amelie

TW: themes of abuse/harm

“Ah, Amelie, what has brought you here this early? I just had my morning tea, dear!” Ms. Bowen tsked, making me regret my decision to come. It was early, just barely eight o’clock, but I couldn’t stay in my house anymore.

“Nothing much, just needed some air, you know?” I said, twisting my hair in little ringlets. It swept over my face gently and I tucked it behind my ears. Ms. Bowen was my neighbor down the street, a seventy-one-year-old woman who always had some tea cakes laying around.

“Yes… well, do you want some tea? Or coffee, if that’s what you like now,” she responded, patting the seat next to her. I sank into the seat, wrapping my arms around my torso, still feeling some of the fingerprints etched into my skin. I winced. Ms. Bowen looked at me with a hint of concern in her eye.

“Amelie, my dear, are you alright? Do you need medicine?” she worried, starting to get up.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just a little sore from dance practice last night is all. And, I’ll take some green tea if that’s alright.” I said, lying through my teeth. I didn’t do dance, much less any competitive sport. I’d rather sit and play a board game or go thrift store shopping. Ms. Bowen got up from her seat and beckoned for me to follow her inside.

“I just got some new teas yesterday, and I went on this lovely tea farm tour,” Ms. Bowen said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled brightly. We walked through her vintage home, random couches that she got from flea markets in the eighties scattered everywhere.

“That’s nice,” I replied, inhaling the fumes of her very strong perfume. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, it smelled like the beach mixed with berries. It sounds bad but it’s not that bad at all, trust.

We were quiet for a little while until we finally made it to the kitchen. I glanced at the magnets and papers on the fridge. Some pictures of her and her old dog, Jess, and some of her and her best friends. There were wedding invitations to people who had just had their twentieth anniversaries, and multiple hand-written letters of thanks from numerous people. You can really tell who someone is by their fridge.

“Here, Amelie, let me show you what I got,” Ms. Bowen said as she made her way over to her tea cabinet, loaded with bunches of different flavors and remedies. She even had a few tea plants growing in her garden.

“Look, here’s mint, and here’s smoked brisket, which I was reluctant to purchase, believe me, and a few other tasty ones! My favorite is the caramel vanilla, but you know me, I like the sweetness in my tea!” she remarked, with a little laugh. I smiled, my lip quivering a little.

“So, do you want any of these, or regular green?” she asked, preparing her own cup of caramel vanilla.

“I’ll try the caramel vanilla, I guess,” I answered. She smiled, lips pressed, and started humming a song.

After she finished pouring the tea, she made her way back outside onto the swinging chair.

“You know, Amelie, I’ve been meaning to ask you, where has your mother been?” Ms. Bowen asked, whistling over her scalding tea. I froze, remembering the sudden sound of my mother’s curdling scream. That was the last time I had heard her in a while, and we hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks.

“Ah, she’s been on a women’s retreat, somewhere remote. She said that it would be for her to heal, I think,” I replied. I hated lying, especially to Ms. Bowen, but lying was all I could do. I couldn’t tell Ms. Bowen about us.

Not yet.

“I see,” said Ms. Bowen, “it is a shame that she won’t be able to see your Christmas dance recital.”

I cocked my head in confusion.

“Well, all dance teams have a Christmas recital, no?” she explained, taking a slight sip of her tea.

“Oh, we, um, we haven’t scheduled anything yet really, our dance team isn’t that strict,” I said, crossing my legs over. Ms. Bowen nodded and then continued to ask me regular questions about school and all that.

“Amelie, do you have a boyfriend?” she asked, smirking a little. My face flushed and my heart pounded as I thought of him.

Caleb, my mind screamed. The boy who had taken all the love songs when I heard them out in a grocery store, the boy who had gotten all my poems.

Caleb, Caleb, Caleb.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend, Ms. Bowen,” I answered, the tip of my ears reddening. Ms. Bowen tilted her head and then laughed a little. “What?” I said, the smile on my lips widening.

“Nothing, it’s just that your ears get red every time I ask that question, Amelie!”

I nearly dropped my tea and then sipped on it, trying not to choke. Ms. Bowen laughed again, and I joined her in the laughter.

“It’s okay, my dear, boys get complicated in high school,” she said, patting my shoulder.

I hadn’t kissed anybody yet, but if I did, it would be Caleb.

Suddenly, Ms. Bowen stood up, knocking over her tea. “My dear…” she murmured, and picked up the teacup.

“Oh, here, let me help you!” I exclaimed, placing my tea on the table beside the chairs, and then bent down to help Ms. Bowen sop up the tea with a towel she had brought outside.

“I’m sorry, Amelie, I’ve been losing my balance lately, I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Ms. Bowen said, rubbing her neck as she got up, gazing at the trees dotted in front of her house. I sighed and then went over to her, offering her my hand as she stepped over the slight puddle of watery tea.

“Well, it was nice having you over, Amelie, but I have lunch with some of the ladies from the nursing home where Susie is, so I must be going,” she stated, smiling. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, though.

I felt my stomach turning. I knew that I couldn’t stay here forever, but I didn’t want to go back home.

“Alright, Ms. Bowen. It was nice of you to have me. Thank you for the tea.” I said, standing awkwardly by the door. “You’re very welcome, anytime, Amelie,” Ms. Bowen said, and then walked into her house, leaving me to close the door.

I closed my eyes for a bit and then took a deep breath as I walked slowly back to my house. Richie and Felicity were used to me leaving randomly, but usually not this early. The fingerprints in my torso seethed again, and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. My footsteps slowed and my heart raced as I reached house number 521.

I opened the door slightly, not making it click like it always did. That was a trick I learned a while ago.

“Amelie.”

The scratching voice boomed from somewhere upstairs, and I stopped in my tracks. My brain was like an old record player. I couldn’t hear what was going on, and there was terrible feedback.

“Yes, Richie?” I responded, quietly tip-toeing up the stairs.

“Where have you been, bird?” he asked, the nickname sending chills through my body. My middle name was Wren, and I used to love it, but now it was only a constant reminder of him.

“I went to Ms. Bowen’s house, sir,” I said, now face-to-face with him. His eyebrow raised and then he sighed, turning away.

I let out a big breath, and then tip-toed in my socks to my room, where I didn’t even have to open the door.

Felicity was in my room, and my clothes were all thrown on the floor.

“Amelie, where did you go?” she asked, not looking up from her fixation on my shirts.

“Uh, I went to Ms. Bowen’s house, the neighbor…” I said, my brain going fuzzy.

“Yes. I remember her. She offered us biscuits and tea when we first arrived in the neighborhood. I am allergic to the tea she offered us.” Felicity said, holding up a pair of scissors to my favorite shirt.

“May I ask what you are doing, Felicity?” I asked, my voice narrowly trembling as she began to cut up the shirt.

“You have too many clothes. I decided to get rid of a few.” she explained, and the back of my throat burned, tears threatening my eyes. I swallowed hard, tasting mucus. This was not the first time this has happened.

I walked out of my room silently, leaving Felicity to cut up my clothes. It was worse when she cut up my mother’s, though, and I didn’t know where any of her stuff was now.

We moved into Richie and Felicity’s house when we’d been sent from the social worker’s office, after living in a few apartments and cars here and there.

“This is going to be better than what we’ve ever had, my little Wren, I promise,” she had said when we spent our last night in our car. And I wanted to believe she was right. I really did.

I peered into the bathroom and then exhaled as I closed the door, clicking the lock that I forgot wasn’t there. I felt my bottom lip quiver as a single tear drop stung my face. I quickly grabbed a square of toilet paper and then dabbed it up as my hands trembled.

As I exited the bathroom, a soft knock came to the door. I learned not to open the door for anybody before both Richie and Felicity came up first, so I went upstairs and then told Felicity and Richie that somebody was at the door. Felicity dropped the scissors and then brushed her hair with her fingers as she stepped carefully down the stairs. Richie stared at me with his soulless black eyes and then grabbed my wrist. I stood there silently, like a machine as he twisted it slightly, and then tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. I tensed up and then sucked in my stomach as he slid past me, grazing my arm with his knuckles.

I followed him soundlessly as he joined Felicity at the door. I went behind the kitchen door and then waited.

“Hello?” Richie’s scratchy voice echoed from the house.

I heard mumbles from the other side, then a polite laugh. The house smelled like honey almost immediately, the same way Ms. Bowen’s house smelled. I closed my eyes for a moment and then slowly stood up, my knee cracking. I walked towards the door, my breath hitched. I saw a glimpse of gray hair, and then Richie moved, blocking all of my sight.

I walked more towards the door, I could see Richie’s back shoulders arching, then relaxing.

“Ah, is that Amelie?” the woman at the door, now who I could see was Ms. Bowen, asked.

“Yes-” Felicity started, cut off when Richie put an arm around her, his fingernails digging into her thin shirt, meeting her skin. Felicity didn’t even tense.

“No, she’s not here, she went out with a friend when she got back, Patty,” Richie said. I wasn’t even allowed to go to a friend’s house or anything like that.

“Oh, that’s a shame, I was wondering if she wanted to go shirt shopping with me!” Ms. Bowen chirped, her dangle bracelets clanging. Shirt shopping. After Felicity cut up most of mine.

How?

“Also, I would like to see how a certain bikini I saw online the other day looks on her figure!” she added. Bikini, which involved seeing my torso, which was covered in bruises in the shapes of fingerprints.

I felt trapped.

“We’re sure that Amelie would be up for that, but she just went shopping with Felicity yesterday, and so she has plenty of clothes- and bikinis. But thank you, Patty!” Richie said with a foreign hint of cheer in his voice. Felicity nodded, adding “She basically has two times her regular wardrobe now!”

Half the size, Felicity, thanks.

“Oh well, maybe another time,” Ms. Bowen said, her voice still cheery. Richie nodded and the began to close the door.

“Wait!” Called Ms. Bowen, stepping forward a bit. Richie tensed up a bit, and then shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I brought some tea for Amelie, it’s her favorite,” she said, handing Felicity a bag of the caramel vanilla. Felicity thanked her solemnly, and then Ms. Bowen spoke again. “I also have a special homemade tea remedy for you, Felicity, made with my hand-picked tea leaves.”

Even I knew that it wasn't tea season, that wasn't until about March, and it was only December. But obviously Felicity didn't know that.

"Thank you, Patty," she said, briskly taking the bag. Ms. Bowen smiled, nodded, and turned away, just as she had done earlier.

Didn't she have lunch with nursing home ladies to attend? I brushed off the question and then returned to the bathroom, where I lingered for a second before exiting and wandering into the kitchen.

"Amelie, Ms. Bowen stopped by. She gave you and me some tea," Felicity said in a monotone. No mention of shopping, of course.

"Tell her I said thank you," I said, keeping my voice quiet. If it got too loud for Felicity, she would call Richie. When she called Richie, I had no choice but to never speak again.

"Well, I'm going to make my tea and you can make yours now." Felicity stated. Now, or never.

I nodded and then walked over to the counter to start the pot of hot water, and then I caught a glance at the ingredients in the tea that Ms. Bowen had given Felicity. It was Chamomile tea, and Felicity was seriously allergic to Chamomile. I felt sweat start to form on my forehead, and my hands shook as I grabbed my bag of tea.

I didn't tell Felicity, though.

I watched as she hummed a terrible song while pouring the steaming water into a cup.

I watched as she placed the bag of tea into the water.

I watched as she stirred it with a silver spoon.

I watched as she placed ice in it.

I watched as she sipped on it slowly.

She took her lips and licked them, then nodded, smiled, and took a big gulp.

I never called 911.

I watched her as she died.

Not once did she call for Richie.

Suddenly, a sharp knock came at the door.

I walked to the door and then opened it, finding Ms. Bowen. She smiled at me, her big blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Amelie, how does she like the tea?"