"I'm exhausted," I said, as I rubbed my sore muscles. Erin shook her head in agreement. I had been trying the triple ramps again, only succeeding in skidding down the last hill on my backside. Erin had laughed her butt off, until she stumbled after the first ramp, and fell flat on her face.
I yanked my hair back in a pony-tail holder, and watched as Erin thumbed through my journal. She stopped at the last 5 sketches.
"Lynn, you got an obsession for these kids or somethin'?" she asked.
"I dunno. They just sorta showed up." Erin nodded.
"You don't know where you've seen them before?" she asked, shooting me a skeptical sideways glance.
"Nope."
She sat down the journal, then rose to her feet. She sat down on my bed, and began to read one of those cheesy Irish romance novels that Julia had given me. I took a pencil from off the dresser, and began to doodle.
To my surprise, it wasn't those kids. It was Julia, tall and slender, her auburn hair tumbling down her shoulders, penciled in a dark gray. Her fine-boned face, her long skinny legs; all were becoming a definite picture of a lady that I considered my mother.
Then, I drew beside her, a short lady. She was thin, doll-like. Her face was round; cat eyes set perfectly around the small button nose. Her hair was dark, but it was vibrant and shimmered down to her waist. The lady had cupid lips. I couldn't sketch her colors, but I knew that the long dark hair was unmistakably chestnut, and her eyes were deep evergreen with illusive brown specks. Momma.
The first memory of before the house burnt down clouded my mind, my vision was hazy, covered by a dull void. I had never remembered anything like this, but now I was, and I was coping well. But my eyes wouldn't open, and my brain kept on rolling the long film that was a memory.