The Hybrid Read Free

clutching the picture frame
tightly against her warm chest, rubbing the edge of the
wood gently with the tip of her thumb.
The picture in the frame was the last night Gertrude
had ever seen her father. It had been taken five years ago,
in the family room of her mother’s house back in San Diego. Gertrude’s father was sitting on the couch, reading a
book, while she lay asleep on his shoulder. He had an arm
wrapped tightly around her as he stared down at the
sleeping brunette child, smiling his usual grin, with every
tooth glistening in the light from the flash of the camera.
That was the last time she could remember ever sleeping so peacefully.
    When twelve-year-old Gertrude had awoken on the
couch the next morning, her father had already left for
work. She went to school that day, completely absorbed in
her preteen world, waiting for the final bell to ring so that
she could rush home and tell him all about her day. But
when Gertrude arrived home that sunny afternoon, she
knew something was off. She knew something bad had
happened when she saw the police cruiser parked in the
driveway.
She
knew
something
was
wrong
when her
mother looked at her with tear-filled, bloodshot eyes. She
knew something was wrong when the officer handed Gail
the small freezer-bag of items belonging to her father.
Gertrude knew it, but she didn’t want to see it.
    Later that night, after the officers had left their house,
Gail told her daughter the tragic scene that had taken
place. While Gertrude had been at school that afternoon,
Gail’s husband had chosen to leave work early, to surprise
his daughter with an afternoon of fun. On his way to pick
her up, a tank truck, carrying nearly ten thousand gallons
of oil, had collided, head on, with the small blue pickup
truck her father drove, after running a red light.
    But Gail didn’t get a chance to finish her story. Gertrude knew how it ended. She didn’t need to hear it.
Quickly, she pushed her mother’s body away from her,
and ran upstairs, shutting herself in her room, away from
the rest of the world.
    As she looked up at the ceiling of her grandmother’s
house, Gertrude clutched the picture frame tighter, and
rolled over to her side. When she closed her eyes tightly, a
single salty tear rolled gently down her flushed cheek.
    Later that night, Maggie came into the guest room and
covered Gertrude’s shivering body with the afghan from
the living room couch. She tried her best not to wake her
slumbering
granddaughter,
holding
her
breath
as she
carefully pulled the blanket over Gertrude’s shoulders.
She wanted to tuck her in better, like she used to when
Gertrude was younger, but she didn’t dare risk it.
    The next morning, Gertrude quickly pushed the blanket off of her warm body, hopped out of the bed, and then
walked to the pink tiled bathroom just a few feet down
the hallway from the bedroom door. Quietly, she closed
the door behind her, and carefully removed the clothes
that she had been too tired to dress out of the night before.
    The faucets of the tub made a slight squeaking noise as
she slowly turned them on. As she stepped into the white
basin and pulled up on the lever for the shower, she slid
the pink flowery curtain closed. The warm water instantly
melted away the previous day, leaving her with room for
the morning ahead.
    It wasn’t easy washing her long auburn brown hair in
the shower. Because it was so thick, Gertrude had to
shampoo it at least twice, and use extra conditioner to
keep it from tangling. It had been almost five years since
the last time she had let anyone touch it with a pair of
scissors.
    When she was finished washing her body and rinsing
out her hair, Gertrude turned the squeaky shower knobs
off, opened the curtain and grabbed a towel off the hook
on the wall. The room was steamy, and the mirror on the
medicine cabinet had been completely fogged over. Grabbing a dry hand towel from under the sink, Gertrude
quickly wiped the mirror clean and began