The Passing

About the Author:

Ella likes Ice cream, Donuts and hanging out with family and friends. She loves to play sports and be outdoors.

Kolmanskop Namibia, Africa, 1913

The tube snaking down my throat was not clear anymore, it was pumping out a the pale golden color, and my lungs were starting to feel better. There was still a granular feeling in my lungs, but the nurse promised it would be gone soon. I was trying to figure out two things: Why I was in the hospital? And why there was so much sand in my lungs?

Nurse Carry was saying something like, “In, out, in, out, nice job you are doing great. Almost done!”

As nurse Carry began to take out the tube, the numbing medicine slowly began to wear off, so it felt like something was scraping along my windpipe, which was exactly what was happening. Just as I thought I was about to let out a scream the tube scraped the roof of my mouth and slipped out of my body. I did not notice the other nurse who had entered the room. The nurse had a clipboard and a pen and was skeptically looking from me to nurse Carry.

“Are you sure she is ready?” The not-yet-named nurse whispered to nurse Carry. “Yes,” she replied.

“Hi Savanna, my name is Nurse Julia. I am just going to ask you a few questions about what you remember.”

The images flashed through my mind, my mother, my brother, the makeshift main lobby at the big house, the miners boots, the dirt on my hands, the dark diamond mine, and the shovel coming straight at my face and after that, nothing. Thank goodness the nurse's voice saved me from my whirlpool of thoughts.

She was saying something like, “Can you say your full name?”

“Yes, Savanna Skye Bardwell,”

“Ok very good, do you remember anything about how you got here?”

And just like that, the words came pouring out of my mouth like a river.

“I am from England and my mother owns very successful hotel, a big company asked her to run an ‘inn’ here in Namibia for diamond miners. There were many diamonds here so there were many miners and the ‘inn’ was always busy. I called it the big house because it was so huge. I remember taking my class there, they have a teacher so the few kids there can learn while their parents work. I took care of my brother Leo and helped my mom with chores. My mother told me I could visit the miners and help them if I wanted to, of course I did because I find it very exhilarating when a diamond is found. I was digging, and all of a sudden, a minor whose face I could not see hit me in the head with a shovel, it must have been an accident because I felt someone carry me into the big house. After that I remember nothing.”

Nurse Julia looked at me like I had discovered a magic gem, or like I had performed a magic trick.

Her mouth dropped open and all she could so was say, “Wow.”

I guess I don't have a concussion.

“Ok I think that is all of the information I need, nurse Carry, make sure you sanitize that cut on her head.”

“Will do,” replied nurse Carry

Moving my fingers along my forehead I came upon a cut. It was deep. I reached my hand into it. My finger sank into the blood and pieces of flesh. It did not feel like a normal cut. There was something inside of the cut, sticking to the blood. Then I realized it was sand, sand was all inside. As if this day could get any worse.

“Do you want a mirror to see the cut?” Nurse Carry asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

The nurse handed me the small mirror, so I could look at my mangled face. My blonde hair was pulled back and my hazel eyes were staring back at me with a tired look. The huge gash on my forehead was almost completely covered in the light caramel colored sand, it was funny because it almost perfectly matched my skin tone. As nurse Carry reached in to clean my cut I felt the stinging and the burning. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

A light knocking on my door woke me up.

“Hello, can I come in?”

The familiar voice said from the doorway.

“Sure.”

A boy who looked about as old as I was came in from the door. He had mud-colored skin with worried brown eyes. When he saw me, a gentle smile spread across his face.

“Rocco!”

I was so happy. I finally felt like I was on steady ground. Someone who knew where my mom was, was standing in front of me. All of a sudden I was overcome with questions.

“Hey,” Rocco said in a relieved voice.

“Hi, how did I get here?”

“I carried you.”

“Wait what?”

“I found you in the diamond mine. You were unconscious.”

“So you carried me four miles to the hospital?’

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Rocco was smiling his goofy smile. He never looked so funny. All I could do was laugh. We laughed so hard we cried. It felt so good to have one of my best friends with me again. We talked and talked. I was slowly trying to push the thought of my mother out of my mind, but the words slipped out.

“Why did my Mom leave me here? And where is she?”

Rocco's face went grave, “You probably do not remember, but the day you were knocked out was the last day of mining. The next morning was moving day. Your mother thought you were dead. Since I live here in Africa your mother asked me to take you to the hospital. I wondered why she would not do it, and she told me that the ship to America came once every week and she could not miss it. Especially with your brother and all of the other miners. She is in charge, so she needed to go.”

My brain was spinning so fast I thought it was going to spin right out of my head.

“Wait, why are we going to America?”

This seemed to be the only thing I could say. I was swimming in a river of questions, and Rocco’s answers were merely a life preserver keeping me afloat. I need to get to America, I need to get to America, I need to get to America. My thoughts danced through my mind. I was trying to dance with them, but I did not know the steps and could not find the rhythm in the music.

The days dragged on and on; the nurses cleaning my cut and asking me questions; the scratchy hospital sheets; the naps; the gross food. Rocco's daily visits. The minutes became hours and the hours became days. I wanted to get out. No, I had to get out.

It had been six days of being in the hospital, and the anticipation was killing me. I needed to see my family. At 12:00 the nurse came in to give me the poison they called food at the hospital. Then at 1:30 Rocco came. The conversation started off as usual, a light hearted time filled with jokes and questions. Then I decided to ask him my question,

“When does the ship to America leave?” I questioned.

“What?”

“When does the ship to America leave?” I asked yet again.

“It leaves in three days. On Sunday at 11:30”

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to get out of here and find my family. Will you help me?”

Rocco looked at me hesitantly, and the words that I wanted to hear most came out of his mouth.

“Yes”

That day we hatched a plan. Rocco would buy me new clothes and a backpack so I could blend in with the public and carry the medical supplies with me. He would then slip them to me the next day when he came to visit me. In two days, at exactly 9:00, I would pack the medial supplies, get dressed, and sneak out. This was perfect because it was two days after I got stitches.

That afternoon the nurse prepared the medical supplies for my stitches.

“Ok this might hurt a little,” nurse Carry informed me.

I felt the needle slip through the layers of skin. The thick black string followed. Now I was like a broken doll. I felt the needle slide into my skin another time. This time the stitches were pulled tight and one ripped my skin and popped out. This process repeated, through my skin, tighten, through my skin, tighten, until I felt a tight knot being tied in my head.

“All finished,” nurse Carry announced.

I just might need a cap to cover up my facial embroidery.

The next day Rocco slipped me my clothes and a bag. I was so nervous and excited. The anticipation ran through my veins like a river into the ocean.

The next morning at 8:00 I ate my last breakfast at the hospital. I then packed my bag with most of the supplies from the medical drawer: a bandage, sanitizer, a needle and thread, and more bandages. The supply drawer was not far from my bed at all, so I did not have to even get out of bed.

I then had to get dressed. Which was a tremendous struggle. I did not now how to get the IV out of my arm. I managed to get the tape off of my arm but the needle was very hard. Time was running out, and I did not know anything about how to take it out. I was panicking. I tried pulling it out but dry blood was crusted around it and it would not budge. That's when I realized what I had to do.

I pulled my arm back and the needle forward. I heard a snap. The IV was not too far in my skin, so I could see the needle inside of me. I tried to bend my arm, and the needle lurched forward, piercing deeper through another layer of skin. I could feel it piercing the skin and breaking forward. I needed to be careful. I got dressed as fast as I could. I slung the bag over my shoulder and walked right out the door. I could feel the electric pulse in my heart. I could taste the adrenaline on the tip of my tongue. I could smell the stale hospital air, filled with sadness and boredom. I ran. I ran so fast I went past nurse Carry.

“Savan…”

I was going too fast to even hear the words.

As Rocco and I passed through the crowded marketplace I could almost smell the ship harbor. The air was salty with a touch of gasoline. The muggy African air touched my skin.

“Look!” Rocco exclaimed.

I looked up and saw a huge, hulking ship. It was black and did not look very inviting. I knew it was time to say my goodbyes. I hugged Rocco. A tear rolled down my cheek and I wished I could have been swallowed up by the ocean. I stepped up to give my ticket and the man punched two holes in it.

“America?” He asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

To America. I walked into the ship and could not believe my eyes. There was a beautiful staircase leading up to rooms. There were a few small shops. There was even a restaurant. It was like a mini town inside a ship. As the ship set off I could just barely see Rocco walking away. I was really going to miss this place. Goodbye, Africa.

North Carolina, America, 1913

The sun was bright on my face as I stepped off the boat. The water was still salty, but there was no humidity. As I got off the boat the man took my ticket and punched two more holes in it.

“Welcome to North Carolina. Are you ready to live the American Dream?” The man asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

Rocco told me my mother’s address. It was 214 Wilmington Drive. Lucky for me, this was not very far from the port. I walked for about a mile, passing automobiles and small store fronts, this town was quaint but busy. Finally I found Wilmington Drive there were only a few houses, so my mother's house was not hard to find. The house was a robins-egg blue with a few windows on the front of the house. There was a brick chimney and a porch with a white swing.

I walked past the mailbox and up the steps. I took a deep breath in, bracing myself for my mother's scolding. I knocked on the door once. Just as I was about to knock again, a woman answered. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her hazel eyes looked worried. Her thin, frail figure barely took up any space in the door frame. When she saw me, she froze.

“Savana?”

“Mom.”

Tears started spilling out our eyes. The next thing I knew I was in a tight, warm embrace. I felt happy. I felt warm. I felt safe. The rest of the day was filled with talking and catching up. How I got out of the hospital, and how my mother thought I was dead. She kept apologizing, but she had no need to. It was not her fault the man hit me in the head. I had a nice dinner of food that actually tasted like food, and a bed that was waiting for me. I finally felt like I was home.

I woke up to the sun on my face and the birds chirping. I also woke up to my head throbbing. The stitches! I remembered. I rushed to the bathroom to see puss leaking out of the cracks where my skin was supposed to be healing, I walked backed to my room only to see the yellow color of dried pus on my pillow.

“Mom!” I called.

“Yeah?” She yelled back.

“Where do you keep your pillow cases?”

“In the closet.”

“Okay.”

I walked over to the closet and opened the heavy doors. I picked out a red pillow case and switched the pillowcases out. My mother took my clothes from Africa back to America, so I had plenty of clothing. I slipped into a red dress with stripes. Down stairs my mother had breakfast cooking. The smell of pancakes drifted into my nose as I rushed downstairs. My mom had a bag slung around her shoulder and a uniform. She tall cast a shadow in the room. Her blonde hair was down and her hazel eyes glimmered in the morning light.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To work. I work at the general store.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I forgot to tell you, your grandmother and grandfather are coming for your big day on Sunday!”

“Oh, okay. Bye?”

And just like that my mom left. I was filled with questions, but before my mind started spinning I started coming up with answers. I could feel the gears in my mind turning. The only time grandpa and grandma ever came and visit was for the big Passing. The Passing was an event that happened every other generation. This was an event where grandpa and grandma would give me 700,000 dollars. I was lucky because I was the every other generation, my mother however… no such luck.

This money was only inherited by the women of the family. I could not wait! I was very nervous though. My family made a big deal about this, but only my grandpa and grandma came. No other family members. If something was to happen to me the money would be given to my mother. Today was Friday. That meant there was only one full day left.

I finished my breakfast and headed up to my room. As I walked in, I realized that my pillow case did not at all match my bed spread. I went back into the closet and found a white pillowcase. The case seemed to be stuck on something, so I pulled and pulled, and finally it slipped out. As I yanked it out I heard a loud bang, like a book slamming against the floor. I looked at my feet and there was what seemed to be a journal. I sat on my bed and began to read. I told myself that it was not nice to snoop in other people's things, but I could feel my curiosity gobbling me up. So I opened the journal.

The first page said Property of: Kathryn Melissa Bardwell. My thoughts raced through my brain. This was my mothers journal! The first few pages were not very interesting. I skipped over to the middle, nothing. And went to the very last page. There was something all right. The journal said: PASSING PLAN, 1- Pay Joe to hit S in head, 2- Kill Leo, 3- Inherit money. I was already swimming in my thoughts, but now I was drowning.

Despite my fright, I kept reading. I read the passage over, and I realized Pay Joe to hit S was crossed out. I kept reading 4- Kill S on Sat. 5- Inherit money. I read and read this page over and over and over. So many times I think I could have recited it. Then I noticed the worst thing, there was ink on my hands. This meant that steps 4 and 5 were new. They seemed to be written this morning. My thoughts swirled in my head.

If I was correct, my mom had paid a miner named Joe to hit me in the head, hopefully killing me. While I was still in Africa my mom somehow killed my brother, and was now planning to kill me because a hit in the head was not enough. My body went numb, my brain went limp. What was I going to do? On the bright side, she was not going to kill me until tomorrow, so I had a day to plan.

How would I run away? She knew this place better than I did, so if I ran she would find me. It was not like I could just go to another state. I had wasted all of my money on the boat ride here. I could hide, but she would eventually get me, and if I asked someone in the town to help me, they would surely send me to a mental institution. Then the dark reality hit me: It was either kill or be killed.

So right then I decided I would not be killed. All of a sudden the reality had started to hit me, my mother was willing to kill me for money. A red-hot fury began to burn inside of me. All of those years she had “loved” me, she was just making her twisted plan more elaborate. I heard a door creaking open and my senses snapped back into reality. I quickly shoved the journal back into the space it was before and closed the linen closet door. I rushed downstairs.

“Hi,” I said in a casual voice.

“Hey.”

“How was your day?”

“Oh, good,” she replied.

My mother began unpacking her bag. She pulled out a huge knife.

She must have seen the scared look flash in my eyes because she said, “Big steak tonight. This is what the knife is for.”

“Oh,” I replied.

At dinner we did have a big steak, and it was delicious. Now I was definitely not going to let myself get killed with the same knife that served my dinner. When I finished eating I went back upstairs and went to bed. That night I could not sleep. I was brimming with fear. At about midnight my mother went to bed. I waited until one to prepare for tomorrow.

I snuck downstairs, being careful to skip the creaky steps. It was pitch black and the only glimmer of light was from the moon in the cloudless sky. I walked into the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. There it was, the huge knife. The knife caught a glimmer of the moon and in the light you could see just how sharp it was. I was sure about one thing, I did not want to use this if I did not have to. I snuck back up the stairs and hid the knife under my pillow. I silently tucked myself in and tried to fall asleep.

The sun was bright on my face. Like the day before, the birds were chirping. I pulled my blonde hair out of my face. I walked downstairs where my mom had breakfast made.

“Savana, have you seen that big knife anywhere?” My mother asked in a frantic tone

“What? No, did someone take it?” I tried best to reply in a tone that sounded concerned.

My mother picked up her plate and slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Mom, where are you going?”

“Going to the store. The leftover steak is not going to serve itself for lunch, is it?”

“Oh.”

Then my mother was gone. I ran upstairs and put on some clothes that I could run and hide in. I put on a loose white dress so I could blend in, the walls of the house were white so I could hide easier. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was tall and skinny, but not tall and skinny enough to be lanky. I tied my hair back and prepared for battle.

When my mom got home she came up to my room. She was still carrying the backpack, which meant the knife was in it. As she walked through the door in my room I slid towards my pillow. My mother sat next to me. All of a sudden it was like someone had pressed a button and a gate opened, releasing a stream of adrenaline through my body.

“I think is is time we have a chat about your passing.” My mother told me as she sat down.

My mother stood up and so did I.

“You are getting a lot of money, Savana.”

All of a sudden she unzipped her backpack and pulled out the knife. I grabbed the knife I had hiding. Immediately my senses kicked into high gear.

“Savana, you do not deserve that money. I do.”

She was walking towards me. I started to walk back into the corner, and I was tripping and stumbling over my words, trying to figure out what to say. She kept walking forward and I kept walking backwards.

When I was finally in the corner my mother said, “Savana, I have worked hard and that is something you do not understand. It is my turn to get what I deserve.”

Then my mother lunged at me with the knife in hand. And before I knew it I kicked my mother. It was a hard kick. I could feel my foot going into her stomach and touching her bones. My mother's body crumpled to the floor. Part of me wanted to make sure she was okay, but then my brain snapped into reality and ran. I ran into the kitchen and crouched behind the island.

It was not long until I heard my mother's footsteps. She was breathing hard. She walked to the table and looked under it. She went into the pantry, and then finally she began to approach me, her eyes scanning the floor. I slowly began to stand up. As I stood up fully to hide somewhere else her eyes fell upon mine. She began racing toward me.

All of a sudden I was pinned up against the wall, my mother reached free hand up, still managing to hold me against the wall. I watched her free hand move up towards my forehead. Then she laid her hand on my forehead and ripped my stitches out. I could feel the string ripping through my skin. I could feel my head throbbing as blood began to seep out. Stitch by stitch my mother ripped them out. My forehead began to throb. I was hoping for a miracle. Suddenly, pus squirted into my mom’s eye.

“Ahhhhhh!”

She screamed. I could only imagine the burning sensation. The red hot fury emerged into me again. As I began to run my mom grabbed my foot, reaching up with the knife she stabbed me in the calf, sliding the knife into my body. I could feel it slicing through my skin, and ripping apart blood vessels. Sliding into my muscle. It hurt. With all of my strength I had left, I kicked my mother again and I started running. This time I could not run as fast, there was a river of blood pouring out of my leg, I began to think of a hiding spot, but then I realized that the blood river would leader her right to me. My mother began to stand, I limped walked away. As she grew closer to me I realized what I had to do. My mother began to run right at me. I could feel her feet pounding through the floorboards, I held up my knife and closed my eyes. I felt the knife connect with something… flesh?! I opened my eyes. My mother was still in motion, I could feel the knife shredding through flesh, muscle, fat and cartilage. The knife had connected with my mother's body, it had stabbed her on an angle, going for the center of her chest into her heart. The knife had stopped moving. All I could hear was my mother's heavy breathing. I looked her right in the eyes, they were cold, no sadness, no forgiveness. My mother drew in a huge breath and mustered the words,

“I killed your brother, I wrote the diary, I stabbed you, I ripped out your stitches. I will be back to get the money girl, and I will be back to kill you.”

Then she crumpled to the ground. Her lifeless body lying in the pool of out blood.

The tube snaking down my throat was still clear, I was expecting it to be pumping out a pale golden color but it was just helping me breathe.

“Hi honey,”

A familiar voice said, I looked up and my grandmother and grandfather were standing there. Looking down at me. I tried to sit up but my leg would not move, I looked around my room and saw a large black bag, The bag was open, from what I could see there was money in it. Tons of it.

-

1 month later

-

People still ask me if I am scared that my mom will really come back, and the truth is, yes, but as of right now I am comfy cozy at my grandmother and grandfathers house. I am living comfortably on 700,000 dollars, but my grandparents have much more than me. Who’s to say what I won’t do to get it.