Sabora arrived home at four thirty, long after her dad had expected her. She felt horrible about having to stay after school, but there really was nothing she could have done. Pausing before opening the door, she took a deep breath. She wondered how angry her dad would be when she told him why she was late. When she stepped inside, he was standing right there, leaning against the fridge.
Sabora threw her backpack onto the couch and looked at her dad with a look of please-forgive-me on her face. He stared back at her with a look of not-again, mixed with a pinch of disappointment. In her dads hand was a steaming cup of coffee. He shook his head at her and picked up the phone that sat on the counter next to him. Sabora seated herself quietly on the hideously itchy yellow couch and closed her eyes as her dad spoke to her teacher on the phone.
“Ms. Harley, please listen to me. Sabora has a skin disease on her hands. She must wear the gloves,” her dad lied to Sabora's teacher. He said she had a skin disease when truly that was the cover up story.
“I understand Ms. Harley. But unless you want your students to treat my daughter like a diseased animal, you will not make my daughter remove her gloves.”
Sabora curled up to her knees, unable to choose whether her dads voice was angry, or sad. She stared at the African mask across the room from her. Its eyes were large and round, its lips thick and cheeks painted red and black. Sabora thought it was beautiful. She adored her dads collection of African art, but her favorite thing in the room had to be the picture of her, her dad, and her mom. It was their last family portrait before she left. In it they were all smiling, they were all one big and happy family. Not to say Sabora and her dad were not happy just the two of them, but they missed her all the same.
“I am telling you, making her do that would be most unwise,” her dad sighed heavily from the kitchen. Sabora could hear the weariness creeping up on her dad. His whole demeanor seemed tired lately and it worried her.
“Thank you, Ms. Harley. Good day,” he finished, ending the phone call.
Sabora curled up tighter on the couch as she heard her dad make his way over to her. He sat on the couch beside her. She looked over at him and found him watching her sadly.
“It happens every year, honey,” he whispered, laying his free hand on Sabora's shoulder.
“And every year we have to lie. I know, dad, I know. But it is not my fault,” Sabora said quietly, turning to look at him.
“No, you are right. It is not your fault. Do not ever think for a minute that I do not love you as much because of it, you understand me?”
Sabora looked away. Then, feeling her dads hand against her palm, she turned back to him.
“I am so sorry dad,” Sabora whispered as she curled up on her dads lap.
“Sorry for what?” he said, taken aback.
“I have just made it harder, haven't I? Harder for us to forget her, with my powers and all.”
“Oh, baby, no. No, no, no. You are the one thing that has made this easier for me,” He said quietly into her ear.
“Dad, what if I never learn to control it?” Sabora voiced one of her greatest fears. She closed her eyes, her dad flattening her hair with his palm.
“Your powers? Honey, you will learn to control them. It is inevitable. You can not wear these gloves for the rest of your life. And you know that.”
“How can you be so certain that I will learn to control it?”
Her dad stroked her cheek and sighed. Sabora turned to look him in the eyes.
“Dad, tell me again what my powers are. You are a scientist, explain them to me. Please?” Sabora begged her dad.
“Fine,” he answered, Sabora sitting up and watching him closely, “Your powers are unlike anything I have ever seen honey, they are hard to explain. As you already know, you and I call it your Touch Of Stone. Basically, if your fingers and only your fingers, touch anything, that thing turns to stone. Not instantly though. The stone spreads gradually from the original spot your fingers touched. But somehow, you can manage to turn anything into stone. Here, give me your hand, honey.”
Sabora frowned and slowly held her hand out to her dad. Carefully, so as to not touch her skin, he removed her glove. His eyes shone at the sight of her skin.
“It looks so soft. I wish I could feel it,” he dad said, leaning forwards. Sabora pulled her hand back.
“Dad, do not touch my hand,” she whispered.
Without warning, Sabora was plunged into her memory of the night her mother left.
******
It was a quiet night, and the house was asleep. Sabora and her parents were there, together for the last time. Sabora woke to a scuffling noise, then, a cry of anguish. She bolted out of her bed and ran into the living room, walls covered in African masks, and seen the one thing in the world she never thought she would see. Her mother stood, clothed and looking like she was ready for work, except for the two suitcases in her hands.
Sabora's dad stood next to her mother, still in his pajamas and shaking his head. Her mother had tears running out of her eyes.
“No. No! I can't do this. I can't stay here anymore!” she cried.
Not knowing what else she could do, Sabora screamed. Both her parents turned to look at her. Her dads eyes were filled with sadness, with pain. Her mother sighed heavily at the sight of her daughter in the hallway.
“Do you feel right, leaving her?” Sabora's dad gestured to her.
“I'm sorry,” her mother said, to both Sabora and her dad.
Sabora knew that this could not be happening. They were a small and happy family, just the three of them. If her mother left, what would happen to them? How could her mother do this? She screamed once again and ran at her mother. Before Sabora could reach her though, she felt her dads arms close around her torso. He lifted Sabora to his chest and held her close. Tears streamed out of her eyes as she watched her mother walk out the door. From the window, Sabora could see her mother turning back.
For a moment Sabora let her twelve year old heart believe that her mother had changed her mind. Then her mother blew a kiss and got in her car. Sabora screamed and felt snot dripping from her nose from her crying. This could not be happening, she thought. She tried to claw her way out of her dads arms.
“Mommy!” she yelled at the car backing out of the driveway.
Sabora's dad grabbed her head and pulled it into his neck so that Sabora could look away as the car pulled out and drove down the street. Sabora cried until she thought her head would burst open. Her dads knees failed him and they fell to the ground, Sabora still struggling to breath. She wept into her dads shirt and held him tighter and tighter. He just held her silently, looking at the open front door.
Then he had screamed. It had shocked Sabora into silence, feeling that strange and uninvited heat in her fingers and palms. Her dad stood and fell away from Sabora and she fell backwards, catching herself with her hands. Looking down in horror, she saw the carpet begin to turn to stone, spreading from her palms. Lifting them, she stared wide eyed and scared at her dad, who was panting heavily. He turned around, and Sabora saw that the back of his shirt turned to stone.
Screaming again, Sabora wondered what was wrong with her. As her dad came back to his senses, he accepted in that moment that his child was different. Not like other children, other girls.
They tried so many things, cotton, rubber, metal, but nothing suppressed the power.
Nothing but the leather gloves.
******
Sabora was pulled away from the memory as she saw her dad blink several times. She understood he had just revisited the same one. Tear shone in both of their eyes and they wiped them away. Sabora smiled and reached out towards the coffee table. Touching her index finger to the vanilla candle in the center, she and her dad watched in wonder as the stone spread. Sabora felt the heat prickle in her veins, the strange power that she did not yet understand.
When the candle was completely stone, Sabora's dad took the glove and placed it on her palm. With a sad smile, she returned the glove to its rightful place.
