exhausted from our

fugitive-style departure. When I woke up, the cabin lights were off. It

must have been early morning because most of the passengers were

asleep, even Stella. I pushed her limp legs to the side and, taking

advantage of the calm, headed to the toilet. On the way back, I felt that

cold chill move down my spine and back up again. I trembled.

Instinctively, I turned around. Nothing! No one behind me. Still, I had

the strange feeling I was being watched. I looked around and everything

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seemed normal: men snoring, babies sleeping and drooling in their

exhausted mothers’ laps, some teenagers watching in-flight movies.

“Idiot,” I said to myself. And I went back to my seat. Suddenly, I felt

that strange sensation and, when I looked back, everything was the same,

except that I saw a black figure entering the toilet. Perplexed, I decided

to wait in the aisle until the person came out. Maybe it was ridiculous,

but I needed to know. Time passed and no one came out of the damn

lavatory. I was getting tired of waiting.

“Whoever it is must be feeling really bad,” I thought.

Just then, a seriously fat woman stood up and went towards the

occupied lavatory. Great! Now the person inside would have to come out.

What I then saw I couldn’t believe: there was no one in there! The woman

entered and exited calmly. It’s not possible! I was furious with myself.

This Dramamine is definitely too strong.

“Are you looking for something?”

“Huh?” I looked down and saw an elderly gentleman smiling widely at

me. From above, I could see his bald head full of freckles, his lackluster skin.

“Everything okay, Miss?”

“Yeah, sure! It’s all good. I was looking for a flight attendant to bring

me some water.” I lied. “She must be busy.”

“Or taking a nap,” said the old man, jesting and smiling.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling back.

At that moment, the “fasten seat belt” sign turned on due to some

imminent turbulence.

“I gotta get back to my seat. Bye.”

“See you later, Miss.”

While pushing Stella’s legs to the side, she awoke, startled:

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“What happened? Everything okay?”

“Everything,” I blurted with a long sigh. “I just went to the

bathroom.”

Stella looked at me sweetly and passed her fingers through my messy hair.

“You look so pretty. My little girl is a woman now.” A happy look

sprouted on her face which normally had a look of exhaustion due to

some unknown suffering. At least, it was unknown to me. I gave up on

asking. Today, I would accept my mother’s secrecy. If she didn’t want to

talk about her past, there must be a good reason.

“Now it’s my turn to visit the toilet. Won’t be long. It’s best not leave

your seat or talk to strangers, okay, honey?”

“But, why?”Before she could hear me, she was already out of my field

of vision. “Perfect!” I griped.

I suddenly began to feel my throat tighten, my tongue dry up and a

strong thirst overcoming me. And, as if by magic, a person appeared next

to me. Standing in the dark aisle, the person offered me a bottle of water.

“Hello, Miss!” whispered the nice old man from the back of the plane.

He had a distant gaze. “I remembered I had a bottle of water and have

brought it for you. Are you still thirsty?”

“Huh?” I asked, startled. “Wow! I... don’t know what the problem is,

but I’ve pressed the call button tons of times and nothing. Probably it’s

the turbulence. Hey, shouldn’t you stay in your seat? It’s dangerous!”

“Take it then, it’s yours,” he answered.

“Thanks.” I grabbed the bottled, tortured by my growing and

agonizing thirst.

From the moment I unscrewed the lid on the bottle and while lifting

it to my mouth, I saw bursts of lights and shadows. A shadowy figure?

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A power outage? Then a loud sound, accompanied by a blow made the

bottle fly through the air, spilling water in the aisle and knocking over

the old man. The boom woke everyone up, scaring them. The lights came

on. Stunned, I looked down and saw the poor man writhing violently on

the floor. Then I heard a scream and saw Stella arriving in panic, her face

wet and her pants still unzipped from using the bathroom:

“Oh, no! Are you okay, baby? What happened? What’s that liquid? Did

you drink it?” Stella said, yelping and stumbling over her words.

“What? The water?” Irritation pulsed through my veins.

“Yes, Nina. The water!”

“I didn’t have time to drink any. The turbulence... What’s the matter,

mom? Why are you upset like this? What’s happening?” I was outraged

by her attitude.

Chaos took over. Various flight attendants ran around trying to find

a doctor among the passengers.

“He’s having a heart attack!” screamed one of the crew members. We

only saw the poor man getting quickly carried away to some private area

of the plane. I shot looks of horror and condemnation at my mother.

Was it really a power outage or had Stella’s hysterical scream provoked

his heart attack? Did I see some figure or was it just the lights going out?

Did the poor guy bite the dust just because he came to help me? Finally,

the crew members stopped scurrying around and a deafening silence

took over the passengers, especially Stella and I. What had happened to

the man? A feeling of guilt engulfed me.

“I killed him.” I muttered, deeply saddened.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Stella.

“If he hadn’t gotten up to help me...”

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“Shut up! Everyone is looking at us. Stop, or else...”

“Or else what? I want an explanation!”

“I’ll give you one when it’s time.”

But she never did.

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