Clover

She didn’t know what to say, and even if she did, they wouldn’t have heard her anyway, one of the downsides of being, well…dead. Clover could see everyone, and hear everything around her, but she was silent and invisible to everyone who passed. Though if she was being honest, that was much different from when she was alive.

One would think that Clover had grown up in a big loud family, or was the only child to two career driven parents, or maybe the child of a stressed-out single parent, but none of these were a part of Clover’s story. In fact, her childhood was the quintessential “American Dream” of bygone days; two loving parents, a big brother who did well on tests and the sports field, grandparents who visited on a normal basis with baked goods and new toys in tow, the only thing that didn’t fit this mold was Clover.

From the moment she was born, she was just different. She didn’t cry as a baby, a phenomenon that her parents both felt blessed and worried about. She was quick to learn to crawl, but would never get herself into trouble. New knowledge and skills stuck to her like gum to a shoe. No first words for her, just a first sentence, a tattle, in fact, on her older brother, which he did not appreciate in the least. A fact that he deep down held against her for the rest of her shortened life.

She lasted less than 2 weeks in Preschool before her teachers insisted, she be moved up right to kindergarten, and less than 3 in kindergarten before her new teachers insisted, she be moved up even higher. She was reading at nearly the level her brother was, and he was almost 4 years her senior. Even her math skills were nearly the same as well.

Her parents were stunned and a bit confused, as they hadn’t really done much teaching at home, and asked their son if he had been teaching his sister after school. His answer was an astounding “No.” So they finally asked Clover.

“I learned from Daddy’s library, and Jake’s school books.” She said. “I wanted to play school. So, I did.”

Their jaws dropped. How could this 4-year-old have taught herself to read, add and subtract, without an ounce of help. While sure you could learn plenty from reading books, retaining and building on that information, and in such a short time seemed nearly impossible.

The teachers quickly recommended the family to a specialist and Clover was run through test after test, until they not only had determined she had an IQ of 148, was autonomous learner, but also had a photographic memory, meaning she could remember and learn from nearly everything thing she encountered, from a page in a book, to a cooking TV show. This latter example being highlighted by the girl, at age 5, cooking an entire 3 course meal for her family, with the help of her trusty step ladder, on a night when they had all been so occupied by other tasks that she feared they wouldn’t eat otherwise.

She was showered with praise after this feat, much to the chagrin of her older brother, but it this night proved to be the double edge sword that cut her from her parents’ cares and thoughts.

She had proven herself to be fully self-sufficient; able to teach herself (she was “homeschooled” after the specialist’s visit, as they felt no school could keep up with her learning speed), she could provide her own nourishment as long as food was in the house, she could even be trusted to go to the store on her own, as she had the path stored in her head. She would grab her black wagon and return with everything on the list her mother left on the fridge without a second thought.

She walked with purpose and a knowing that few adults ever even thought to wonder if the little girl was alone on the store. She spoke like someone nearly 10 years her senior, so was praised by strangers but never really questioned. She had excelled herself into invisibility, never an entirely safe place to be.

It took until her death nearly 5 years later for her to realize that maybe, once in a while she should have just played dumb, or asked a question she already knew the answer to, or faked a nightmare or something that would have kept her as a blip on someone’s radar, someone other than her brother’s that is.

The day of her death, felt and started just like any other. Everyone in the house was up with the sun. Chores were done, showers taken, her brother off to practice, parents off to work, and Clover left to herself in the house, with a fresh grocery list on the fridge. Her trip to the store was uneventful, and everything was packed away as she set herself up in the library with a fresh book.

By lunchtime she had finished the book and was on the search for something new to keep her occupied, as she had now, once again finished every book in their house. She had a card to the public library, but hadn’t gone in days after the new head librarian had refused to allow her to take out any books that were not in the kids’ section, and she had gotten into a debate over censorship with the woman. That landed her a 1-week ban, that could only be overturned by an apology letter to the librarian for “questioning her elder” and a promise to not try to take out adult books again, which was never going to happen as she had already read every word in the children’s collection and strived for more.

So, with the public library a no-go, for the foreseeable future, until that horrid lady retired, she had taken to ordering books from small bookstores with her father’s credit card number, thank God for the world of online ordering, that required nothing more than some memorized numbers. She was heading out to the mailbox to check for her latest book order when she found it.

A completed essay, bearing her brother’s name with a note and a receipt attached, sat haphazardly in her brother’s half open window. She didn’t touch it, just scanned the papers really quick as she heard voices drawing near.

Jake came in through the door, dropping his bag with a thunk, by the side door then heading towards his room.

“Who’s Remy and why don’t they know that Martin Luther was not black. Martin Luther King Jr. was. I get it, both were reformers in their own way. But one is German and lived way before the other. You would think they would cover that in High School. Also, Tahoma is an odd font choice, is this Remy also not aware of formal writing rules. They are probably not the best choice in company.” Clover shouted down the hall.

“You little sneak! What did you just say to me?” Before she knew it Jake was right there glaring at her. His face red as a Christmas light.

“I was just saying…” she started but before she could finish, her brother had grabbed her by the collar and was holding her against the wall.

“You were just saying once again how stupid the rest of us all are. Everyone but perfect little Clover is an absolute idiot, right?” he started, tightening his grip, facing getting redder.

Clover’s breaths came in shallower as he pushed her even more into the wall. She tried to answer back, but producing sound was a struggle.

“Well guess what girl genius nobody gives a fuck! I am so tired of having to listen to all your know-it-all shit. Oh, so what your brain takes pictures for you, you can make some stupid meal and learn all on your own, but you know what, that is all you are, on your own, cause no one can stand you!”

Finally, he put her down and started walking away.

“At least I have ‘company to keep’” he scoffed as he walked past the kitchen island.

“Yeah. Neanderthal company, just like you!” She shot back at him after regaining her breath. “Company that will end up just like you in this stupid little town, reliving the best years of your life, high school football stardom as you fix toilets or some other blue collar work, until you drop dead at the local watering hole.”

“At least I won’t have to live being a useless big egg head like you.” He said turning back around. “Here maybe we can cut that head down a little for you.” He continued throwing a knife from the block towards her.

She still didn’t know why she didn’t duck. It would have been the logical move, but she didn’t. Instead she watched frozen as horror crept into her brother’s face as the cleaver embedded itself into the right side of her head. Blood began to gush down her own face, blurring her vision until all she could see was red.

Then the darkness came.

The darkness didn’t seem to last too long and next thing she knew she was sitting outside right up against the family’s back tree, on an uneven pile of dirt, starting in through the window of the house at her mom, dad, and brother sitting down for dinner.

It began to rain and she start to sprint inside not wanting to track mud in, but hit an invisible wall, halfway to the house. She looked down and notice despite the pouring rain she was still bone dry and a little translucent. She tested her boundaries all around the tree and found herself stuck no matter which way she went so decide to just sit and rest.

After a few days, her mother came towards her tree with a tray of flowers and clover.

“ So sweet of that girl of mine, tilling a new patch of dirt for me to plant in before leaving off on her own to find a new challenge.” Her mother said.

“Yes.” Her brother added looking at the mound of dirt, over his mother’s shoulder. “Clover will be sure to make sure your flowers bloom their best in the most nourishing soil.”

The End