Chapter 17: Confusion, Part 1 

KALISTA

The serene current of blue water reappeared in front of me. I began to track the sound, searching for the crystal waterfall. Tiny butterfly-like flowers shimmered around rocks, bejeweling the emerald ground with a rainbow of colors. The sound of water grew stronger, playing a beautiful melody, singing to my soul. Fog floated in the air, gradually fading as I walked through, and bringing to light the same magnificent cascade falling like pixie dust on beautiful sapphire crystal water.

I sat down on the same large flattened rock, with its smoky, see-through surface, and the soothing melody slowly transformed into a nebulous humming. The pixie dust floated to the edges, as if a magic ball about to announce something. There, in the captivating depths, the silver orb reemerged, radiating a mystifying light. My eyes were riveted to its splendor.

The humming sound transformed into a hazy melodious voice. "Kalista..."

I stood up and stared at the depths, waiting to hear the beautiful voice again. "Come, come to me..."

I put my feet into the cold water without thinking. I walked down slowly, readjusting to the abrupt temperature shift, until I was neck deep in water. I pulled myself down and looked for the luminous orb, but my eyes only saw a pale blur moving afar. I pushed the water aside with my hands wide open and, as I got closer, I saw a hand waiting, stretched toward me. I reached it, and from the cloudy water, Tristan's angelic face appeared. He smiled at me with surreal silver eyes, like those I'd seen next to me in the snow. His beautiful dark hair floated like silk in a soft breeze, fusing with the deep sapphire.

I pushed my hand through the water to touch his, but when our fingers were about to meet, something jerked him down. His face stretched in agony and disappeared. I sank deeper and deeper, trying to find him, screaming like a ghost into the dark...

"Tristan!" I called horrified, sitting up with a jerk. My heart pounded in my ears. I pressed my hands against my head, trying to rid my mind of the frightening dream. The electric dots in my fingertips felt sharper than ever.

Realizing I was in my warm, dry bed, my breath steadied. The luminous red numbers on my desk clock announced it was time for lunch. I got up, still disoriented, and shoved the curtains open. An electric shock jolted my fingers.

I was so sick of this static thing.

It was a beautiful day outside. Some clouds floated in the sky, but not enough to cover the bright, golden sun. A shower didn't appeal much to me, so I decided to go down still in my pajamas. My dad was watching the Food Network in the living room, something about a chef making flat oven-baked bread topped with onions, herbs and other unidentified foodstuff. I was actually proud I'd recognized the onions. Herbs were generally green, so that wasn't a challenge.

"What is that? A pizza?" I asked, settling down on the leather sofa and pulling my knees to my chest.

"Well, good morning, or should I say," he twisted his wrist to glimpse at his watch. "Good afternoon?"

"I know it's late, but I was really tired."

"You still look tired."

"I think I slept too much. I had this weird nightmare...I don't know." I shook my head, confused. It was the first time I'd dreamt about Tristan.

"Nightmares can be exhausting," he said with his eyes lost into an invisible pain.

I knew that pain. My mom's death was still really hard for him to handle. I remembered hearing him screaming in the dark, shouting my mother's name. It was excruciating to hear his suffering. I was too small to fully comprehend why he was feeling like this, why he wasn't happy that my mom had become a beautiful angel. And I still couldn't even imagine that level of pain. Losing the person you love must be like losing your heart, your life. But my dad pursued living, enduring the soreness tormenting him inside while trying to give me all he could. His emotional strength was awe-inspiring.

"So, you never told me what kind of pizza you're learning to cook," I added smiling. Talking about these things always cheered him up.

"It's not a pizza, honey. Don't you see the difference? This is a lot better." He bent to write something down on one of the sheets that were sprawled on the table. "Mrs. Goodwill is going to love this recipe." She was one of the main characters in the new play he was writing. I still didn't know what it was about. He was really secretive with his projects.

"The difference? Sure..." I said, looking at what seemed to be a pizza with a bunch of holes. "Oh yeah...the sauce is missing. Is that what makes it more special?"

He laughed, making me feel like a total moron. "You know, Dad, I'm trying hard here, so your mocking is not encouraging at all." I hated everything related to cooking. There were too many things, timings and measurements. It seemed like math or chemistry.

He smiled. "It's Focaccia."

"Focussa?"

"No, Fo-ca-ccia." He corrected, articulating slowly as if I was mentally impaired. "It's Italian bread usually seasoned with olive oil and herbs. The dough is indeed similar in style and texture to the pizza dough."

"See! I wasn't that far off. You can't expect everyone to know everything."

"But I do expect you to know basic things like cooking pasta."

I narrowed my eyes. "That was a tiny mistake and it happened a long time ago."

"Tiny? You added pasta to the saucepan without water."

"You said you wanted spaghetti carbonara."

"Carbonara, not carbonized."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, I get it. I learned the lesson. Drop it please." Just one tiny mistake and I'd already been condemned for life.

On our way to Government the next day, Valerie gave me a quick update of their canceled trip to Alamogordo. Apparently, Owen had caught stomach flu on Friday and had spent the entire Saturday with abdominal cramps and headaches. I was glad he was back in perfect shape today. Too perfect, in fact. It wouldn't have surprised me if they'd planned this all along.

Around noon, I was starving. Skipping dinner and breakfast was something I'd promised to myself to never do again. I looked around the cafeteria for Tristan-it was almost automatic now-and what a blow, he wasn't there. Elan and Mingan were seated in their usual corner, though, eating pizza with two flirty girls. But the twin's eyes were focused on the greasy cheese, not on the blondes. I held back a smile and started walking, and then stopped as a hand landed softly on my shoulder. My stomach filled with butterflies.

I turned.

"Eating alone today?" Tristan asked with that half smile of his.