11-11

by Doreen Serrano

  “So, what?” he asked. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

  “You hurt me but I’m standing here with you right now,” she answered defensively.

  “I never hit you, Heather. He doesn’t deserve you,”

  Jake insisted.

  As she listened, she realized he was just regurgitating all of the justifi cations she’d fed herself through the years. Coming from someone else, the excuses sounded ridiculous and she was overcome with embarrassment.

  Heather had always sought the unattainable. She wanted to have her cake and eat it too and tried to do so daily.

  When she wanted something she knew she shouldn’t have, she always found a way to make it feel right

  “Yes, he hurt me,” she said fi nally. “But I can’t justify cheating on him because of it. I could have left.”

  “It’s not that easy,” he complained. “You know that.”

  He tried to pull her toward him but she pushed him away. The bartender stopped fi ddling around behind 335

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  the bar and he tuned into the drama unfolding around him. Heather wondered if the man had ever been real or if he were only a fi gment of her imagination, created by God for the sole purpose of teaching her the painful consequences of gluttony.

  “It’s not supposed to be,” Heather realized out loud.

  “We’re not supposed to take the easy way out. I chose to do that because I wanted to have it all. I cheated and I lied and I hurt people because I didn’t want to lose anything. I didn’t want to grieve.”

  Her voice became quiet, as though a higher decibel might wake up the cries inside her. It was hard to hold back the tears in the face of such bad choices. The guilt of her infi delities and overuse of everything unhealthy fi nally set in and it was a disgusting feeling.

  Heather had loved both of her husbands fi ercely.

  When they hurt her, she had been crushed but even knowing that the respect and trust were forever gone, she still refused to let go of either one. She needed them to maintain a place in her life so she wouldn’t have to truly suffer the loss of her marriages. She knew the constant contact hurt them and prevented them from moving on but she did it anyway and turned a blind eye to the pain it caused. She had used their weaknesses to justify her own sins and she wondered how she’d be able to forgive herself for it.

  The nausea returned and the bartender slammed another shot down in front of her.

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  “No,” Heather whispered. She held her stomach as though the act would prevent the contents from fl owing out.

  “Baby,” Jake said in a comforting voice. “You deserve to have it all. Stop worrying about everyone else.”

  He didn’t mean the words he spoke. His eyes were sad and in their refl ection, Heather saw pain.

  He stuffed a chocolate into her mouth without warning and she lurched forward to vomit. Nothing came out and she was stuck with the need to throw up but the inability to do it. Dry heaves took the place of real release and Heather fi nally realized what was happening.

  She had wanted it all and it was exactly what she was getting. She carried inside of her the remnants of the drugs and alcohol she had used for a false sense of peace.

  Also encased in her emotional capsule were the memories of the men she had hurt. Her sudden inability to remain ignorant of the damage it caused heightened the nausea.

  Heather’s lack of self-control and self-discipline turned to life inside her stomach and begged to come out. She just didn’t know how to let it go.

  Heather opened her eyes to fi nd that she was surrounded by every man she had ever slept with. The men lined the bar and they fi lled the booths, all focusing their attention on the faceless redhead desperately trying to puke. Upon another wave of nausea, Heather felt a familiar dirtiness settle in and she looked at Jake with fury.

  “This is your fault,” she blamed.

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  As usual, accountability hadn’t been allowed entrance into her blocked heart and she sought with fervor to place it someplace else.

  “My fault?” he laughed. “Don’t you think you avenged that one a long time ago?”

  “What?” she asked.

  She didn’t understand what he meant until he directed his fi nger toward the quiet guy at the end of the bar. Without explanation, Jake simply pointed at his brother sitting alone. Jake’s brother stared at them before lifting his glass. He nodded and sent a silent toast across the distance of the bar.

  Heather dropped her head in shame. She had indeed evened the score a long time before and had no right to point fi ngers at anyone. He hurt her and she took comfort from his brother in ways that were neither appropriate nor acceptable. She had torn their family apart and then walked away, ignoring the lifetime of destruction she had caused.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried softly.

  The bartender tapped her on the shoulder and Heather turned toward him. He was trying to hand her the menu again but she shook her head fervently. He laid it down and pushed it toward her and Heather looked more closely at the prices she had only scanned when she fi rst arrived. She wished she had paid attention to them years before.

  The price for the marijuana was a lack of motivation and the price for cocaine was everything she owned.

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  Luckily, the latter wasn’t an item she had often ordered and had been fortunate to have not been required to pay such an expensive tab

  What caught her eye next was the price next to the medications. It was an item she had requested year after year without ever paying attention to the fee. The listed cost of years spent hiding in a prescription bottle was her children and Heather’s heart pounded with the knowledge of what she had taken from them.

  “No!’

  She screamed at the bartender and pushed the menu with such force that it fell behind the bar. Images of her boys fi lled her mind and she could almost hear their laughter as she tickled them and wrestled with them at bedtime. She wanted to freeze frame the moment but she started backing away from the memories of them and she couldn’t stop herself.

  Heather watched their little faces fall as she walked backwards, further and further away from them. She couldn’t stop. She had taken away from them so that she could self-medicate and the yearning for all she’d missed felt as if it would strangle her.

  The pills had stolen the energy her children were entitled to and had enclosed her in the shell of a mother who refused to allow herself to feel. Grief welled up in her chest and she understood how her excessive behaviors had taken away their moments together.

  She remembered, with sadness, all the times she prayed to God and begged for the gift of appreciation.

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  She had cursed His inability to bless her with gratitude instead of realizing He’d been offering it all along. She just hadn’t accepted it because of her need for more. She hadn’t grasped the meaning of sacrifi ce and, therefore, hadn’t been able to truly enjoy what was right in front of her.

  Each tear that fell came from the sea of understanding within. The smell of Jack’s hair and the sound of Tommy’s voice was all she cared about. It had always been available and it had always been free. Heather used their images and their memories to draw strength and she faced her fi rst lover.

  “What time is it?” she asked Jake gently.

  “It’s 11:11,” he answered, never even glancing at his watch.

  “It’s time for me to go,” Heather said apologetically.

  He smiled and reached out to caress her cheek. He ran his fi ngers down the length of her face.

  “This was always my favorite part of you,’ he said.

  He started to fade and Heather realized the bartender had already disappeared. A new door presented itself across the room and she reached out quickly to touch Jake before he was completely gone. She had left so
much of herself with him and fi nally felt as though she had gotten it back. She walked toward the unwelcoming door with a hand to her heart.

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  Chapter 27

  This Woman’s Work

  The third door was more diffi cult to gain entry into.

  It opened but offered so much resistance that Heather heard herself grunt as she pushed harder against it. She imagined a monster pressing on it from the other side and then cursed her vivid imagination.

  When the reluctant door fi nally opened, Heather found herself standing in a cold, sterilized room. The walls were a dull gray and the shiny instruments sitting in a nearby medical tray didn’t induce positive energy.

  Heather noticed a lonely cot in the corner and felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. She grabbed at it with both hands and when she brought them back up, the tips of her fi ngers dripped with dark blood. Heather screamed.

  “What’s wrong, dear?”

  A short pudgy nurse ran into the room wearing an expression of concern. Absorbing her medical attire, Heather darted her eyes around the room, suspecting she knew where she was. She had stood in that same spot before and every emotion she’d experienced seventeen 341

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  years before came rushing back at her. Heather shook her head back and forth as if she hoped it would shake away the scene before her.

  “Oh, no,” she panted. “God, I can’t. I can’t do this.”

  She bent over and placed her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Dear, it’s too late. It’s over and you were very brave,”

  the nurse said sweetly.

  “No!’ Heather screamed.

  She couldn’t re-experience the dreadful place, no matter what the consequences. She told herself it was a mistake. She had traveled too far and accidentally opened the door to Hell.

  Heather stood upright and attempted to walk toward the cot. The pain was almost debilitating upon her fi rst step and she stopped to scream again.

  “Oh, make it stop please,” she whispered through the sharp pains.

  Heather referred not as much to the sensation of an ice pick being shoved inside of her as to the black hole where her heart used to be.

  “Come sit down, dear,” offered the kind nurse.

  She hurried to Heather’s side and gently guided her to the cot. After placing a cold, damp rag on her forehead, she played with her hair until her patient started to breathe normal again.

  “Now, what’s gotten you so worked up again?” she asked.

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  “Where’s my baby?” Heather cried.

  The nurse shook her head and then bowed sadly.

  When she looked back up, Heather saw the compassion in her eyes and she knew where it came from.

  “Your baby is gone, dear,” she said softly.

  “Gone where?” Heather screamed.

  “You killed her, dear. Don’t you remember?” she asked.

  The sweet voice stating such ugly words was a disturbing contrast.

  “Why?” Heather sobbed.

  Her cries were uncontrollable and they lasted for a long time. She didn’t fl inch when she noticed the digital clock on a corner table fl ashing 11:11. She would have been surprised if it had been stuck on any other time. Instead, she turned her attention to the nurse again.

  “Why did I do this?” Heather asked again, more quietly.

  The nurse stared back in confusion.

  “Because you loved somebody else more, dear,” she answered, patting Heather on the knee “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Yes, there is!’ Heather retorted angrily. “Who would I have loved more than my own child?”

  She knew a mistake had been made because she would never choose anyone or anything over the life of a baby.

  “You, dear,” the nurse said suddenly serious. “You loved yourself more.”

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  And Heather remembered. She clearly recalled the time in her life when no other alternatives presented themselves and she had justifi ed her decisions. Hindsight showed her many options that she was blind to at the time. She didn’t want to lose the life she had envisioned for herself and her desires had taken precedence over the life inside of her.

  Heather placed her hand on the spot where a lump would have eventually formed.

  “This is why I lost my daughter, isn’t it?” she asked, referring to the decision she had no control of. She sniffl ed and exhaustion started to seep in.

  “That’s what you’ll convince yourself but it’s not the way of it dear,” the nurse answered.

  “It’s not?”

  “No, silly girl,” she said. “He doesn’t work that way.

  We punish ourselves way more than He could ever punish us.”

  Heather had a vision of the nurse as an angel with wings and a halo. She looked down at her blood saturated gown and back up at the nurse.

  “Why am I bleeding so badly?” Heather asked, though she noticed the pain subsiding as their conversation progressed.

  “It’s because you’ve never forgiven yourself, honey.

  We bleed on the inside until we fi nd a way to let go of the guilt. Are you ready to fi nally let go?”

  “No! I’ll never forgive myself! I’ll never let go of the self-hatred!’ she yelled.

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  “Then you will continue to bleed,” shrugged the nurse.

  “I don’t care. I deserve more than bloodshed,” Heather insisted.

  She crossed her arms and turned away from the possibility of anymore kind words.

  “But how will you save the world when you are so weak? How will you even make it to the next door?” she asked.

  “I’ll fi nd a way,” Heather said fi rmly.

  She struggled to stand up from the cot and jolted in pain. The blood between her legs began to fl ow more heavily and she knew she wouldn’t make it two steps. She sat down again and bent over to sob into the arms she folded on her lap.

  “It’s okay to cry, dear. You’re supposed to cry,” she nurse said.

  She rubbed Heather’s back and encouraged her to release the pent up guilt and shame. When she fi nished, the nurse lifted her chin up and looked into her eyes.

  “Would you die for your sons, Heather?” asked the chubby woman.

  “In a heartbeat,” she answered without hesitation. “I would give my life a hundred times over if it meant fi ve extra minutes of happiness for either one of them.

  “Then that’s all,” she smiled. “Your constant self-punishment is bad for all those who love you. Don’t let your pride win again. Cross this room and go through that door.”

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  The nurse pointed her fi nger at a spot across the room. When Heather followed her target, she saw that a door had appeared on the far side.

  She wanted to bring the nurse with her. She wanted to wrap herself into the woman’s warmth and allow the kind lady to guide her in the right direction but she knew she couldn’t. It was her path alone to walk and she had no choice but to walk it.

  She looked down and saw that the blood was gone.

  Heather moved one leg forward as she told herself that nothing could be worse than the room she had just conquered.

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  Chapter 28

  Smooth Criminal

  Heather chanted the whole way to the next door.

  “God, don’t leave me,” she repeated over and over again. The mantra continued to whisper itself into the corners of her mind even after she stopped consciously saying it.

  The newest door had many locks and Heather stared at each one of them. She counted as she unlocked them and discovered there were eleven.

  She jumped at the each sound she made. Every time she applied pressure
to a resistant lock, it made a screeching sound like nails on a chalkboard.

  Heather fi nally pushed opened the door and she squinted into the darkness that waited for her. Enough light shone through an unknown crack and Heather realized she had walked into a bedroom. She tried to trace the origin of the faded light and discovered it came from a window on the opposite wall. Had the shade been up, the room would have become as bright as the outdoors but it wasn’t. The blue shade had been drawn tightly and 347

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  taped at the sides. Somebody had gone to pains so that they didn’t have to see the world.

  Heather still didn’t understand. The bed made her think it was related to lust but something didn’t feel right about the theory. She didn’t feel sex nearby. She felt the onset of grief and it was both familiar and recent.

  She looked around to see what she could determine from the items in the room. It didn’t take long for her observations to answer her questions.

  A collection of hats dressed up the wall over the bed.

  They looked like the hats of a fi sherman. They were cute and goofy and spoke of a man who appreciated nature and loved life. A compass sat at the end of the bed and she pictured a Boy Scout packing up for camp.

  Heather looked at the dresser and quickly changed her mind when she saw that three lines of white powder had been carefully carved out. They sat expectantly, waiting for their owner to show them some attention. A razor accompanied the lines and all of it refl ected back from the mirror they laid on.

  The hats, the cocaine and the bedroom belonged to Benny and Heather felt a stab of fear at the realization. She was afraid of what she had walked into and she started to look around desperately for the door that would lead her back out. At the sound of footfalls in the hallway, her banging heart started knocking against her chest.

  Heather fl attened her back against the wall when Benny walked through the door. She knew he couldn’t see her but still she felt as though she had just been discovered.

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  Her fi rst impulse was to scan the room for the dreaded weapon. She hoped she hadn’t been trapped in his room on the most fateful of days but knew deep down that she had. There would have been no other reason for her to be there though she wasn’t sure why Benny’s suicide had ended up being one of her sins.