Bloom

by Grey, Marilyn

  Two extremely kind men from Danielson’s Funeral Home brought a stretcher into Anastasia’s bedroom.

  Yanni set his little one on the white sheets and held her face in his hands. “My little one.” He kissed her forehead and her cheeks.

  Sophia did the same, then we all took turns saying goodbye.

  Yanni and Sophia walked beside the stretcher as the two men carried it outside. The rest of us watched from the front door as Yanni lifted the sheet over Anastasia’s head and stepped back.

  Her body disappeared into the back of their vehicle. They exchanged a few words and Yanni and Sophia walked back to the porch and stood, arms crossed, as the red taillights turned the corner.

  It was official.

  December 25th at 3:46pm Anastasia Sophia Koursaris left the world and took our hearts with her.

  Vasili insisted on driving me home, but I insisted I was okay. He won the argument and took me back to Ella’s. When we parked I didn’t see their cars, but I saw James standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets. Of all days.

  “Want me to stay until he leaves?” Vasili said. “He looks drunk.”

  “’l’ll be okay.”

  He nodded with apprehension as I opened the car door. James whistled and waved as I walked up to him. I turned back and urged Vasili to go, but he stayed there.

  “Who’s that?” James touched the hem of my coat.

  “You’re drunk. What are you doing here?”

  “It’s Christmas. All I want for Christmas is you.”

  I unlocked the door. “Come inside.”

  He swung his legs as though it took great effort, then fell into the couch.

  I stood at the bottom of the steps. “I need to change and do my burn routine.”

  “Why? Where’ve you been?”

  “Anastasia died. I was with her family.”

  “Who’s Anas ... Anastia?”

  “Wait here.”

  I sat on my bed and looked around, imagining Sophia probably in her daughters bed. The funeral director said they could come to the church the night before the funeral and hold Anastasia until morning. I couldn’t imagine.

  I pulled my shirt up and over my head, then began taking my compression garments off. A few minutes later I stood in front of the mirror.

  I ran my fingers across the scars. I no longer had any resemblance of being a woman, or even a man, while looking at my chest. Scars upon scars. My doctors kept telling me to see a plastic surgeon when my skin could handle it, but I didn’t see the point of adding two fake boobs to a chest full of scars purely for aesthetics. I just wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to love my new body. Fake boobs or not. Vasili didn’t understand. I could never make love to a man like this. Not even with the lights off.

  James appeared in the doorway, smirking. “Look at you.”

  I held my shirt against my chest. “I’m not finished.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

  “You’re not having me. Not now. Not ever.” I stepped back as he came toward me. “You’re drunk. Leave now or I’m calling the cops.” He stepped again. “I’m serious.”

  He grabbed my arm and shoved me into the wall.

  “Stop.” I jerked away, but he forced me against the wall again. “James. Stop.”

  “I’m going to show you that I still think you’re beautiful.”

  He squeezed my arms so hard I felt like my skin would rip apart. I kicked my feet, but he forced me over his shoulder and dropped me on the bed.

  “Smile for the camera.” He pointed his phone at me. “So sexy now. Come on, you can do better than that.”

  I wanted to scream and punch him in the face. Or give him a list of reasons why he was unattractive too. Instead, I pressed my face into the bed and mentally traced the lines on my quilt as I did when my sister and her boyfriends made fun of me years ago.

  “Bug eyes.”

  “You’re taller than a bean stalk.”

  “Your legs look like toothpicks.”

  “You’re so pale. Are you sick?”

  “Amazon lady.”

  “Your stomach isn’t flat enough.”

  “That mousey hair. It washes you out.”

  “Is that what you call a dress?”

  “Your teeth are yellow.”

  “Are those love handles?”

  “Your shoe size is bigger than my head.”

  “You should wear your hair down. Those ears stick out too much.”

  “Your hair is too frizzy.”

  “Your nose is too big.”

  “Your lips aren’t big enough.”

  Too much and not enough. All at the same time.

  By my senior year my sister was away at college. She didn’t get to see when I was voted prom queen and Most Beautiful in my class. She wouldn’t have cared anyway. People always told me girls are mean to other girls when they’re jealous. They don’t feel beautiful within themselves, so they refuse to see beauty in everyone else. Their lives become one big game of tearing down others to feel good about themselves. Except they never feel good about themselves. They never feel good about anything. Whether they realize it or not, they paint everything ugly.

  I refused to be like that. I told myself I’d always see beauty in everything. Even in an eel or a flower everyone despises. I became a photographer to capture beauty in things others missed or discarded. Every day I inspired others as I constantly preached to them about looking for beauty in all things.

  And now, lying half-naked and humiliated, I found it difficult to see the beauty of my own imperfect body.

  I drew in a breath and looked at the Edmund Blair Leighton painting on my wall. A young woman in a flowing white dress reached down from her balcony to give a grinning man a flower. The artist called it A Favour. How I longed to jump inside the painting and become a beautiful woman smiling down at a winsome fellow.

  James continued taunting me, saying he wasn’t much of a breast man anyway. I closed my eyes and tuned him out, imagining waves lapping against a shore. Camera in hand, I looked for hidden beauty to photograph. So easy to take a picture of the pastel sunrise. Instead, I waited for something unexpected.

  My imagination wandered for minutes until James jerked me up and forced me to look at the pictures on his phone.

  I came back to reality, away from the shores of my imagination, and pretended to smile. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Now you’ll marry me or I’ll post these images all over the Internet.”

  I covered my chest with a pillow. “What have I got to lose?”

  “Fine. You want me to do it? I will. Right now.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You wanna play that game, huh?”

  “I’m not playing any games. My life is already upside down. I’m not pretending to be pretty anymore, James. Just do whatever makes you happy.”

  “What makes me happy is you.”

  “Funny way of showing that.”

  He shoved his phone into his pocket. “Do I really have to blackmail you to marry me?”

  “There’s no blackmailing. Do what you want. I’m not marrying you.”

  He swung his arms and raked a hand through his hair. I clutched the pillow tighter and hoped Ella would be home soon. James tried to speak, but said nothing.

  Our eyes met for a brief moment. Quick enough to mean nothing, but long enough for me to notice his bottom lip quivering.

  “Please go,” I said.

  “Go where?” He slumped into the chair across from me and covered his eyes with his hand. “I have no one. Just Abby.”

  “Your parents.”

  “They hate me. Since my brother died, they hate me. They blame me for ev
ery problem and flaw they have, like I could possibly be to blame for milk they spilled when I don’t even live there.” He sighed and knelt down in front of me. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” His eyes reddened around the edges. “I’ve been a complete jerk and I know it. I’ve been spending more time at the bar than with Abby.” He squeezed the arm of the chair until his hand turned red. “For the entire year after the accident I tried to love you like before, but you didn’t receive it. You’ve barely wanted me around since this happened. It’s made me feel insane. I’ve been hurt and angry. Ripping old pictures of us, then scrambling to tape them back together. I thought maybe if I hurt you that it would wake you up. I don’t know what to do.” He hung his head. “Everything I love ... whatever I touch ... I mess it all up.”

  “I forgive you, James.”

  He looked up at me. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you love me?”

  I hesitated, then whispered, “Yes.”

  “Do you love me, Sarah?”

  “I said yes.”

  “Show me.”

  I closed my eyes. “James.”

  “No. If you love me, show me.”

  “I care about you. I love you the same way I love my other friends.”

  “How did we come to this?” He walked to the door. “If I would’ve put that fire out like you asked we’d be married right now.”

  “Maybe.” I pulled my feet onto my bed. “Maybe we’d be happily married. Or maybe not. Maybe this happened to show us that eventually this would’ve happened in some way. If love can’t survive flames, then maybe it wasn’t love to begin with.”

  “Speak for yourself,” he said, then slammed the door.

  The wall next to it shook, tilting a picture of Ella and I when we were kids. I felt bad for James. Life dealt him a tough hand. His choices and lack of self-control throughout life seemed to backfire in his face all the time. Initially, I was attracted to him for that very reason. I saw a cute guy who needed a little sunshine in his life. Everyone always called me “Sunshine,” so who better, right? We were happy at first. So long as I made him feel valued, even if it meant ignoring my true feelings.

  Like one day when Ella and I wanted to go out to eat and James had a nervous breakdown when I told him we were traveling to Baltimore for the day. He tried to say he was worried because his brother died in a car crash, but really he didn’t want me finding someone else. He threw such a fit about it that we never left. I told Ella I didn’t feel good. She met up with Dee instead. I thought James would come over, but as soon as I told him I was staying home he decided to go to a bar with his friends.

  I ignored his excessive gambling, visits to strip clubs, and depressive episodes where he threatened to kill himself if I went out with my friends. I ignored it all. I felt bad for him ... and Abby. I thought I could fix him. Give him a happy life.

  I didn’t realize in the process I’d lose my own.

  Twenty Two

  Worried I’d forget something, I checked my bag over and over again. Anastasia had specific instructions and I didn’t want to let her down. After verifying I had everything I needed—for the sixth time—I put on a pair of black flats. Anastasia requested we all wear teal at her funeral instead of black, but I didn’t own anything teal and forgot to buy something, so I asked Ella if I could borrow something of hers. I preferred loose fitting shirts for now. With that in mind, she gave me a teal shirt dress that buttoned down and fell to my knees. I wore black leggings underneath. With my coat, scarf, and intentional hair swooping down the side of my face, I appeared somewhat like the old me.

  Part of me didn’t like it though. I wanted to stop hiding. Completely.

  I hung the bag over my shoulder and walked downstairs. Ella stood in the kitchen, hunched over the counter crying.

  “What’s wrong?” I set the bag down on a barstool and touched her back. “Ella?”

  She laughed. “Just these darn onions.”

  “Onions?”

  “They’re making my eyes water so bad. I can barely cut them without closing my eyes.” She tossed a handful of diced onion and red pepper into a large pot. “Whew. Never had that happen before.”

  I walked back to my bag. “I was rather alarmed. I thought maybe you were more normal than it seems.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your life seems so perfect sometimes that I want to throw up.”

  “Wow. Thanks.”

  I laughed. “It just seems like you and Gavin never argue. Everything is golden. Beautiful girl. Gorgeous husband. Sweet baby. Successful business. Dream house.”

  “Gavin and I argue.”

  “I’ve been here almost five months and haven’t heard a peep.”

  “Well, we don’t scream across the house, but we argue.”

  “About what?”

  “Little things, big things. I don’t know. Sometimes I get annoyed at silly things. I’ll get on him for loading the dishwasher wrong, making the mattress sink, kissing me while I’m drinking something and making it spill down my shirt. Things like that. Or he gets upset with me for pushing my standards on everyone around me and getting mad at people when they make—what I consider—the wrong decisions. We had a disagreement because I wanted to keep Adelaide in the bedroom with us until she turns one, but he said six month max.”

  Gavin walked into the room with Adelaide in his arms. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “How you guys are more normal than it seems,” I said. “Sometimes it feels like you set an impossible bar for romance and marriage.”

  He laughed. “No way. We love each other, but it’s not like we stare into each other’s eyes every night.”

  Ella smirked. “Last time we had sex was ... what?”

  “Seven months ago,” he said.

  “What?” I said. “Why?”

  “Ella was uncomfortable the last two months of her pregnancy and we haven’t had a chance since Adelaide.”

  “Haven’t had a chance.” I smiled. “Well, you are more real than I thought. Thanks for sharing.”

  “Yes,” Gavin said. “Always willing to discuss my failings if it helps another dear soul find meaning and joy in this—”

  “Alright, smarty pants,” Ella said. “We’ll see you later, Sarah. I hope everything goes well. Give the family our love.”

  I nodded, said goodbye, and closed the front door. It took me a few minutes to walk to my car. The cool air felt so good and I needed to prepare myself for what I was about to endure. Never in my life had I seen a child in a casket and I’m not sure I wanted to.

  But I couldn’t let her down.

  I stood at the back of the church feeling quite out of place. Everything whirled by in one huge blur of confusion and strangeness. Eventually I mustered up the nerve to walk inside the sanctuary.

  Sophia, Yanni, Mama Koursaris, Kyriakos, Eleni, Vasili, and Natalie sat in the front row of the church, to the right of the open casket. Surprisingly, they weren’t crying.

  I sat in the back and watched the service unfold. Most of it seemed incomprehensible to me. I’d never been to an Orthodox service before and most of it was in Greek.

  One section stood out to me though. In English the priest said some things about being made beautiful by God, but the word “scars” struck me when he said something like, “Though I bear the scars of my stumblings, have compassion on me.”

  After that I tuned out again, dreading the talk Anastasia wanted me to give during her slideshow. Hopefully at a distance no one would be able to see my face. I tried to cover the scars as much as I could.

  Together the church sang, “May her memory be eternal,” what seemed like a thousand times until finally everyone left the pews to greet the family in the first row and pay the
ir respects to Anastasia.

  I didn’t want to.

  I wanted to skirt around her casket and avoid seeing her. It made me nervous. Especially being up there on the altar in front of everyone.

  I greeted the family, stopping at Sophia to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She tried her best to remain calm, but her wet cheeks betrayed her.

  I turned toward the casket where another person stood, holding Anastasia’s little hand and kissing her forehead. I swallowed and walked up the steps. Hands clasped in front of me, I waited.

  The woman in front of me sniffed and stepped away.

  There she lay. Flowers in her hands. Picture frames and letters tucked into the edges of her beautifully adorned casket. She wore the dress from our photography session and a cross necklace sparkled on top of her chest. So peaceful.

  I cupped my hand over hers and willed the tears away, then kissed her cheek and stepped aside. Surreal. Only a few days ago she reclined on the couch, beaming at our rendition of her favorite movie.

  I imagined plenty of adorable memories as I stood at the back of the church.

  After everyone said their goodbyes, the family stood one-by-one. Kyriakos and Eleni went first. Then Natalie and Vasili. They all managed to maintain a serene composure.

  Finally, Sophia and Yanni stood. Yanni pulled his wife into his chest and helped her up the steps. For a few seconds, they stared at their daughter. The entire church remained so silent I could hear the person in front of me breathe. Sophia held a tissue to her face and leaned forward, resting her head on Anastasia’s chest as she filled the silence with high-pitched sobs. Yanni placed one hand on his daughters head and the other on his wife’s back.

  They stayed like that for minutes as many faces in the room watched, blinking, a fresh dew of heartache covering their faces. And mine.

  Sophia quieted, then placed her cheek against Anastasia’s. I covered my mouth and closed my eyes, biting back my own tears.

  Yanni kissed Anastasia’s forehead, then backed away and pulled Sophia with him. Two men placed their hands on the couple’s back, then, with Yanni’s assistance, they closed the casket. A soft, yet profound thud echoed through the room, stilling everyone with its glaring closure.