What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  Ellen moved closer and touched Sam on her arm. “I’m sorry. I thought—I mean—I was told you said it was no big deal.”

  Sam shrugged. “What else could I say? It was too late anyway. I couldn’t undo it.” She looked up at Ellen. “Hey, sorry.” Sam shook her head, trying to force a smile. “Ignore everything I just said. It’s not that bad, really. It’s just … no one prepared me for what happens and how I’d feel afterward.” Sam covered her face with her hand for a few minutes.

  “Wow,” Sam said, uncovering her face and shaking her head. “I’m way too sensitive now.” She looked directly at Ellen. “You need to do it … if I was still in your position, still me, I mean, I would do it again. I’d have to. There’s no other way, not with Johnny. You know, it can be as easy as getting a tooth pulled, maybe easier. Tons of girls do it—every day. Some I know have had five or more … they never feel bad or anything. You’ll be fine, really, you will.” Sam smiled and appeared genuine in her concern.

  “It’s a tough decision for anyone. I never in my life imagined I would be in this position.” Ellen found the edge of the chair with her hand and sat down. “I would like to try to help get you out of here … but I’m not sure how.”

  “You can’t … you shouldn’t.”

  “I thought that was why you wanted me to come?”

  “God, no. I wanted to see myself one last time—in case I die …”

  “You can’t die, everyone would miss you—”

  “Are you kidding? Johnny would be happy if I died. The only one who cares at all is Brianna.”

  “Brianna. How is she?”

  “Sad. She tries to convince me to act normal and get out of here. She’s been trying to convince Johnny that I’m better. She’s a good daughter … she loves you and misses you.”

  Ellen looked up. “Does she really?” She forgot herself again. “What does she say?”

  “She told me she was sorry for all the years that we weren’t close. She realizes now, that everything you did was in her best interest and that you did what you did out of love. She regrets not spending more time with you and is willing to do anything to get you out of here, so she can prove it to you, I mean me.”

  Ellen felt a tug at her heart as her eyes brimmed with tears.

  Sam continued, “She’s great. I just have trouble being her mom. I feel like she’s my sister and not my daughter, I can’t love her the way you do.”

  “I do love her,” Ellen said aloud.

  “I bet you miss her.”

  “I do.” Ellen nodded. “More than I ever realized.”

  “She also loves Beth.”

  “Her roommate?”

  “Her lover … they are so happy and good together. You still don’t approve?”

  Ellen shrugged. “It used to frustrate me—embarrass me. I thought she would grow out of it, that it was all for attention. But I want her to be happy. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”

  “What about what other people say?”

  “I don’t care about society anymore. That used to be important, in fact, it used to be the most important part of my life. Every decision I made centered on what those pretentious people thought. It cost me more than I ever realized.”

  Sam smiled. “I’m glad you came to see me. It’s great to talk about things, so I don’t die wondering if I was actually crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy,” Ellen found herself saying. “You need to get out of here.”

  Sam shook her head. “I don’t care anymore. I’m finished.”

  “But it’s not safe here.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Bring it on. I’m so tired, I can barely move and I hurt everywhere; besides, I’m too sick to care.” Sam leaned back. “It would be a blessing, quite honestly.”

  She sighed, almost closing her eyes. “No. There is nothing for me. I only wanted to see you—see me, I guess—and tell you that you win. I forgive you if it makes you feel better and I ask for your forgiveness, for all I did to you. I had no idea how much it hurt … how hard it was to be you—no idea. I never thought for a moment what it was like to age and lose a part of yourself, to lose love and everything that matters. I was horrible to you; please don’t hate me.”

  Ellen looked at her. “I’m … I don’t know what to say …” Ellen spoke quietly. “I forgive you, too.” The words spilled out of Ellen before she had time to catch them.

  “You don’t mean it yet, but I thank you just the same. I thank you—Sam or Ellen—or whoever you want to say that you are. Hey, do you have anything you want me to say to your children before I die? Any last words or thoughts. I haven’t any clue what to say in my note.”

  Ellen felt her chest tighten. “My God, they will never have their mother again. They will be alone and I won’t be able to see them again.”

  “No … no, they hate Sam. Perhaps in time they will get over it and—”

  “You can’t die.”

  “I hate living. There’s nothing for me …” Her eyes fluttered, almost closed. “I’m tired now,” Sam said, her voice fading. She turned her head as her eyes shut.

  Ellen reached over and touched Sam’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Good night,” Ellen whispered. It was a strange and unsettling feeling to feel sorry for yourself—for a person that looks like you. Even stranger was to hate a person who looks just like you. How could she actually hate Samantha? Wasn’t Sam me, after all? And who really is the mother of this baby?

  Her thoughts tumbled around in a confused fog as she left the room and headed down the long corridor in search of the TV room and Rory. In search of the father of this child?

  CHAPTER 34

  The day following the visit from the impostor or Ellen, as Sam now liked to call her, Sam was filled with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was relieved to know she was, in fact, actually herself even if Ellen hadn’t come right out and admitted it. On the other hand, it was because of Ellen’s vengeance that she was in this pathetic position in the first place. What did I do to cause all of this, anyway? Sam regretted not asking her when she had the chance. But did it even matter? The ironic thing was that, yes, I had indeed, wanted to be Mrs. Horvath. I had sold my soul in my determined effort to achieve this very goal. It’s just that it wasn’t anything like what I had expected.

  Her mind replayed all the cruel things she said about Ellen. All the heartless things she did to torment her. How inconsiderate she had been to so many people. Looking back on everything, she saw how unkind and selfish she was to anyone who wasn’t young and cool, how she looked down on those with less, and how she used people to get what she wanted, with no guilt, oblivious to any consequences or fallout. In short, she was a bitch. A supreme bitch. Heartless and shallow. Especially to Rory. Why Rory? Why had she denied him so much? She realized, as a heaviness tugged her down into honesty, that it was her desire for money. Money was the key to success. Money was the key to fulfilling her dreams. Money was all she wanted.

  Now, she would trade money for youth, or love or happiness. She sat thinking about all the things that she now wanted that money couldn’t buy. She thought of all the dreams she had that were beyond money. She had always imagined herself as a mother. Growing old in a house with children playing and love, lots of love. But not with Jonathan. Somehow, she had never imagined Jonathan growing old with her, but instead, imagined him growing sick and either dying or being put into a home.

  The irony! He did to her what she would have done to him—eventually. She couldn’t undo any of that now and she knew it. Tough to end things when there was so much still unsettled, but would it ever be resolved? Perhaps in death she might find life and be able to right the wrongs. She was determined to try.

  ***

  Sam was sitting in a wheelchair, covered with a blanket and hat, staring at the flowers in the garden when Rory arrived.

  “Hey beautiful,” he called out.

  She looked up at him and smiled as he handed her a bag. “Thanks,” she said as she opened the bag
s of goodies and inhaled the familiar scents of toasted coconut and sugary grape.

  “I’m surprised to find you outside. Are you feeling better?”

  “No, not really. I wanted to be outside, once more, in case I’m—”

  “In case you’re what?”

  “I had a very good visit with … her, Ellen, or Sam as you might call her. Thank you for that, it meant a lot to me.”

  “Won’t you wait to see what she can—”

  “So she can what? Get me out of here? To do what? I’m so sick. I’m useless. I’m unhappy. Look at me. What good am I?”

  Rory took her hands. “I love you.”

  “Don’t tease me.”

  “But I do.”

  “Look at me,” Sam cried. “I’m pathetic!”

  “You’re not,” Rory reached up and smoothed her bangs away from her eyes.

  Sam brushed his hand away. “Don’t say that. You have no idea, you don’t know how horrible it is to be old. They make me wear these damn diapers because I can’t get to the bathroom, I can’t have sex, even if I was better, because my vagina collapsed—the entire thing just gave up and dropped like a blob of useless putty—did you know that happens when women get old?—I sure as hell didn’t.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “And I hurt. Rory, I hurt all over. Every joint feels stiff and sore, I can’t move around. And I take a ton of different pills. Pills for my bones, for high blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes … don’t eat this, don’t have that. God, I’m a mess, and I’m sick of all of it. There’s nothing left.”

  “There is everything left. We can travel.”

  “Travel? You dumb fool.” Sam looked into his eyes to judge the level of his insanity. “You’re serious? That’s sweet, but it’s too late. You don’t want this.” She pointed to her body. “Trust me, it’s not what you think, it’s worse. You want to be my knight in shining armor—great. Then what? Come on, I’m old. You’re hot, you need to be with someone like you—young, able to have babies, do things. I can’t even look at me; I can’t imagine how you could.”

  “I want you.”

  “You don’t. Stop saying that. It’s like I’m a pathetic charity case.”

  “You are not. Now that I see that it’s you in there …” He grabbed her hand. “I love you.”

  She let go, pushing his hand away. “You do not. Besides, I don’t love you.”

  “You do. You told me the other day you loved me. You’re lying now.” His hand reached over to tickle her.

  Sam recoiled away from him. “Am I? Am I really? Maybe I am crazy.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m a lunatic who does or says anything to get attention.” She stood, resting on the arms of the wheelchair, the blanket falling to the ground as she tried to get the attention of an attendant.

  Rory grabbed her around the waist and held her. She struggled to get away, her cast-encased arm wedged between them, then he carefully moved her arm out of the way and held her close, his hand turning her face toward him. He kissed her. She resisted. He pulled her closer. She dissolved into his kiss.

  As she drowned in its pleasure, she found herself slipping deeper, forgetting who she was, feeling her true self respond. She wanted more of him. She kissed his neck, his chest, his cheeks. She wanted to tear at his shirt as he pressed his body against hers. All her fears—escaping. All her worries—releasing. All her longings—finding the joy of returned desire, of consensual pleasure. How long had it been since she felt a man’s touch? How long since she felt passion?

  Suddenly, in the throes of his kisses, she became aware of her body. Her old body. Embarrassed, she pushed him away.

  “Leave me alone,” she cried as she fell to the ground. He tried to catch her but she hit her broken arm on the edge of the bench. She cried out. Not for the pain from her arm as much as for what she realized she would never have again.

  Rory looked around for the attendant, who was already heading toward them. He lifted her into the wheelchair as the attendant arrived. Rory held her hand for several minutes and said, “You are beautiful, you need to see yourself as you really are. Forget about who you want to be. Be happy with who you are now. It’s still you inside, I know it is.”

  “Leave … just go,” Sam cried.

  The attendant looked at him. “You better leave.”

  Rory nodded. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Sam. Don’t go anywhere. Promise?”

  “Mrs. Horvath’s not going anywhere,” the attendant chuckled. “Except to bed for a rest.”

  Sam could only nod as the pain in her heart expanded, dissolving whatever strength remained.

  ***

  Ellen spent most of the night thinking about her meeting with Sam. What a sense of relief, finally acknowledging the situation they were both in. But she also felt agony over what she had created. This was all of her doing, she knew it and Sam knew it—but she couldn’t undo it, anyway. Or could she?

  She tried to imagine what would happen if they switched back. She would be in exactly the situation that Sam is in now. Would she also be as depressed as Sam, ready to take her own life? The question replayed in her mind. She felt sorry for Sam, and her heart became heavy and dark as she imagined how awful it must have been for her. Somehow, the hatred she held for Sam had softened, dissolving into sympathy.

  Yet, Ellen reminded herself repeatedly, this was exactly what Sam wished upon me. She wanted me killed. Killed! If she were here, now, in my position, she wouldn’t be losing sleep over me. But that thought, while comforting for a moment, was immediately replaced with shame. Ellen stared at the truth. She couldn’t be heartless. She had to do something to help her, at least get her out of the mental hospital.

  She lay back and stared at the lights tracing across her ceiling, as cars rushed past in the early hours of morning darkness. Somehow, she needed to get Sam out of the hospital and not upset Jonathan. She tried to think how. Perhaps Rory or Brianna might help.

  There would be an answer, she kept promising herself. As she drifted off to sleep, her mind still replayed images of despair, and a feeling of hopelessness developed, a feeling Ellen had long been familiar with.

  ***

  Ellen awoke to the jarring ring of the phone. “Hello,” she answered, her voice still groggy and hoarse. Ellen looked over at the clock—ten-thirty!

  “You planning on coming in today?” Jonathan’s voice implied more of a demand.

  “Yes, I can’t believe I didn’t set the alarm. I’ve been so tired lately.”

  “We need to talk. My calendar is marked that today is our deadline.”

  Her stomach moved into her throat. The deadline.

  “The appointment is Friday morning. I need to confirm that’s it’s still on. What’s your answer, sweetie?”

  Ellen pulled the covers to her chest. “I … I’ll talk about it in person.”

  “Just remember, I won’t have complications. How about six at St. Regis?”

  Ellen agreed and hung up. She lay back, aware of what she needed to do. It would be simple. Show up. They do what they do. Done. Walk away. A day or two of discomfort, then it never happened. No more problems. No more worries. Such a simple solution. You walk away from a lifetime of hassles, a lifetime of worry, a lifetime of pain and … love.

  Ellen couldn’t forget about love. She thought about all the love in the early years. It was magical. How could you truly describe it to someone who hasn’t experienced it? The joy when you first hold your baby, the first sight of him. Holding this little bundle of life, of love, of everything you ever hoped for in a single moment. The bond. The knowing. How could words capture that powerful feeling that envelops you, holds you in joy?

  She rolled to her side, pulling her pillow close, remembering her first year as a mother. All the scary moments when motherhood was some unknown adventure you hadn’t prepared for. Sure, she read Dr. Spock and whatever other books they recommended at the time; but the sheer scope of the res
ponsibility—this life, completely dependent on you, on your doing it right. Every step a discovery. Every accomplishment a celebration.

  She tried to imagine a life without any of this. She tried to imagine being old and never knowing the love that you have, that you give and that you share. You give it and ask nothing in return. It is complete love. Unselfish. Unending. But it is also demanding.

  Ellen thought about her expectations for her children. Her standards. Had her expectations been too high? Suddenly, she saw alternatives to her demands, as if some door opened, presenting her with truth. Why had she never seen these before? She could have supported them more in their needs. She certainly could have listened instead of lectured. But she didn’t know any better. It was too late. Her children, in spite of all the love she gave, in spite of her eternal sacrifices, didn’t really love her.

  It was something she refused to admit before, but now, in the strangest way, it was painfully obvious. She imagined raising her children differently. What would she do if she could reset the clock and redo her life? She would change. She would change everything, including her marriage. Hindsight is everything. Yet, it is also nothing, for it can’t undo the past, can’t undo the hurt already inflicted. It can’t take back the damaging words that are forever etched and relived in the souls of those you wounded. She winced at some of the hurtful words she gave and received. To clear the slate and start anew. Could it be done?

  She could with Jonathan. Now, she has a chance to do it right.

  But at what price? Ellen put her hand on her stomach and tried to imagine paying his price. The solution would be better for both of them. There was no denying how much easier it would make everything. Does easier make it right?

  I am the problem. I want what isn’t right. I’m too scared to do what I know is right.

  But what is right and what is wrong? And who decides? Was it God? All her life she followed the church and its list of do’s and don’ts. All her life, she sat in judgment of others who didn’t follow the list—her list of right and wrong. What if the list they gave her was wrong? She pushed the thought away. Millions of others can’t be wrong.