Chapter 1: Livia

When I was a kid my Babcia told me a story of how when you die, God comes and takes your hand and guides you away from the world of man. He takes you up a mountain top and you look down at your entire life.  Every moment and every person. You see every person you have loved as well as wronged, and you are to asses whether or not you did good in your life.

As I child I thought it was a fairy tail. A whimsical bitter sweet fairy tale. Looking back I know realize it was her way into scaring me into behaving. She would also read to me in Romanian, about how demons would come and talk misbehaving children. She would then tell me to be good, kiss my forehead, and leave my closet door wide open so the demons could attack me if I tried to stay up past my curfew. I feel as though that was her more drastic approach. Maybe this was why I thought the "God's Mountain" story was such a wonderful and cheery tale.

At the age of 19 I did not have much to show for. The only thing I had was my grades. Due to my lack of a social life, I spent my time doing homework, or on Netflix and reading. I did not like community service. The 400 hours I had was from my Babcia not giving me money for shoveling the snow in the winter (only to have a snow plow ruin my work).

I was a bitter person. I was highly annoyed with people. Such as those who took advantage of others. Reckless people, who do not even stop to consider others. Specifically the people who simply assumed I was a grump because I could not relate to them about pop culture. Unless they were talking about Harry Potter, Doctor who, Sherlock, and Lord of the Rings or even worldly educated topics like politics or science I did not care. I was not going to engage in a conversation I did not care for- I had no intention of being fake.

Around a two years before I left for collage something happened. It tore the last fragment of hope I had and turned me into the pessimistic lump I became. My extended family were the ones I had always relied on but after that they fell apart. I was able to prolong it by being there for them but Babcia needed me to escape the poisons and depressing atmosphere of that house. I had applied to a random school that Babcia had approved of shipped of that summer to live there.

When ever I looked back at university there was always two classes I dreaded. Physics and communications. I loved science. Hell I wanted to be a scientist and study radiation, but math was not my strong point. The reason I hated that class was because my professor, Mr. Casey also taught calculus at the community down the road. I had taken Physics before. In Mrs. Julian's class we built catapults and video taped ourselves hitting flaming tennis balls. Then we learned about reflection and light. That was science. That was learning. Yet for some reason Mr. Casey did not think so.

The first day I walked into his class I knew I was going to fail. He introduced the class with :"Math is true science!" we spent the entire semester solving tedious formulas and measuring angles. That was why I hated that class. 

Then there was communication class. I did not like people. Hated them most of the time. I was one of those people who watched Netflix all day alone or who preferred self check out that way I could avoid talking to people. Naturally having to take a class where you learn to talk to people- and politely i might add- was my worst nightmare. The one phrase i feared with ever fiber of my body was "buddy up". Unfortunately I had to hear these words twice a week. One day something happened.

I met a boy name Joshua Jackson Petroski. This story is not necessarily about me- I am just the one telling it. This is about Joshua- well mostly. How we all have a story to tell. How we all have encountered something we would rather forget.  How by meeting Joshua and the others I was able to see everything ends. Everything around you is guaranteed to end. Weather it painful and slow, or is quick and unexpected like a tornado ripping through you life... well that's up to God to decide. Yet somehow the good becomes bad and the bad becomes good. And when the bad becomes good it is greater then that first rain drop that brings an end to the drought. Life is an ironic and sick joke but eventually- if you welcome it, you can see the good. 

This is how slowly I suddenly was able to shed the resent I cared and was able to become human.This is the story of the boy who taught me how to pan for silver. 

 

 

Chapter 2: What it means to be a Pach

[28  Months earlier - Connecticut]

When a loved one dies, there are certain customs you should follow 

1. Wear black

2. Cover all mirrors in the household

3. Long hair is to be pulled back. 

3. Open the windows.

4. Light a candle

5. To honor their memories you must wear something that was their favorite color

6. Minors must wear a black mourning ribbon 

7. The body must be displayed in an open casket for three days in the home of the deceased to allow loved ones to pray. 

8. At burial frankincense must be burned as a servant of the lord sends them to the father 

9. After burial there is to a feast that contains only round foods such as rolls, grapes, and hard-boiled eggs. 

10. If the deceased has passed on outside of the Mother Country, a relative is to present soil from their original home. This is to allow the departed to rest in the earth of their home. 

11. The hardest on of all... you should not cry. Because death is a part of life. 

I had broken the two rules by removing the sheet over the mirror to adjust my attire. I wore a black cardigan with a black circle skirt that was embroidered with red and beige flowers. I pulled at the pale red color of my blouse I wore underneath my cardigan and clipped my heart shaped locket around my neck. I then bulled back my long light hair and tied it back with a red ribbon. 

She loved red 

Then I did the hardest part. I reached into my top drawer of my vanity and pulled out the small bowtie pin that bore a tarnished bronze white eagle button on it. With a shaking breath, I pinned it above my heart. I grasped my locket that- just like the pin- once belonged to her. 

The tears started up and I rasped out "I need you" as I closed my eyes. I sunk down to the floor and cried into my wool skirt. You should not cry. She would not want you to. You are stronger than this. 

“You are not going to cry- you promised her." as said as I whipped my tears. The point of tying your hair back as a sign of mourning was simple, although no one in my family wished to admit it. It was to bare your emotions. You could no longer hide your tears- your pain. You had to face you loss. However, at that moment all I wanted was her back. 

I clasped my hands together and pressed them against my forehead. "Mira. I need you. You just-" I was cut off by a sob. As I clasped my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. I did not want the family to hear. They could not know I was crying. I took a shaking breath and composed myself I cannot cry any more. I stood up and brushed my skirt off and frowned at the tearstains in my skirt. I then covered my mirror and opened the door. To walk down the hall.

When I entered the sitting room I saw my Uncle Bazyli, Aunt Filipa, and Cousin Leo sit on the couches around the coffee table staring blankly. Their faces were bared, they wore crisp black, and their eyes- their bright beautiful blue eyes were glazed over with grief and were an angry red from the tears that threatened to fall. They had lost their daughter- I had lost my only friend. My parents were in the kitten- it was a rare occasion when the three of us were civil enough to gather in the same room. I leaned against the arch of the entryway of my Babcai's home- it was mine as well- and stared at my shattered family. The 

Bakowski- Pach family was a colony of prideful and penniless people, but we somehow still stuck together. Actual no- only the Bakowski side had managed to stick together. We Paches were distant, and hostile towards each other, and as I had said before- it was rare for the three of us to be in the same room. 

 There was a knock at the door, and my family members were in no state to move. All they were capable of was staring in disbelief at their current life. I walked over to the door and called out in Polish that I was coming. However before I could reach it, Babcia caught my elbow and coaxed me to a halt. I turned around and saw her aged face knitted tightly together with concern and grief. 

"Livya, were you crying?" I felt the water sting the brims of my eyes once more. 

"Babcia, we're all crying on the inside." I told her as I brushed her hand off my elbow and finally reached the door. I opened the door to see a man dressed in a dark blue suit and cap. 

"HI there, my name is Stewart. I am here for the Ba-cow-ski? Bacowski! I'm here for the Bacowski family." I looked over his shoulder at the large 12-seated van. I nodded my head at him then turned back into the house. 

"Yeah- it's Bakowski. I will go let them know your here." I said. The young man smiled at me warmly and nodded his head at me, and said, "Take your time." 

I turned and walked down the hall back into the seating room. I alerted everyone that the driver was here to take us to the funeral, but my relatives stayed in their shock-induced trance. I sighed and walked over to Aunt Filipa. I placed my hands on her shoulder and whispered quietly, trying not to upset her. 

"Aunt Filipa, we need to go. We need to say goodbye to her." My heart clenched at my own words, but I could not cry. Now I needed to be strong for the others. I had people in my life that were depending on me to take charge in this time of grief. Aunt Filipa raised her hand and rested it on my hand and whispered. 

"I'm not - I'm not going. I cannot -she is not gone. I don't want to go." Looking at my Aunt, she looked tired, and aged from the pain of missing her first born. I wrapped my arms around her and attempted to comfort her. 

"You have to go. She would miss you if you did not. You’ll disappoint her.” I told her. At my words the woman slowly stood up, and as she raised you could truly tell home much her grief had aged her. She nodded her head and whipped her eyes dry. 

"Leopold, Bazyli let’s go. “She snapped at them in such a way that for a moment I knew that I had gained back my strong level headed aunt. I gave a week smile at her and then say my parents walk out of the kitchen with red puffy eyes and my mother pulled down her black vial at the same time Aunt Filipa did. I sighed and sent a silent prayer to God for my family, and that Mira is finally at peace despite the domestic turmoil here in this home. I then went into the kitchen to grab the sunflowers and candle on the counter and passed them to Babcia. She looked at me in confusion when she say me turn back down the hallway. 

"Child, where are you going?" She asked me in somewhat of a hushed hiss. 

"I forgot something important. Mira will get upset if I forget it. I then turned into my bedroom and grabbed the porcelain jar that bore a painted Polska flag and a white eagle flag that had belonged to my Pradziadek Bakowski. My emotions were still raw and the jag felt like a boulder in my bag. Yet I held my head high because I knew someone had to. 

I walked out to the car with the flowers in hand and my eyes glazed over. I was thankful though. It was customary back home for the neighbors to pay a coach for the Deceased’s family to arrive in. We were fortuning that our Neighbors discovered this custom and kindly paid for it. It was comforting to know that in this small town, at least our culture was accepted. 

I turned back and looked at the klepsydra notice on our door and snorted at the irony at the phrase  Prosimy o nieskładanie kondolencji, because that was what we needed- condolences and support. 

 

 

The funeral service was horrible. Not many people showed up. Only us, our neighbors, and five girls from the same high school as Mira and I. We sung hymns to send off Mira on a pleasant thought. Then I was called to the front of the alter to represent my family as I lit the first candle and laid the first bouquet of flowers on her casket. As I did so, I brushed my fingers over the polished wood and whisper to Mira that I will miss her. My hand lingered there for a moment but I had to force my hand away before I began to weep profusely again. I then fisted my hand at the side and turned and smiled at the crowd as they clapped for me. 

Others then came up and laid down their own bouquet of flowers on her. Mostly roses and daisies- she hated daisies. Then again, my family was the only one who truly knew her. I shifted in my seat as Mira's Priest , Father Jonathan, spoke about god and welcoming the afterlife, the then rambled on about how this was all part of God's plan for Mira to leave this life young, and how it happened for a reason. I inwardly scoffed. Mira died because of the unfairness and recklessness of others. There was no philosophical meaning to her death; there was only the harsh reality that I had lost my best friend and cosine. No amount of words or anti- depressants could take that sting away. I would carry with me forever a wound. 

I remember shifting in my seat, because I had been seated next to my mother- who I had not seen in six years. I gripped Leo’s hand tightly. He was only twelve and he had lost his only sister when he needed her most. 

Those girls from school came up to say a Farwell to Mira. They let out dry forced sobs, and told false stories about her. One girl came up to the stage and talked about how Mira was her only friend at school, and had brought her to know God. I wanted to vomit. Everyone in the room believed their heartfelt forced lies about Mira except for me. Suddenly I heard my aunt Filipa call me up to the podium after she had talked about her daughter. I was prouder of her, that she was able to fight through the pain long enough to give Mira kind true words of love she deserved. 

I rose up, took a shaking step to the podium, and looked out at the small crowd before me. "Um... Hello, I am Livia Pach. I am Mira's cousin and she is my best friend. Mira was... she was perfection to me. She was that kind smiling girl that always loved everyone, and this was not fair. I think we can all agree that when an adolescence dies- losses their life, it is almost wrong. Mira was my best friend because we had been threw everything together. She had been there for me since before I was born. She moved here with me, went to school with me- and was just always there to make me smile. When I think about her I she her laughing and smiling broadly. Yet somehow she left use much too early. She was ripped from use on an unfair whim, and I will always have to carry that. " 

"No matter though... because I won't let her death ruins her. She has bright, creative smart, and she would have gone far. You know... Its odd Back home we have many traditions when it comes to a lost loved one. We tie our hair back, wear black, open all the windows, wear things like mourning broaches, and ribbons. Somehow, I cannot stop thinking what if she was here. Would she like this? Would this make her happy? Would she prefer daisies or sunflowers? Yet despite all these thoughts, I cannot stop thinking what I should have done.However, we should not dwell on that. We should focus on her memory, and what she did do in her 17 years. That is what is important. What is important is the sweet cherished girl that never got her chance to live life the way she dreamed of. So to that I say good bye to my dearest friend, Mira Louisa Bakowski.” As I set down the microphone I looked over to my family who smiled at me broadly with tears in their eyes, and I looked over at the five girls from school that three of them were leaving with their heads hanging. I let my hand linger on the aluminum lining of the coffin as I say Mira for the last time. 

Mira was lifted up with all her flowers and memories onto the shoulders of four young men who carried her to her final resting place. I picked up her candle and walked three passes behind the priest in the place of the head of the household. 

The cemetery was damp from the morning dew, and the wilted flowers on neglected graves haunted the air. As we approached Mira's final resting place I saw the granite headstone that read her name, birthdate, and death. Then I smiled at the white eagle and the cross that had been carved into her tombstone. It represented her. Where she was from and what she stood for. They lowered her down into her grave and Leo griped my hand tightly as he tossed in sunflower seeds. I pulled him close to my side a leaned down to kiss his head. 

"She loves you so much." I told him I passed him the lit candle and let him place it onto of the head stone while Father Jonathan bid the Lord to take his child into his kingdom and watch over her. Then after the Aunt Filipa, Uncle Bazyli, Father, Mother, and Babcia had thrown a hand full of dirt into her grave. Then Babcia let out a wail and flared her arms around shouting in incoherent Romanian as well as Polish. Uncle Bazyli gripped her shoulders and told her to calm herself. She began to hyperventilate and she stammered out. "Poznan. Poznan. We need to return her." To this, Aunt Filipa paled and looked franticly at the priest. I jammed my hand into my bag remembering the important thing. I then handed the jar to Father Jonathan. At this, my family stilled. 

"Is this a custom of you home?" He asked me. I nodded my head and told him. 

"We need to return her to Poland." He gave a grunt in agreement and uncapped the cork for the jar and spread it over her coffin. Father Jonathan sighed and handed the porcelain jar back to me. To which I handed to Leo. Leo let out a sob and grasped the jar tightly. He had been holding in his grief at the loss of his sister who he had constantly pestered day in and day out- know I saw a little boy scared to go to school. His face was red and he buried his face in my cardigan as he cried out loudly for his sister. Leo was only 12 he was terrified of the other boys at school, and was self-conscious of his accent. He should have been concerned about where he would go to high school - not regretting not spending time with Mira enough. I realized then that Leopold was the one who was taking this whole tragedy the hardest. I brought him close and kneeled down to his level to allow him to sob into my neck. 

I watched with teary eyes as my younger cousin wailed steams of tears and the rest of my family fell to pieces. We regretted coming here to Connecticut. You could see it in the eyes of a tattered grief stricken family. She would still be here if we had stayed in our small village outside of Poznan. Leopold would still have his sister who he secretly adored, I would have my friend, and they would have had their daughter. Watching as the soil filled in on top of her, I could not see reason in coming here. It was pointless, and I felt myself becoming more and more resentful towards everything. 

However, I realized something. The casket was never opened. Nor did we have our three days of prayer. Then I realized why. You cannot have an open casket if the body is unpreventable. 

Chapter 3: Blank Pages

I sat in my seat in the exact middle of the room. Strangle enough was where I noticed I would stick out less. MY professor came in and she smiled at use and started the class. One by one we are suppose to stand up and say how we feel. The guy nest to me stood up and said my "name is Tom Carter and I'm pumped!" The class let out a frenzy of laughs and and cheers. I slowly stood up and brushed my pink hair out of my face and said,

"My name is Livia Pach-" I stopped talking when I heard some cackles and snickers come from the corner of the room.  I tightened my jaw and closed my eyes trying to calm down. Every day a group of girls would go into a fit of giggles and roll their eyes every time I talked. It was immature and I thought I left behind vain catty girls when I left high school. Apparently not. I turned to look at those four girls in the corner of the room and could here them talk about me. How my hair looked like I rolled out of bed, how I looked like I shopped at salvation army, and how I sounded like a man. I took a deep breath and locked eyes with one of the girls and looked directly at her.

"My name is Livia Pach and I feel highly exasperated." with that I sat down and started reading on my kindle.  My teacher was in shock because all I say usually is "I feel fine." or I come to class late to avoid the introduction.

Mrs. Gunther stood up and pointed to the board.

"Hobbies!" She shouted in a happy tone.

"Everyone has one. A hobby as an activity that you love to do to pass the spare time. this one of the best social skills you will develop. Whether it is one a first date, or making small chat. Finding out someones interests is key to building relationships and getting them to relate to you.  This is going to be our topic for the day. I am currently passing out the work sheets. I need you guys to partner up with one other person and fill the work sheet out about them." once we got the paper we stood up and people began shifting around trying to find their friends. I had non so I was simply trying to spot someone who was left over.

At the far side of the room I saw a tall man who had to be six foot and had wavy hazel hair. He saw me as well and pointed to me. I pointed to him as well and raised my eyebrows to which he nodded. We mad our way over to each other and sat down at a desk that wasn't taken.

"Joshua" He said with a warm smile. I nodded at him.

"Livia." I told him not looking up from my paper.

"Do you go by Liv?" He asked me after a moment of silence among a room of chatter.

"Do you go by Josh?" I asked him with raised eyebrows.""I introduced my self as Joshua, didn't I ?" He said sharply. I then looked up at him for the first time with a wide smirk and pointed my pen at him.

"Ohh" He said when he finely understood.

"Alright first question: What is your favorite sport?"  He asked me.

"Archery." I said quickly. I saw him jot it down.

"You?" I asked him

"tV show?" 

"Doctor Who." 

"Same. " I looked up at him truly shocked. 

"Favorite movie?" He asked me 

"Harry potter." I said under my breath not fully wanting to admit it.

"I prefer Lord of the rings." 

"book?"

"Harry potter and the Order of the Phoenix."

"What about you?"

"Write down Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis and The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. I also loved Tarzan."  the way he said Tarzan was as if he was speaking to a belated friend, or remembering a nostalgic moment from his childhood. Just the mention of the novel caused his heart to pound, his eyes to glaze over, and it became difficult to hold the pen in his shaking hand. I watched his blue pen wobble back and forth until he set it down and rung his hands as if he was squeezing the memories out of his large tiered hands- in the same manor you you do to to a rag to remove the water from it. 

I looked up at him with my eyebrows raised wondering if he was alright, and with out a second thought I wrote down Tarzan.  When he saw what I had written down he looked at me in a state of shock yet his expression seamed to soften and turned into a small smile that only I could see. 

We started chatting and forgot the assignment. I learned more about him then I would filling out that Little sheet of paper. When Mrs. Gunther asked us to pass in our papers she looked down and glared at me when she saw I had only answered 3 out of the 25 questions. 

"Livia may I please speak to you after class?" she asked me with a warm smile. I nodded by head at her and went back to my seat. I pulled out  my copy of  "Looking for Alaska" by John green and began reading. 

Mrs. Gunther began rallying on about good conversation and how to strike up a conversation. Which Ironic I had done flawlessly with out her help. Subconsciously I looked over at Joshua who was sitting two desks over. When I looked up at him I saw that he was staring at me. Yet I did not look down. I simply held his gaze. 

At the end of the class I slung the strap of my messenger bag over my shoulder and tried to hurry out of the classroom. 

"Miss Olivia." I heard Mrs. Gunther call at me. I turned to look at her and she smiled sweetly at me  in such a way as if she was expecting me to know what she wanted. As if I was below her. I was not one to submit or take orders so I just stared at her with pursed lips waiting for her say it her self. 

"Could I please talk to you?" I hesitated for a moment and started walking to her. I pulled out the chair and sat down across form her. 

"Olivia, I-" She started as she reached for something in her desk. 

"It's Livia by the way. L-i-v-i-a as in no 'O'. "  I told her bluntly. I do not remember ever liking Mrs. Gunther. This might have something to do with the fact she looked similar to what imagined Deloris Umbridge as. Except she wore yellow- not pink, and she was gangling  instead of stump like. 

Mrs Gunther did not look up at me she only mumbled something along the lines of "Oh that's nice." And continued rummaging throw the papers. There was something about Mrs. Gunther that I did not like. Perhaps it was the way she talked down to me, as if I was nothing, or how she acts as if I am not even there- as if she can't hear me. Actually there was quite a bit I hated about her. 

She pulled out the paper that I recognized as the work sheet. Which caused me to roll my eyes. 

"This is extremely disrespectful." She said as she held up the paper. I raised my eyebrows at her and said,

"Is that so? And how is it that only I'm the only one that's here? Funny because the other kids threw them away or made paper planes out of them? What about Cynthia hmm? She got up and left- didn't even bother."  

Mrs. Gunther didn't look up at me. 

"Were not talking about them. We're talking about you.""No this isn't talking. this is targeting. You mispronounce my name, don't respond to my question, and then send me out of class for yawning. No your singling me out for at least attempting to complete the work sheet. If your going to call me out for my behavior, you should correct Cynthia Schwartz before you aim for me." That totaled up to 47 incidences. 

"Cynthia Schwartz didn't have to miss a lecture because she needed her nose realigned." she said as she rung her hands. "Yet it's okay for her to snicker and cackle whenever I talk? I lived with the girl for two months, do you think she has anymore respect for you then she does for me?"

"That  is non of your concern. " I scoffed "your unbelievable" under my breath at her comment and pushed myself out of the yellow chair to stand up. 

"Where are you going?" "My shift. We're done here arn't we." "Not until you apologize for your behaviour" "Mrs. Gunther the definition for disrespect is 'lack of courtesy.' The first thing I've noticed about teachers is if your courtesy and fair to your students then they'll give you the respect and attentionsyou want. So I think you are the disrespectful one. So get a new victim."  With that I headed towards the door. 

"Pach I'm calling you Grandmother!" "Why? She barely speaks English. Even if she did, who do you think I copied my attitude from? You'd only be repeating our conversation." With that I turned and walked out of her classroom.  

 

 to be continued ....

 

(A/N : thank you for reading! I will be updating soon with chapter 4 and 5! If you would like to read more then please add me as a friend :) I have uploaded this book on Wattpad so if you have an acount then vote for my story and add it. It would also be wonderful if you could follow me. The link to my Wattpad is on my profile under contact. )

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 08.04.2014

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Widmung:
to my Great Grandmother