The Veil

A Preview

Olivia Corvin laid naked on top of an undressed mattress surrounded by boxes and bare, spackled green walls vibrating with echoes of loud voices outside her room. She lived in North Hollywood with her fiance, James, on a quaint street tucked behind her favorite marijuana dispensary in the city - always buzzing with the booming sound of fireworks and incoherent ramblings by numerous unhoused people wandering the streets. Olivia awoke at midnight to Otto’s breath, her perma-pup German Shepherd mutt, laying on James’ pillow with his snout millimeters from her face. As she sleepily scanned his soft beige eyebrows and floppy ears, her attention was stolen by a slowly-moving shadow outside of her window accompanied by the violent rumblings of a helicopter and muffled waves of its searchlight (growing up, we knew them as ghetto birds). Olivia took a deep breath to slow her rapid heart beat and pulled up her torn paper window curtain to find James lurking in the front yard wearing only his boxers and a beretta. 

With the searchlight boomeranging a few hundred feet next to him, James approached the empty sidewalk glacially and made a pregnant turn with tears streaming down his half-lit face. Every line of his forehead was etched with wrestled thoughts and emotions - the existential struggle of his independence and pride as he surrendered the hideous lime green house that was once his. There was no more room for dreams and quiet luxuries as hope faded as quickly as the bitten polish on her fingernails. 

Olivia unpacked a blanket from her carry-on luggage and met James outside. She neatly spread it down on the grass in front of him and laid down - patting the area next to her. “You can look at the house all night if you want,” Olivia motioned as Otto curled up on the edge of the blanket, guarding them both so innocently. James softened his gaze and laid down, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. 

A thick and pregnant breeze caressed Olivia’s neck as she stirred awake once again. Existential despair gnawed through her stomach, making her feel uneasy and imbalanced looking up at the dizzying night sky. She lifted herself up to her elbows as music blasted through the streets again. A figure moved through their bedroom window, but Olivia was fastened to the grass. She shook James in panic,

“James! Someone is in the house!” she whispered loudly. But James didn’t stir. “James! I can’t move” She shook him harder. But James laid still - not even Otto lifted his head.

The music gradually increased, then warped into muffled noise. Olivia looked around to see if anyone else on the street was disturbed, her chest and breath heaving out of sync, but not a single person investigated. She opened her mouth to scream, but there was no sound. She tried again as the dark figure stood still and pointed at her. Olivia strained her throat with soundless pleas, stretching her throat tirelessly - crying from the pain of her silence.

“Olivia! Olivia!” James shouted as he shook her forcefully, Otto nipping at his ankles. Olivia’s screams echoed all around her as she opened her eyes and narrowly focused on the reality around her. “It’s over sweetheart. It’s over…” she heard James say with a distant voice as he hugged her tight, stroking the back of her head. Olivia exhaled and dug her head into his chest as the sun made its way through the skies with ribbons of pink and orange. 

After Olivia loaded their last box into the U-Haul, she didn’t dare look back in fear of turning into a pillar of salt, but imagined the amber flames of the house burning. She felt free yet mournful in the way Ancient Mayans must’ve as they destroyed and burned their homes every 50 years -  a means of cleansing and regenerating. The truck whistled, exacerbating Olivia’s misophonia as the terror of its anonymity plagued her nerves. She rocked herself back and forth with her hands on her ears, screaming on the inside as its frequency pierced every organ in her body. She held her breath for multiple seconds at a time for twenty minutes, hoping to pass out and escape the pain. 

Olivia’s childhood home was large and picturesque with pastel peach walls and white borders shaded by a brown pitched roof, wrapped with a long, luscious green lawn nestled in the peaky and lush mountains of Pasadena - where black bears frequented neighborhood pools on hot days, and deer galloped the streets late at night in pairs, wary of the coyote patrol. And where hummingbirds and dragonflies greeted you every morning as you sipped your morning coffee. It was a goddamn Disney movie.

Olivia’s parents were in the process of remodeling their home after 31 years - the same house that raised three children, harbored countless soirees for a once, ever-roaring Armenian community -- where her grandmother died after battling months of cancer, and stood tall amidst the crashing of the 2008 housing market; where Olivia’s sister, Colette, was battling cancer for the second time. Part of their conditional stay was to help care for her during her final year. It was she who greeted them at the door like an excited child waiting for the ice cream truck - frail and gaunt, standing upright at only 85 pounds. Colette was in so much pain, it took all her strength to smile. But she did. She always did.