Gray Hearts Episode Five: Weed

Gray Hearts by Raspberry | Content warnings

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I don’t know how many days I’ve spent with Prin. Everything is blending together. I wake up, determined to leave. Prin has breakfast (warm bread, fresh jam, eggs, and crispy bacon) laid out before I even open my door, and her voice compels me to stop for a bite to eat. Then, we’re in the meadow picking flowers, or in the nearby field tending to her chickens and pigs and sheep. We have lunch on a picnic mat, and I don’t remember that I should be leaving until past sundown, when I’m washing up in my room and Prin is setting dinner out.

I’m not only losing time. It’s getting harder to remember where I came from and where I’m supposed to go. Memories of Quinn are distant and fuzzy, like she’s a book character from my childhood that I’m trying to remember and not my best friend for years. 

At least I’m think she’s my best friend. I’ve been writing everything I can remember about her in an empty notebook I found at the bottom of the wardrobe.

Quinn: Orange hair that she always insists is actually red, but it’s the color of fresh carrots when she’s in the sun so she isn’t fooling anyone. Her face is covered with freckles, and she used to pretend it was a constellation spread across her face because she’s an angel (but we all knew better). Her eyes are hazel, sometimes more green than brown, and I’ve always been a little jealous that her eyes are more special than my plain brown ones.

She’s waiting for me to come save her. Winter sucked her into a mirror at an antique shop after we had a fight, and I have to help her because I’m the reason she was in that shop in the first place.

When we were thirteen, she thought we could sneak into an R-rated movie if we wore a navy polo and black pants like the employees and pretended we worked there. But two thirteen year-olds in dress pants raised a lot more suspicion, and we were caught before we even stepped into the theater.

When she came out to me, I immediately hugged her and told her that her large collection of female wrestling posters made this not at all a shock. But I also felt something weird in my chest, like I was suddenly afraid the next sentence she said was going to be that she had a girlfriend and didn’t need me anymore.

She snuck us out to a Pride celebration when we were seventeen. She told her parents that she was at my house, and my mom… well she never noticed if I was there or not. She got a rainbow painted on her cheek and a giant sticker that said Love is Love. She gave me a pin that says Everyone loves someone: there’s nothing wrong about it. I remember feeling a weird knot in my stomach as I pretended to love it. It’s still in my dresser back home, like a reminder of a conversation I’ll never have.

I close the notebook and take a deep breath, letting the words fill my thoughts. When I read the book, I can remember more about her. I grab a pen and start to write about the time we ate too much caramel corn before trying to ride the Viking the summer we turned fifteen, and now she can’t stomach popcorn and I hate amusement park rides.

“Iris, dear!” Prin’s voice calls. “Time for dinner!”

“Coming!” I call, jumping up quickly. 

There’s a shelf of porcelain dolls, and I slip the notebook behind them. I know Prin tidies up my room (even though I have no idea when she does this), and I don’t want to risk her finding this and destroying my link to Quinn. 

Prin’s scooping out more stew as I make my way to the table. She gives a warm smile, but her eyes dart to my room.

“What do you do in there with the door closed?” she asks in a mild tone.

“Oh,” I say softly. “Nothing really. I… like to lay down and rest. I feel a little tired sometimes after staying out all day.”

She pauses and then gives an understanding nod. An extra slice of bread is put on my plate.

“You’re tired because you’re using your energy trying to hold onto the past,” she says gently, sitting across from me. “Laying in bed won’t help you solve that, dear.”

At her words, I feel a small voice whisper in my head that she’s probably right. I spend so much time worrying about Quinn, but how much energy am I putting towards myself? I’ve wanted a vacation for a while, and here I am in a paradise but wasting precious time worrying about others. I shake my head and reach for my spoon. 

“You’re right,” I say in an even tone. “I’m trying… really.”

I don’t know if she believes me, but I don’t want to look up and see the expression on her face. Instead, I focus on emptying my bowl so I can hurry back to my room. I feel a pounding ache in my head, like a migraine.

I think I used to get migraines.

I can’t remember when or how, but the thought floats into my brain like a lifeline to a past I can hardly remember.

“I think tomorrow we should milk the cows,” Prin says slowly, like she’s lost in thought. “We can have some fresh milk for our teas, and I can make some butter later. Won’t that be lovely?”

“Yeah, it’d be very nice,” I agree readily. “Do you need help with the dishes tonight?”

Every night I ask, and every night I receive the same answer. She smiles and shakes her head.

“That’s kind of you to offer, but you’re still my guest,” she says with a wave of her hand. “You just go rest, my dear. I’ll take care of everything.”

It feels like her words have more than one meaning, but I never think that until I realize I’m sitting on my bed in my nightgown wondering how I got here. 

I stand up and put my ear against the door. She’s humming in the kitchen, and I take the notebook from its hiding place, trying to remember what I was thinking about migraines.

I got my first migraine during the fifth grade graduation ceremony. At first, I thought I was just being dramatic because my mom didn’t show up, even after I reminded her three times this morning that it’s today.

Then I thought it was because we all had to play “You Raise Me Up” (poorly) on our recorders, sounding like a flock of dying birds while parents politely clapped and acted like they enjoyed the show.

Then, the ceremony was over, and I was outside in the courtyard. The sun was out, and there was a nice breeze. The only sound was cameras clicking as kids took pictures with every distant relative that showed up to celebrate them leaving elementary school.

“Hey,” Quinn said, hopping on the flower bed to sit next to me. 

I wanted to tell her that sitting here is a bad idea, since she has a lacy cream dress that’s probably brand new. But there was a pounding behind my eyes that made it hard to concentrate on much.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her tone becoming worried. 

I felt her palm press against my forehead, and then she called her parents over. Her mom leaned over me while her dad looked on with arms folded across his chest.

“Are you alright, dear?” her mother crooned. “Where’s your mom? Where does it hurt?”

“Excuse me!” her dad called, waving an administrator over. “Do you have a nurse at this school?”

I burst into tears before I could help myself, and I felt myself wrapped into the first hug by an adult I had in a long time. I spent the next few hours in the nurse’s room, laying down while the nurse tried calling my mom and Quinn’s mom fussed over me.

I remember how her mom started keeping a steady stash of Excedrin Migraine medicine at their house since then.

Of course, that bottle was probably thrown away by now, I realize, my hand pausing above the paper. They probably got rid of everything that reminded them of Quinn, including anything that had to do with me.

That was the last page. I’ve filled every line with words about Quinn. About my life before Prin, which is, in all fairness, mostly Quinn anyway.

I need a new notebook. 

I glance around the room. There’s the shelf of porcelain dolls, all in frilly floral clothing. I open the wardrobe and shift the clothes, like I’d find a stack of unused notebooks. I peer under the bed, which is empty except for a thin layer of dust. The floorboards look… off though, and I reach my hand to trace the patterns. One of the boards is loose, and I pry it open with my fingertips. I reach inside and feel something hard.

It’s a notebook.

There’s another book under the floorboard. And another. I pull them out one by one and stack them next to me, sitting up and opening the closest one.

I know I need to get out of here so I can find Michael. But Prin is so kind, I’d hate to leave her all alone. 

I reach for another, a faded blue journal.

It’s been weeks, months maybe, and I’m starting to forget her face. I know she’s waiting for me to save her, and I feel like a terrible big sister. I can’t even say I’m trapped here, because I haven’t tried to leave.

And another.

I’m starting to forget who I came here looking for. 

And another.

I don’t know how I got here. One moment I was staring into a mirror, and the next I’m in a field. I can’t tell if this is all a dream… or the time before here was really the dream.

There’s a knock at my door, and I jump to my feet. 

“Who is it?” I call, kicking the notebooks under my bed quickly.

“Me, of course,” Prin’s light voice teases through the door. “Who else would it be?”

I jump on my bed, throwing the covers back and calling for her to come in. Hopefully, it looks like I’ve been in bed the whole time. 

“I brought you some tea,” she says, holding a yellow mug. “I thought I heard movement in here and wondered if you had trouble sleeping.”

“Oh… yeah,” I say with a sheepish smile. “I suppose I was tossing a bit, wasn’t I?”

I take the tea from her and hold it as she sits next to me in bed, giving me a soft smile. I wonder how many others she brought tea to like this. The stack of diaries under my bed seems to call out to me.

“Can I… ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Prin says, her smile unwavering, and I realize I’ve not seen her not smiling. 

“Was I… am I… I mean, have you had other… visitors like me?” I ask slowly.

Prin’s gaze travels around the room, drinking it in like she’s seeing it for the first time.

“I’ve had many visitors over the years,” she replies. “None like you, though, dear. You’re special… You all are.”

“What happened to them?” I press. “The other visitors.”

Her gaze hovers over the porcelain dolls, and I take a closer look. The fit of the dresses and the patterns on the shirts and trousers on the dolls are all floral, like the ones in my wardrobe. I feel my pulse quicken as I look at their porcelain faces, which, though different in facial features, share the same shocked expression. 

“They… found their peace,” Prin says, returning her attention to me. “And their home.”

A chill runs down my spine. 

Their home on this shelf, I imagine her saying. Where they’ll never leave me.

“Enjoy your tea,” she says, standing up, her soft smile feeling less warm now. “And don’t worry, my dear. You’ll find your peace soon, and all will work out for the best.”

I need to leave this place. Soon.