by K.N. Lee
The drive home was a ride on the mental, self-abusive, rollercoaster. So, what if she moved, she was alive and I could always visit her wherever she decided to go. I wondered where that would be, knowing her, it was probably somewhere off the radar. I seriously would have to start taking better care of myself though. No way could I take a trip anywhere with my body so broken down. The physicality of just this one day had my bones feeling as if they were ready to snap.
I had to laugh at myself. In the haste of my overreaction was the neglect to take into full consideration the generally sedentary state of my life. There I was acting like a new age version of superwoman, flying off to save the day. Every nerve in my body shouted at me, punctuating the thought. Idiot! The muscles in my arms tensed and my fingers ached from being wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly. I had to alternate hands for the remainder of the drive. I was 30 minutes away from home, and an hour away from a relaxing warm bath, which I needed more than ever.
The summer air warmed my body as I moved further from the chill of the lake. The extended exposure to the cool lake air was not the greatest idea I’d ever had, but it’s not like I planned on sitting in my car for nearly 12 hours! Lucky for me, it was a warm summer night in Chicago and the heat provided a bit of relief. I drove back to the quiet suburban area where my home was. No matter how many times I witnessed it, I never got over how weird it was, going from the lively streets of the city to the dreary blocks of the suburbs. Each time I made the transition between the two, I got the feeling of someone flicking a light switch off. Even at nearly 2AM, the city was still alive. Music played in the distance, and the smell of an all-night BBQ joint jolted my senses and reminded me of the emptiness of my stomach.
Driving into my neighborhood, the streets were dead. No noise, no underlying rhythm, just the sound of a train passing somewhere off in the distance. The only light was provided by the dimly lit streetlights and random windows of the homes that belonged to night owls.
The final approach to my house provided a painful embarrassment. It was hard to look at, my home, the eyesore of the neighborhood. The grass was long and thick with weeds that grew even longer and were starting to sprout up over the sidewalk. The paint on the siding was faded and cracked. The shutters on the windows, knocked around by the winter winds, were barely hanging on. I looked away ashamed; my father would have been disgusted to see our home in this condition. He would be so disappointed in me.
Having a garage that was attached to the house made it easier to ignore these obvious structural flaws. My dad decided to build the addition right after we moved into the house; he felt it was safer for my mother and me. The walk from the curb to the front door would surely be too dangerous without him there. Especially in the rough streets of Naperville! He was overly protective in that way. If we could have pulled up right into the living room, direct from car to couch, he would have made it happen.
Viewing my home in that light, dim and barely visible, it looked more like a haunted house pulled straight out of a horror film, than the warm home it was meant to be. It was hard to imagine what this old colonial house used to look like when I was younger. It was beautiful in its simplicity (not including the intricate carvings of course) and it stood out on the street for completely different reasons than it did now. What was once appreciation could now be disgust or possibly even sympathy for the lost girl living within its broken walls.
I pulled into the garage, stepped out of the car and crept into the house. My body felt heavy, as if my limbs were made of solid iron. On my way through the house and up to my bathroom, I gradually became more aware of all the things I had blocked out.
Trash was piled up, overflowing from nearly every receptacle. It seemed the only one I had bothered to empty was the one in the kitchen, for obvious reasons. All the plants were crunchy, brown, and dead. Dust covered every surface. Even the pictures on the wall that I stopped and stared at every day looked strangely broken. The smiles they held looked dull and lifeless. Their frames were crooked and faded.
I couldn’t believe this was my home, my mother’s sanctuary, and my father’s work of art. It was falling apart around me. My mind was so wrapped up in grieving and feeling sorry for myself, that all of it had gone unnoticed. I found the picture that had greeted me that morning; it too was covered in a film of gray that I’d somehow been able to block from my mind. Eyes half open, as I tried not to notice any more flaws that surrounded me, I progressed to my room. Each point of distress reached out and latched onto my body, dragging my spirit down making it even harder to walk; harder to breathe.
The bathroom was across the hall from my room, the only other room I took good care of besides the kitchen. Possibly because I always had a major issue with public washrooms and I couldn’t have my own looking or smelling like one. I turned on the water, and sat on the edge of the tub making sure it began to fill, sometimes the stopper slipped. There’s nothing more disappointing than returning to what you think will be a nice full warm bath and finding a cold empty tub.
Once satisfied that my bath would fill, I moved to the medicine cabinet, took out my bottle of Tylenol 3, and popped two in my mouth, against the doctors’ note that said one every eight hours as needed, and swallowed them dry. I grabbed the glass sitting on the edge of the sink, filled it halfway with cool water, and poured it down my throat. I peeled off my clothing slowly, hoping to avoid any muscle spasms, and tossed them in the laundry basket. There was another issue, laundry. I thought about the dirty clothes piling up in the corner of my room. I was so out of touch with reality that I hadn’t even bothered to put them in the hamper.
I loved this room; my mother let me redecorate it after I turned 16. It was my own sanctuary. The walls were blue, with clouds painted on the ceiling. It reminded me of when I was younger, I would sit on the hood of my dad’s car and watch the sky. I spent hours in my own world, making out shapes that passed by in the clouds. The strange thing was that every time I looked at this ceiling I felt like I was viewing a new sky, new clouds, and new shapes. I never figured out how my mom got it to do that, but I thanked her so much for it. I climbed into the ready tub and sighed deeply at the instant relief that passed over me once my body became submerged. I wiggled my toes and fingers in the water trying to ease the tension out of my muscles.
I felt calm and was relaxed again; just as I was at the lake. The silence that filled the house was eerie, and yet somehow it helped put me more at ease. The loneliness was comforting in its familiarity. My head was finally clear again. I focused on the clouds above my head hoping to keep the negative thoughts from flooding back and it worked. I was able to push them from my mind and lock them outside.
“Thanks mom,” I sighed as I began to drift off to the sweet unconscious world I loved.
I closed my eyes and let my mind coast and fell into the fantasy of my grandmother’s miracle cure, one I often enjoyed; I mean who wouldn’t at least toy with the idea of instant recovery? I was running, going nowhere, just running. It felt amazing. Every part of my body was working in unison, working as a team instead of clamoring against each other. The breeze rushed across my face and I smiled wide, grinning from ear to ear. Off in the distance were my friends, all the people left behind when I decided to drop out of life. They were laughing and waiting for me, calling me to come over. I waved at them and started to run faster.
I was closing in on them when the ground beneath my feet turned into a thick mud. I tried to run harder and faster, but the more effort put into escaping, the deeper my legs became lodged into the mud. Barely moving now, sinking, I screamed for help, but no one came. I descended deeper still and could see them, turning their backs on me, forgetting my presence completely.
I opened my mouth to scream again, but the black mud spilled between my jaw, filling my lungs and drowning me. My body was no longer moving. My arms refused to aid in my efforts to climb out of the pit. The darkness was growing around me. I looked up just in time to see the last bit of
light closing off as I was dragged deeper into the hole.
My eyes shot open to the blue skies above me as I gasped for air, and reached out around me to find something solid to hold onto. I couldn’t drown alone in my tub, who would find me? When my hand touched the smooth side of the tub, I realized there was nothing to fear. I took a deep breath and released it slowly, attempting to move myself back to the calm I had achieved before.
The water in the tub was still warm. The jets built into the sides had done their job. Despite the nerve-wracking dream, I felt relaxed and my body was at ease again. I splashed some water on my face and wiped it away with a facecloth. It had been so long since I had dreamt or had any evidence of an active subconscious. It was a side effect of the medication, which the doctor told me would happen. Nearly a year without a dream, and now I was having a nightmare.
5
Once the water began to cool, I carefully climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around myself, and headed for my room. I made a mad dash across the hall to avoid another dose of crappy homemaker shame. My stomach growled at me while I dressed. My outfit of choice was an oversized t-shirt and old gym shorts. I hadn’t eaten since my bowl of fruit this morning, which had been thrown half eaten in the sink. I settled for the box of crackers in my nightstand. They were always there for the nights my stomach refused to calm, which happened more times than not because of the pills that waited for me in the kitchen.
I chomped on a few crackers while searching for the TV remote. After I found it on the floor under the nightstand, (note to self, stop tossing the remote after turning the TV off at night), I propped myself up on the bed, and began my usual channel hop. Nothing was on, of course, a thousand channels and there was never anything to watch. I landed on Nick at Night. They were running an all-night marathon of The Nanny. It was one of my favorites, most likely because Fran Fine reminded me so much of my best friend Jazz, fashion forward and full of spunk. I started to think of her, what had caused her abrupt need to have me back in her life? I watched a few episodes, never completely focusing on any of them, and then put the TV on mute.
I had almost forgotten that she had called earlier. The ordeal with my grandmother took over my mind for the day. It was clear that she wanted to reconnect, even though I figured that by now she would have replaced me as her best friend. Admittedly it was comforting to know that people were still thinking of me and that I hadn’t been completely erased from their minds. Maybe I could reach back out to her. Nana would be leaving soon, and it was nice to think that I would have someone there.
The light from the images that flashed across the screen of my 42-inch television danced across the walls of my bedroom like a rhythmic ballet of colors. I sighed and started staring at the ceiling again. My eyes followed each cracked line until it faded out and then started on a new one. I was sure sleep would evade me; I would be tracing those cracks until the sun came up. After sleeping in the car for the day, there was no sense in hoping to get to sleep, or so I thought. Minutes later I was out cold and thankfully there were no more dreams.
The next morning, I woke up in the same way as before. I got out of bed still attempting to ignore my environment, but created a mental checklist of things to tackle for the day. First, I would go to my grandmother and apologize for my idiotic behavior, and then I would come home and call around to find someone, a professional, who could help me clean up the mess I had made of my home before returning the call from Jazz. I got dressed and headed down the stairs.
On my way to the kitchen, the mental list expanded. Paint of course, lots of dusting, sweeping, vacuuming, and all the dead plants had to be tossed. It was a wonder I could even breathe in this house with the stench of death and decay surrounding me. Perhaps I would stop on the way home to pick up some living plants.
I grudgingly took my pills again. There were no messages waiting on my answering machine. Nana must have been really upset with me; it was to be expected. I only hoped I could come up with an apology good enough to make her forgive me. It was hopeless; hell, I didn’t even have an explanation for myself. I grabbed an apple and a bottle of water and headed for my car.
The trip took a half hour. I drove the exact speed limit, while crunching into the apple and going over my apology in my head. What could I say? Sorry I acted like a child and ran out yesterday? It was the only thing that resembled an appropriate apology, and yet it was still nowhere near what I felt I needed to say. All I could say was that I didn’t know what had come over me and that was the truth.
The shorter the distance to her house got, the more nervous I became which caused the butterflies to swarm violently in my stomach. I tried to focus on her usually compassionate eyes. She would forgive me, she had to. I thought of her smile and had no doubt that she would understand, even if she wouldn’t admit it. That was the thing about her; she had a way of knowing and understanding more about you than you ever did.
I rounded the corner and parked in front of her house. I had to double check the address because the house looked completely different, it looked normal. The overload of decorations was missing from the front yard. The plastic birds, garden gnomes, and wind chimes were all gone. Had she already started to pack? Even the flowers looked different. They drooped in a pathetic way, as if they had no access to the sun, even though it shone brightly overhead. Maybe, I was just projecting, giving the flowers feelings that were my own. I wanted anyone or anything to feel my anxiety and sadness, because no matter what, I would still be losing her. Misery loves company, even if that company is a pathetic looking plant.
I walked up to the door. Taking a deep breath, I reached for my key; going over the words again in my head but the door was unlocked and slightly cracked. I pushed the door aside and stepped into the house. As I crossed over the threshold my heart stopped; frozen mid-pump.
Everything was gone.
~A~
I walked through the abandoned rooms. They were all empty. If I hadn’t just seen her, I wouldn’t have believed she had ever been there at all. No furniture, no senseless artifacts. The walls that had previously been covered in pictures were all bare. The floors were too, even the carpet was gone. The dream catchers that usually hung in every doorway were all missing. My heart skipped another beat; pausing just long enough to make me fear it would never start again.
How could she have been gone? Overnight she had cleared out and vanished. The place even smelled different, the air was stale and dry, it was as if someone had been hired to come through and wash away every indication that she had ever existed. I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, I pulled my knees tight into my chest, and propped my head on my knees covering my eyes.
The tears flowed relentlessly. As I sat there I pressed my palms against my eyes, hard enough to leave bruises. Maybe, if I sat here long enough everything would return to the way I remembered it; the way it was just 24 hours ago. I would open my eyes, she would be here, and everything would return with her. She would float in with a tray of iced tea and smile at me. I would be able to apologize for treating her so poorly and everything would go back to normal. I would get a chance to make it all up to her. We would arrange her departure; I would be helpful and supportive. I would make this easier for both of us.
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it. I could not break my concentration, not that I thought it would work, but for a moment I gave in to the hope of magic. I sat there longer, eyes still held tight, focusing on her face. As impossible as it sounded, it had to work. I opened my eyes; of course, nothing had changed at all. I had to leave. It wasn’t the same place anymore. It was no longer the warm home that welcomed me and invited me to explore the mysteries inside. It was a shell, hollow and empty, and it was beginning to close in on me. I had to get out before it trapped me inside forever. She was gone.
On the drive back to my house, all the optimism I woke up with had been effectively drained away. I pulled into my garage, turned the car off, and just sa
t there. The tears had left their salty trails down my face. I stared at my dried-out reflection in the rear-view mirror. I was alone. There was no life left in my eyes; no warmth in my face. The little bit that I managed to hold on to over the last couple of years had left with her.
Once inside the house I headed straight for the kitchen. The one place I felt would help me, where my mother’s embrace, her love, still waited for me. After fumbling with the keys to open the door, pushing the heavy wood aside, I froze in the doorway unable to carry myself any further. My breathing stopped, my muscles seized. I could feel my eyes widening; stretching to the point of pain. My mouth fell open releasing a huff of air and it felt as if my heart was attempting to escape through the opening. She was here? For moment I became excited until I processed what I saw in front of me.
The table in the center of the room, the one I avoided like the plague, had been wiped clean of its dust covering, on its surface sat a green box with a white card marked, ‘Alexa’. It sat in the center of the table; my dad’s intricate designs sprawling out around it. It was her handwriting on the card. She had that kind of unmistakable penmanship, even from across the room I recognized it, slightly shaky, but still beautiful and clear; much better than my own.
Why? This was the only question my frazzled mind could formulate. Why had she placed this thing, whatever it was, in the one place she knew I couldn’t touch? Was this some kind of test? How could she do this to me? As I looked at the table, it started to pull further and further away. I had to know what was inside that box. However, I felt as if my feet were glued to the floor. My legs wouldn’t move, and my arms couldn’t stretch far enough. It felt as though the table was moving away from me. Leaving me like everything else. Was this my curse? Everyone and everything I loved, needed, or wanted would be repelled from me.