// Marcel Styles P.O.V //

“Mr. Styles, hush,” Derora tried to stifle her chuckle.

Suddenly, everyone froze. All I could hear was the outside commotion, the creaking of the ancient cabin, and shallow breaths of the man wielding the object in his hand.

The tall, African American, lowered the stainless steel object in his hand, his stagnant face slowly cracking a faint smirk.

Byron then fell to the ground in a heap of laughing, wheezing, and coughing fits.

“Ah, gets them every time,” the old woman chortled. "At least I still got a couple scares in me."

So...they weren't going to kill me? Was this a prank? Oh, what a cruel one.

"What do you want from me,” my voice quivered.

“Aw, look at that poor baby, he’s shaking like a leaf in the late September wind,” the woman shook her white mane. " I would give you a hug, but you lookin' mighty scarce from passin' out."

Derora's hands gently unraveled my legs from her waist and set me onto the wooden floor. My arms protested against loosening from her shoulders as my heart pounded against my ribcage.

Byron recovered, climbing off the floor and flicking tears from his eyes. "Mama E., you is funny! I bet he pissed himself so hard, he don't even realize it," he said, shaking his head as he held his stomach.

For some reason, that comment took way too long to sink in...

Oh, shikranietsetites...

My face grew red and hot, tightening with embarrassment. I had let go of my bladder for a mere second.

"Derora," the batty woman scuttled over, throwing me odd looks, "is he disabled? Does he need to sit down? I didn't think I would scare him that much."

"Uh, he did somethin' to his knees, so that's why we brought him here," Byron told her.

"So you want me to fix him up?"

I sharply gasped, binding my arms around Derora. That batty woman wasn't coming anywhere near me.

Calloused hands came up to rest on the back of my forearm. Derora's thumb created and rubbed soothing circles into my skin.

"I don't think Mr. Twig will want that," the old woman squinted at me as she turned her great, white mane to face Byron, "Maybe it's best if you fix him on up-"

"Uh, ha," Byron gave a short laugh, "Hell to the N and O."

Byron's brown, blazing eyes met mine, forcefully telling me not to protest. He'll get over it. "

---

The wood behind the door creaked. I waited several minutes, but no one came inside. I was honestly thinking about jumping out of the window beside me...or attempting to until Byron strolled in, very ticked off.

“Do I gotta do everything myself,” he mumbled. “Pull both of your pants legs. If you have any questions, do consider not asking them. Kapeesh? Great. Don’t need an answer.”

Frowning, I did as I was told. Rolling up the fabric cuffs carefully proved to be very difficult. Crap...
I had on Harry's tight jeans. Harry's going to be so upset with me. This particular pair of pants is one of his favorites.

"Um-ouch!" The dark jeans grated harshly against my lacerations.

Heat radiated from Byron's hand as he cautiously placed it behind my calf. Byron swabbed the burns with some antiseptic and applied some odd smelling ointment on my injuries.

Did he know what he was doing?

As he massaged the odd substance that oddly felt relieving, Derora came in. Her eyes fell to my knees. “Yikes. Did you find any extra bandages for him?”

“Nope. Just gauze and cotton.”

There was an awkward silence.

After he finished tending to my knees, I looked up at him, not saying a word. Curiosity filled me. What did Byron want to be after high school...If he finished high school? He was excellent at maths. Math, I corrected myself. Did he have medical experience? Did he want to be some sort of doctor? I urgently wanted to figure him out.

“What?” Byron shot me a cynical expression. I blinked up at him.

“Do you expect to get a lollipop, too?”

“That would be nice,” I responded, not adequately thinking to my full capacity.

Why Marcel?! Just why?!

"I-I meant it would be nice if you actually had one, but-but," I stopped mid rambling. Man, I felt stupid.

Byron shot Derora an incredulous look. He clicked his tongue. “Sorry, homie. Ain’t got one on me...well, that’s if you’re not considering my lollip-”

“Byron, no.” Derora half-whispered in a stern voice, her nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Whatever.”

Byron strolled out of the room with his shoulders squared.

Derora glanced around in silence. She seemed to be thinking hard about something. "Derora?"

Derora gave me a small smile. “Sorry. Um, well, I'll leave you to yourself. If you just happen to have another mishap,” she paused, examining me, “Mama Euwella can fix you up. All you have to do is holler.”

Something niggled at the back of my mind. I was getting the sense I already knew who Mama Euwella was.

“Please don’t leave, stay,” I pleaded, attempting to stand.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Derora said, rushing over to me and helping me sit back down on the wooden stand that seemed to be the most sterilized object in the dusty room.

She sat on the ground a few feet away on wooden planks that had obviously seen better days without termite holes.

“Derora,” I spoke after nothing but silence was exchanged between us. I was wondering about something. “Is this place like some sort of gathering? I mean- it seems as if half the town is here.”

She gave me a conspiratorial glance.

"You're lost, aren't you?"

I nodded.

She sighed. “Every September 26th, we celebrate Mama Euwella's birthday. Today's her one hundredth and third anniversary."

My eyes widened in astonishment. Even though the crazy woman looked old, she didn't look nearly one-hundred and three. I'll give her that.

'"Once every year, several generations somehow or another related to her, come to visit down in these parts."

"But," I paused, my eyebrows knitting together, "why so many people? These people can't all be her family-can they?"

"Yes, we are. One way or another. She’s the only member of the Clanston generation still alive or recorded that everyone in this town knows of. We call her Mama because her family is what made and still makes up the majority of Harrison. Almost everyone here is a product of the Clanston's."

"This land, I am assuming it belongs to her, does she live here by herself?" I asked, fiddling with the zipper of my jacket. I frowned at the blurry patterns and colors decorating the pockets. I could have sworn they were a different color.

Derora shrugged as she nodded. "I mean certain people come to check on her every once and awhile. Jar'din comes by once every three weeks at the max. Mama Euwella doesn't want anybody taking care of her."

"I guess it's exceptional and all that she's lived and remained on her own for so long," I paused, choosing my next words with precision, "but, did you ever think that maybe sometime sooner than you think, she would need some sort of assistance especially when she's so..."

"Close to death?" Derora sort of finished my sentence. I was going to say old, but that works too... "She’s 103. You can clearly see her time is winding up. And she knows it. My great-great-great-great? Well, however many greats-aunt isn’t all that bad, she’s just trying to make the best of life before she goes...that may include having a little prank every now and then.”

Taken aback, I gasped, then said with my chin raised, “That was not just a little prank,” I argued. “She scared me to death. I thought you all were actually going to stab me or do some Egyptian, African... V-voodoo, mummifica-” My rambling stopped.

Derora's small laugh lightened and added warmth to my heart. It was a very beautiful and melodious thing to hear.

"Dearest Mr. M. Styles," Derora sprung into life with a posh and half British accent, "I am truly and deeply sorry for your inconveniences today, and I am apologizing on the behalf of Byron, Mama Euwella, Jardin, and myself. If it's in your heart, please have the will to bestow your forgiveness upon us."

The bridge of my nose felt sore as I pinched it between my forefinger and thumb. I didn't say anything at first.

"What in the world is Ed teaching you," the tone of my voice maintained a flat like quality.

"Excerpts from Romeo and Juliet," she said plainly.

I exploded out in laughter. "Romeo and Juliet?"

"Yeah, we rehearsed the ending, you know where they both commit suicide."

The laughter in my voice faded away and my facial expression dropped like it was H.O.T.

"Oh."

"Kidding. Mr. E. Styles won't start The Art of Acting module until the second semester.

---

Derora maneuvered through the excited crowd and spotted a bench under a huge pine tree. She sat down and I followed suit.

"So how are your siblings holding up?" I asked out of the blue, twiddling my thumbs.

Derora rolled her shoulders as she thought for a moment. "They're doing fine, I suppose considering circumstances," she trailed off. Clasping her hands and resting them on the table, she stared at the pine tree above.

A draft of wind ruffled my messy hair, tingling my scalp. Suddenly I was reminded of the day in the cafe. There was one tiny detail from that day that nagged at the front of my mind.

"What about your father?"

Derora's eyes never met mine. She shivered. "What about him?

"Is he okay," I asked after a moment's hesitation.

"I...I don't...know," she swallowed, "Um..."

My heart broke a little. My mouth parted but no words were formed at the moment. I slid my hand across the table and took her hand in mine. They were so cold.

Her chest lifted as she inhaled. "He's still in a coma and probably won't be coming out of it soon...or at all."

"Oh, don't speak like that," I said covering her hands with my own, her smaller, delicate hands in between mine.

I was going to bring her more words of comfort when several footsteps thumped our way.

"Sis," a familiar girl, I believe was Derora's sister, panted out," "Benji is having an asthma attack..."

"Where is he?" Derora stood up abruptly and followed behind her. I did also.

We steered through the dancing bodies moving to the blasted music.

Belatedly, we all found Derora's little brother lying against Byron for support, fighting and struggling to exhale and inhale. They were both sitting in the grass as Byron did his best to help administer the red canister of medicine.

Derora seized the asthma medicine from them and shook it close to her ear. Her eyebrows knitted together. "It's empty."

Waves of anxiety washed over me as all I could do was watch as tears rolled down the little boy's cheeks.

"Byron, lift his arms," Derora instructed. Byron did so with no questions asked. "Benji, listen to me, This is probably going to hurt- a lot. I'm sorry, ok?"

Benji could only let out a nasty, dry cough.

Derora crouched down in front of Benji and placed her right hand on his-well if I remembered correctly-his left thorax. She positioned her index finger under his armpit and then quickly probed and massaged the spot before rolling a small patch of skin underneath her fingers. Benji grimaced in pain as she put pressure on that particular spot and mildly massaged it. "Benji, inhale deeply. Big breath, come on now."

Watching the horror in front of me reminded me of a time when I used to have bad asthma attacks. Harry would always keep an extra inhaler with him in case, just for precautions.

Something clicked in my brain. I examined the pockets of the jacket. This was Harry's jacket!

I lightly pat the pockets and reached in the left pocket to retrieve the purple inhaler.

I handed the purple object to Derora. She confiscated it from my hand and momentarily hesitated. A nervous and audible gulp left my throat. There was a possibility that the inhaler wouldn’t be beneficial for him and might make symptoms worse.

Clicking the cap off the mouthpiece, she administered the inhaler to Benji. Almost immediately, his breathing regulated. They helped him up.

He nodded to their constant inquiries to as if he was okay.

“Byron! Derora! ” My head followed the familiar voice to find the woman I saw earlier in the parking lot. Byron’s mom? She ran towards us. There wasn't a baby on her hip this time.

“Um, there’s an emergency and I need to leave. I’ll take the kids with me, if I don’t come back in time, you’ll need to get a ride.”

“Why can’t I come?” Byron asked as he let go of Benji and passed him to Shanti.

“You don’t need to,” she replied almost coldly, giving him a ‘don’t challenge me’ eye. But, her eyes seemed dazed and far out of reach.

An expression washed over Derora’s face that I could not discern. “Yvonne is it…” she trailed off for confirmation to the question she didn’t want to finish.

Yvonne gradually nodded.

I tilted my head to the side and observed and noted that there seemed to be some sort of mutual understanding between them. What is going on?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Byron’s jaw and fists clench, though it was dark and I had forgotten my glasses. Night time had settled on the horizon faster than I had expected.

A faint crackling sound came from his tightly enclosed hands. He turned on his heels.

“Derora, baby, watch him for me. You know how he gets when he’s angry. Just-,” she sighed, gave a short nod, and hurried back into the direction she came from.

Conflicted emotions flashed in Derora’s chocolate eyes. Worry? Sadness? A little frustration?

As if a sudden realization hit her, she mouthed something and took off running in the direction Byron had.

Fizzlenits! She was fast. I could hardly catch up with her.

Bellowing exploded from the shadows of the high grassed clearing, so I rushed over, but just as fast as it had started, it was completely quiet and all I could hear was the chirping of crickets and could only see the glow of fireflies igniting at different intervals around me.

My ears honed in on the sound of chirping crickets, the wind, and the distant rushing of the waterfall. I thought I heard something.

Crunch.

I whirled around.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Notes

The ending is not supposed to be suspenseful. I just figured the chapter was way too long and needed to break off somewhere...