Atancia Read online

  Atancia

  By Wren Figueiro

  Copyright © 2013 Wren Figueiro

  All Rights Reserved

  Victory London, Editor

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Atancia

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 1

  I woke up gasping, stunned by the fact that I was alive. The light was barely creeping through the corners of my window shade. I sat there staring at that light for a long time. Had that really been a dream? Was I still dreaming? Or was I dead and this was all a joke of some sort meant to keep me disoriented? I decided I better try to move to see what happened. I slid to the edge of the bed and put my feet on the ground; it certainly seemed solid. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the lights. I was a scary sight in the mirror, but I was there. I wouldn’t see myself if I was dead, would I?

  I couldn’t believe it had just been a dream. I was so certain it had happened. I was driving on the highway on my favorite kind of day: cloudless winter in Miami. I had the windows rolled down, and the crisp air reminded me that it was almost Christmastime. It was bright too, sunny and pleasant. The day was perfect. Then I heard a loud bang. I barely had a moment to register that my tire had blown out. I lost control of the car as I was driving up an overpass. The car hit the railing on my right and flew through it. I could see the shingles on the house below me. A lone thought flashed in my head, that’s it then. And then I woke up.

  I couldn’t believe that it hadn’t happened. Maybe it wasn’t a dream at all, but a premonition? Was that how I was going to die? I had no idea what it would be like to have a premonition. An overactive imagination I was used to, but an actual flash of the future? I didn’t think it was possible. Well, at least I hoped it wasn’t possible.

  I stopped staring at myself in the mirror and decided I’d better get ready for school. This was finals week after all. It was my first finals week, actually. I’d started college in the fall, and so far, it was going great—well, the academic part was, anyway. I had to keep it together if I didn’t want to mess it up.

  I got in the shower and started to sing; that always helped me to calm down, but this time all it did was help me space out. I couldn’t remember whether I had washed my hair. I did it again just in case and told myself that I really had to wake up. I turned the water to cold and shivered for a moment before turning it off. That worked well. It was even colder once I pulled back the curtain and let the air in. If I lived up north, everyone would probably laugh at how cold I felt in a house that was maybe sixty-eight degrees, but in Miami that was full on freezing. I dried quickly and went to get dressed.

  I found Nana in the kitchen making her daily papaya smoothie. The scent of fresh citrus filled the kitchen as she squeezed the juice out of two oranges and poured it into the blender with the papaya. She said she couldn’t function without her magical blend every morning, but I wasn’t fond of it myself—too much orange. I opted for a granola bar and kissed her on the cheek before going out. “¡Buena suerte! Good luck with your finals!” she called as the door was closing. I loved that she always remembered the things that were important to me. So many of my friends complained that their parents always forgot everything they were told, but not my Nana. Then again, since she wasn’t my parent I guess it might have made a difference. Maybe she just appreciated me more since she never had children of her own.

  I shivered a bit as I got into the car, but it wasn’t because of the cold. I flashed to that last scene of my dream, looking at those shingles through that same windshield. I took a deep breath and turned on the car. I played with the CD player until I found my favorite song, determined to focus on the lyrics and not think about the dream anymore. As I pulled out of the driveway, I saw Mrs. Ramirez wearing a tennis outfit and carrying her racket as she got in her car. That did not help my focus. Instead it reminded me of something horrible that had happened the previous week, something I was trying not to think about.

  I put the car back in park as the memory flooded through me. A girl I knew from school, Luly, had called me to play tennis. I’m not a very good player, but I guess she was desperate. We had gone to the courts at the community college because they were free and usually emptier than the ones at our school. She was about to serve when we heard a scream coming from the court next to us. A woman was running to the opposite side of the court, where a boy had collapsed. He couldn’t have been more than 13. Luly and I ran over to help. She dialed 911 while I grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse. At first I could feel it, but then all I could feel was my own pulse pounding in my head; his was fading and mine was racing. A coach teaching a private class a few courts down ran over and performed CPR, but the boy didn’t respond. I overheard the paramedics say he probably had a heart defect, but they couldn’t say for certain. It was the worst thing I had ever witnessed in my life. Nana had suggested I find a counselor at the college to talk to, but I told her that it wasn’t like high school. Honestly, I had no idea if there was a counselor to talk to. I just didn’t want to have to talk about it.

  So there I was, the first day of finals for my first semester of college, and I couldn’t drive past my mailbox because I kept thinking about dreams and things that I couldn’t control. “Get a grip,” I told myself and put the car in drive.

  I don’t know how I managed it, but I got to school, found a parking space, and made it to class in time for the test. The room had the usual deep scent of institution, or at least that’s what I called it: carpet, wooden desktops and dry eraser smell mixed with something I couldn’t quite identify. I was glad I had studied the night before; if I had left it until that morning to cram, I would not have done remotely well. I finished the exam before everyone else, as usual, and got out of there. I just wanted to go home so that I could rest for a while and not worry about tests or dreams, or bad experiences.

  Stepping out into the open air hallway, I couldn’t help eyeing a couple making out against one of the pillars by the corner of the building. They were making a bit of a spectacle. Did they seriously think that was appropriate? They were in school, for goodness’ sake. And it was finals week! I would never understand my peers. I was so distracted berating them in my mind that I didn’t see a group of girls blocking my way and bumped into one of them. My heart made a weird thump like if it had skipped a beat, but I figured it was anxiety from realizing how stupid I must have just looked. I apologized to the girl and kept walking.

  I managed to get to the parking lot without any more mishaps, but as I got to my car door I couldn’t get in because a guy was getting into the passenger seat of the car next to me. My heart thumped oddly again. This time it felt more like a
muscle spasm. I got in the car and wove my way out of the parking lot. I made it to the entrance for the highway and sped on.

  I had never paid much attention to what the road looked like. I am the kind of person who could get lost coming out of a store in a mall. I just don’t pay attention to my surroundings, so I had never noticed how this ramp went up above the cross street to get onto the highway. I looked to the side: There were no houses under the overpass, so this couldn’t be the scene from my dream. Plus, the day was unusually cloudy for a winter day in Miami. I was about to press the button for the radio when I noticed that my fingers were tingling. It was like the pins and needles after they fall asleep. I shook one hand out at a time, not wanting to let go of the wheel entirely, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. Then I noticed that my toes were tingling too. My heart started beating rapidly, and I didn’t know what was happening. Was I having a heart attack? Was that possible? What were the odds that I would watch a kid have a heart attack the week before and that I’d then have one myself? I probably shouldn’t be thinking about odds. But what if I was having a heart attack? My arms were tingling too, and I could feel every quick beat of my heart. I was going to crash if I kept driving. I was going to have a heart attack and crash and hurt someone in another car, and what would Nana do without me? I had to pull over.

  The next exit was just a few yards away. I didn’t know what was there once I got off, but I figured I’d better stop somewhere to call 911. I didn’t know if I could make it before I died and hit someone else, but I had to try. I turned onto the exit and saw there was a gas station right at the end of it. I pulled into the station and took out my cell. “Hello, yes, I’m having a heart attack,” I told the lady who answered and then I lay my head on the steering wheel and opened the window to inhale my last breaths. The stench of gas and exhaust fumes was suffocating. How long until the ambulance came? How was I still alive? Did it take this long to have a heart attack?

  Finally I saw the lights of the ambulance, and I opened the door to my car. I waved at the paramedic as he pulled into the gas station. He ran to my side, and his partner followed. They checked my pulse and asked me if I could see them. I was breathing so quickly, I couldn’t think. They performed a couple of tests and then told me to focus and breath with them. The one was counting: one, two, three, four. He got to seven and told me to let the breath out slowly. He counted again, until eleven this time, forcing me to exhale for that long. He kept me doing that for a little while. When I seemed calmer, he spoke. “You weren’t having a heart attack, sweetie. It was a panic attack.” I just stared at him blankly. “You had a panic attack. You need to concentrate on your breathing, you’ll be OK.”

  “A panic attack?” That was crazy. I don’t panic. I am always in control of myself. I don’t let nerves stop me from doing anything, not even singing a solo—which is something I dread. I don’t even drink at parties so that I never lose control. I can’t have a panic attack, I argued with myself. The fact that I wasn’t dead from a heart attack didn’t help my case.

  “Have you had anything traumatic happen recently?” asked the paramedic. “That’s what usually triggers them.” I told him about the boy at the tennis court, and he smiled sympathetically. He said that was probably what had brought on the attack. I felt so ridiculous I couldn’t hide low enough in the blanket he had given me. He told me I should probably call someone to drive me home but otherwise I would be fine.

  After the paramedics left, I sat in my car deciding what to do. I didn’t want to call Nana, that would just worry her. I didn’t really want to call anyone, and there weren’t that many options anyway. I didn’t want anyone knowing what an idiot I had been. How could I possibly explain something this silly? It took about ten minutes for me to decide that I should try to see if Luly could come pick me up. We really weren’t close enough for me to ask this kind of favor if she was far away, but she was probably still at school and could get me on her way home. I didn’t want to tell her about the panic attack though, so I decided I’d just say there was a problem with my car. After all, there was a problem with my car: I couldn’t drive it.

  When she got there, I told her that I couldn’t drive my car home and asked if she could take me to school the next day and then drop me back at the gas station so I could get my car. She was a little annoyed but agreed to do it. She had finals too, and this was going to mess with her studying schedule. She usually flew through the information for a test the morning that it was taking place. I thanked her profusely and told her not to worry about the timing. Her first test was at 10 a.m. but I had no problem just sitting in the library until mine at noon.

  I couldn’t say much about what happened the rest of the week because I think I just lived it in autopilot. I took my tests, got my car, and tried not to think too much about what had happened. By Friday night I was exhausted and relieved to have survived the week. Nana came into the living room and saw me sitting on the couch flipping through channels. “No plans tonight?” she asked.

  “No, I just want to relax. It was a tough week,” I responded.

  “You seemed extra stressed about tests this time. A few times as I watched you study you almost looked jittery, couldn’t sit still,” she commented.

  “I know. I guess it’s just nerves, first finals in college, you know?” She just nodded and sat down next to me.

  Just then my heart thumped again. I tried to focus on the channels I was surfing. “Oh, stop there,” said Nana. “You know I love mysteries.”

  Hesitantly, I stopped pressing the remote. I didn’t think that watching a murder being solved was going to help my mood. As the characters discussed how the victim had been killed, I started to hyperventilate. I hoped that Nana wouldn’t notice as I timed my breaths. Seven in, eleven out. I shifted my eyes from the TV to see her expression. She was staring at me worriedly. “¿Estas bien, Atancia?”

  I don’t know what happened but in that moment, as she was looking at me with such concern, I couldn’t help myself, and I started to cry. “Atancia, what’s wrong? You never cry. What’s happened?” asked Nana. She was right, I didn’t cry, especially not in front of anyone, not even her, and she was the person I trusted most in the world.

  “I d-d-don’t know,” I sobbed. “My heart’s been doing funny things all week, and I had a panic attack on Monday. But I don’t know if that’s the reason my heart keeps skipping a beat. I don’t know what to think.”

  “Calmate,” she tried to soothe me. “It’s all right. You’re probably just releasing all the stress from the tests.”

  She hugged me then, and it made me feel so much stronger that I realized how tired I had been before. The combination of stress from the panic attack and my finals must have taken more out of me than I had realized.

  She took a deep breath and said, “You should have called me when it happened. I can take it.” She looked so tired as she said it, that I wondered if she was doing all right herself.

  I smiled at her and said, “I know, Nana, I just didn’t want to worry you.”

  I could see she should be in bed, but she insisted on sitting with me and watching TV for a couple of hours. We picked a happier movie, a romantic comedy that made us both laugh. My sweet Nana even made us some hot chocolate, which to her meant melted chocolate with a touch of milk, not the other way around. I inhaled it deeply. The sweet, dark aroma was comforting. It made me feel warm and safe, the way I always had when Nana helped me get through my troubles.

  When the movie was over, Nana said, “I always thought the time I’d see you cry would be because a boy broke your heart.” I made a face at her, and she laughed. “What? It could happen,” she responded.

  “I’d have to go out with a boy in order for one to break my heart. There’s no threat of that happening any time soon. I’m hopelessly uninteresting, I suppose.”

  She scowled and said, “You are the most interesting person I know.”

  I snorted.

  “No really, I’m not just sa
ying that because I raised you. You are very interesting and very pretty and very kind-hearted. One of these days, some smart boy is going to notice and then get the nerve to ask you out. You intimidate them you know.”

  I just smiled and thanked her for the compliment, but I knew she was saying it because she loved me, not because it was true. I didn’t think I was ugly or anything, but something about me was just off. True, I had attended an all-girls private high school, so dating opportunities were scarce. But even when I was somewhere with plenty of boys, they just didn’t talk to me. I think I put out an “I’m scared to talk to you” vibe. I was terribly awkward in social situations. I never knew what to say to strangers without looking like a freak.

  I was contemplating how pathetic that was when Nana sat up straight on her cushion and clasped her hands loudly. I turned to her and she had this expression of enlightenment on her face, like she had just thought of something brilliant.

  “Your heart!” she exclaimed. I just looked at her blankly. “That’s it. That’s what she meant. I thought she had meant it metaphorically, but this must be what she meant,” she rambled. I had no idea what she was talking about. She stopped and took a deep breath before starting again.

  “Before she left, your mother told me two things. The first was that if anyone came asking about her, we should disappear. The other was this: ‘If she ever starts to worry about her heart, tell her to seek the light of peace.’”

  “Seek the light of peace?” I asked.

  “That’s what she said.”

  This was the first time Nana had mentioned my mother since I was about 12. Then she had simply told me that my mother had moved into the apartment building where Nana was living. She was pregnant and alone. Nana decided she needed a friend. She helped my mom set up her apartment and even went with her to Lamaze classes. The day after I was born, my mother started to cry. Nana asked her what was wrong. My mother told her that she didn’t know what would happen to me if something happened to her. She was worried that no one would take care of me. Nana calmed her down and told her that she would take care of me, that my mother should not worry about that. Nana thought that it was just the hormones. She didn’t think that something would actually happen to my mother. Then, about a month later, my mother carried me to Nana’s. She told Nana that it was an emergency and that she had to leave me behind.