by Anais Ninja
“Satan,” she croaked. “Devil child...”
“Fuck you,” I spat. I swept my cup off of the little table in front of me, splashing coffee all over the window as I slammed the tray into its upright and locked position, grabbing my backpack and stepping over Jeanette’s legs and then Harry’s.
“Is this what you wanted to see, Harry?” I said, lifting the front of my skirt and flashing my red lace panties. “You’ve been staring at my legs since you sat down. What’s wrong, Jeanette here won’t give it up for you anymore? Take a good fucking look, Harry. It’s the last pussy you’ll ever fucking see.” Harry just stared at my crotch, bug-eyed, like a frog that had been run over by a truck. I stepped into the aisle.
“Miss...,” one of the flight attendants said, an auburn-haired woman in a tailored blue uniform.
“Could you please find another seat for me?” I said, trying to control my anger. “I need to use the bathroom.” I stormed to the back of the plane and entered one of the lavatories, locking it behind me and sitting down on the toilet seat, bursting into tears of shame and rage. I felt ashamed for causing such a scene, but my anger hadn’t abated even though it felt cathartic to vent my spleen. After about ten minutes I dried my tears and composed myself, unlocking the lavatory door and stepping into the aisle. The flight attendant was waiting for me.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asked me, putting her hand on my arm.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just...”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Stay here. I’ll try to find you another seat.”
“Thanks.” I stood in the galley so I wouldn’t block the aisle. The other flight attendants were really nice to me, letting me sit down on one of their jump seats, bringing me a fresh cup of coffee, asking me how I was feeling. The auburn-haired flight attendant returned, shaking her head.
“Sorry, hon. No more seats in coach, and I can’t bump you up to first class.”
“That’s okay,” I said, steeling myself for a return to my original seat.
“It’s against FAA regs, but you can stay here until we make the stopover in St. Louis,” she said. “A seat should open up for you then.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Really, thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, smiling and squeezing my arm. “It could have been worse. She could have tried to sell you Amway products or something.”
When we landed in St. Louis about a third of the passengers left the plane for their connecting flights, and only a handful of travelers replaced them. The flight attendant ushered me to a seat near the front of the coach section, next to an emergency exit. There was a woman sitting in the aisle seat, but because of the exit there was plenty of room for me to slide past her to the window seat. I shoved my backpack under the seat in front of me and settled back into the cushions. The jump seat had been padded, but it was anything but comfortable, especially after two hours.
The woman in the aisle seat turned and smiled. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, with short black hair and fair skin, very pretty but just a bit on the chubby side. “Zaftig,” Helen would say, which I had guessed from context meant “fleshy”, but a soft fleshiness, not at all unattractive.
“My name’s Alice,” she said, extending her hand.
“Annie,” I said, taking her hand and shaking it. She gave my hand a little squeeze.
“Pleased to meet you, Annie,” Alice said. “I’d like to tell you about the wonders and the majesty of the Lord Buddha.”
“Oh, no,” I gasped, feeling my heart sink towards my stomach. We hadn’t even pulled away from the gate yet.
“I’m just kidding, Annie,” she said, laughing.
“Thank God,” I sighed. “Thank Buddha.”
“I heard some of what you said to her,” Alice whispered. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I mean, I appreciate your concern, but...”
“Annie, I work for a rape crisis center,” Alice said. “Nothing you can tell me will faze me. Everything will be held in the strictest confidence, no one has to know, not your parents, not anyone.”
“Thank you, Alice,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “But it was almost a year ago. I think I’m over it.”
“You didn’t sound over it back there,” she said. “Have you seen anyone? A counselor? Therapist?”
“I was in therapy late last year, just for a few weeks. I’d been having these nightmares...”
“Sounds like post-traumatic stress,” she said. “Still having nightmares?”
“No, not really,” I said. “I have some strange dreams, but they’re not what I’d call nightmares.”
“Good, good,” she said, leaning over to pull her pocketbook from under the seat in front of her. “Let me give you my card. If you ever want to talk, please call me and we can set up an appointment. We’re in Boston, near the Fenway.” She handed me a business card with her name and number, and the address of the center.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping it between the pages of my journal.
The plane began its roll down the runway. By now, I felt like an experienced flyer, no sweaty palms, no white knuckles. We flew east, heading into the twilight. I looked out the window for a while, watching the plains become hills, the hills turn to mountains. As soon as we passed over the Appalachians, clouds began to obscure the ground, thickening, and every so often I’d see a flash of lightning down below, a bright circle flashing inside the dark grey blanket.
Dinner was served, a barely edible meat patty with glue-like gravy and mashed potatoes with a synthetic aftertaste. After ten days of fine restaurants and Mia’s wonderful cooking, I could hardly choke it down. Alice didn’t like it much, either, taking one bite and pushing it away. I reached into my backpack for the sandwich and grapes Mia had packed for me, sharing them with her.
We got to talking, not about Father Ken or anything like that, just small talk, chatting about my visit to my family and the school I was about to attend. Alice had been in New Mexico, visiting an old friend from college who was expecting her first child in the spring. Her friend was living with another woman, her lover, and she’d undergone artificial insemination in order to have this child.
This leg of the trip went by quickly, two and a half hours passing just like that. I enjoyed talking with Alice, and she was a good listener, something to do with her job, I supposed. She was attentive, smiling and nodding, touching my hand or arm when she wanted to make a point. I had a feeling that she was attracted to me, just a bit, and only my age or her uncertainty about my sexuality was holding her back. As the plane descended through the clouds, making its approach to Logan Airport, buffeted by some turbulent weather, I held her hand.
“Nervous, Annie?” she asked me.
“A bit,” I said. “I don’t fly often.” The rain was coming down hard as we flew over the harbor, lining up to the runway, heavy drops and streaks of water blurring the view from the window.
“I am, too,” she said, squeezing my hand. We held hands until the plane landed, tires squealing on the runway as we slowed to a crawl, taxiing between rows of blue lights to the gate.
“I liked talking to you,” I said. “Could I call you this week?”
“Please do,” Alice said. “We can just chat over coffee if you want.”
“Thanks.” I leaned over the empty seat and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed, surprised, and gave me a knowing smile, as if some secret password had passed between us. As the passengers began to stand up and stretch their legs, reaching into the overhead compartments for their bags, I pulled my backpack from under the seat and held it in my lap, waiting for the aisle to clear before disembarking. I saw Harry and Jeanette pass by; she refused to look me in the eye, but Harry gave me a wink and a smile. I began to feel sorry for him.
When the crowd had cleared, Alice and I stood up and headed for the exit, passing the line of flight attendants who were bidding
everyone goodbye. We walked up the ramp together, towards the gate. A woman about Alice’s age, blonde and thin and pretty, waved at her.
“That’s Sherry,” Alice said. “I’ll talk to you this week, okay?”
“That would be nice,” I said, giving her hand one last squeeze. She walked over to her friend, hugging and kissing her in a way that let me know that they were lovers. They left together, arm in arm, heading towards the baggage claim area. I looked around and saw Bradley, standing by the gate in a wet raincoat, a folded umbrella tucked under his arm. He looked tired, pale, like he hadn’t slept in days. Shouldering my pack, I ran to him, holding out my arms and hugging him.
“Annie,” he said. “Nice tan. You look great.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I missed...what’s wrong?” There was a sadness in his eyes despite his smile.
“Let’s get your bag,” he said. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
“Tell me now,” I demanded. “Is Helen...?” I expected her to meet me at the gate, too.
“No, she’s fine, considering,” Bradley said. “I can’t tell you now. Not here.”
“Okay,” I said, taking his arm. We walked to the baggage carousels and waited for the luggage to come off of the plane. The conveyer belt began to roll after a few minutes and bags started appearing through the square little hole in the wall. My suitcase had been one of the last on the plane, so it was one of the first to come off. Bradley scooped it up by the handle and we headed out of the terminal, into the rainy night. The car was parked not too far from the terminal, and Bradley opened the passenger side door for me, placing my suitcase and backpack in the trunk. I got into the car and unlocked his door, watching as he folded the umbrella and placed it on the back seat.
“Bradley, tell me,” I said. “What happened?”
“It’s Brad,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head on the steering wheel. “He overdosed on something at school.”
“When?” I asked him, reaching for his hand, my heart pounding in my chest. “Where is he? Is he okay?”
“He’s in a coma,” Bradley said. “It happened last week, Tuesday. We had him brought to Newton-Wellsley Hospital so we could be closer to him.”
“Will he wake up?”
“They don’t know,” Bradley said, his voice breaking, his tears beginning to fall like the rain on the windshield. “But the doctors don’t think he will. His heart had stopped and it was a while before someone found him. We’ve been praying for a miracle.”
“How is Helen?”
“She’s holding up,” he said. “She’s devastated, but she’s been my rock. We have to swing by the hospital to pick her up on our way home.”
“Are you okay?” I said.
“I’ll make it,” he replied. “It’s just so hard. My son, my only son...”
I scooted next to him and held him as he sobbed, trying to choke back the tears but unable to rein in his grief. I embraced him for a while, listening to him weep, trying to comfort him as best as I could. Then I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a plastic package of tissues.
“Thanks,” Bradley said, drying his eyes.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I said. “I would have flown home right away.”
“We didn’t want to spoil your trip,” he said, turning the key in the ignition and backing out of the parking space. “How was it?”
“It was great, but...” I said. “I want to see him.”
“Annie,” he said. “You don’t need to see him like that, all the tubes...”
“I don’t care, Bradley,” I said. “I love him,” I added, in a softer voice.
“He loved you, too,” Bradley said. “It killed me to see how he treated you during winter break.”
Now it all made sense, his bad grades, his sullen demeanor, the way he’d lock himself in his room and turn up his music, blocking me out of his life. I remembered what Denise, my room mate at the foster home had said about heroin: “Better than sex”. Better than sex. Better than my love. My heart sank as I thought about this, wondering if there was anything I could have done. I could have tried harder to get through to him, I could have broken down that wall he’d placed between us. Even though he’d only been home for two days before he went off skiing with friends, I felt like I could have done something to get through to him.
It took us over an hour to get to the hospital, driving over the highway in the heavy rains. Bradley parked the car and unfurled the umbrella, coming around to my side of the car and shielding me from the rain. We hustled into the hospital and that smell hit me again like a slap in the face, antiseptics and salves, reminding me of that day when I carried Megan into the emergency room, her blood soaking into my clothing and coating my hands. I choked back my nausea and tried to suppress the sudden feeling of panic, following Bradley to the elevators and heading up to the ward.
Brad was laying on his back, his eyes open but seemingly lifeless, attached to a machine that breathed for him through a long tube that connected to a blue plastic mouthpiece. There were wires coming from the neck of his gown, more tubes in his arm and between his legs, and a bag of clear fluid hanging from a stand next to his bed.
Helen was seated in a chair next to her son, her eyes rimmed with red, deep lines on her face that hadn’t been there when I’d left for Phoenix ten days before. She held a balled-up tissue in her hands as she watched Brad for some sign of awareness, waiting for a miracle to happen. Only when she heard us enter the room did she interrupt her vigil.
“Annie...” she said, standing up to greet me. I put my arms around her and hugged her, and our tears began to flow. Bradley stood next to us, his arms around both of us, holding us as we wept.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“You made him happy, Anne,” she said. “You brought him joy.”
“It wasn’t enough,” I said. “If only I’d tried harder...”
“Don’t say that, Annie,” Bradley said. “There’s no reason to blame yourself. It’s my fault for sending him there, to that school. He should have been closer to home.”
“It was a good school,” Helen said. “He liked it. You know that. It’s not your fault. Not your fault...” The tears started again and I held her close, caressing her back, kissing her cheek. Just then a nurse came in to check on one of the tubes sticking out of Brad’s arm.
“Visiting hours are over in a few minutes,” she said.
“We were just leaving,” Bradley replied.
“Take a few more minutes if you’d like,” the nurse said softly.
“Thank you,” Helen said, her voice breaking. The nurse left us and Helen sat down in the chair again, Bradley standing behind her, rubbing her shoulders. I stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Brad, and then I fell to my knees and prayed, something I hadn’t done since Megan got hurt, praying to Julia, my goddess, my guardian angel, praying for her to bring Brad back to us, just as I had prayed for Megan to be delivered from her suffering. My prayer trailed off into sobs, and Bradley came over to help me to my feet, holding me in his arms as I cried, his strength and poise the only things keeping me from hysterical weeping.
The nurse came in to let us know that visiting hours had ended ten minutes ago. We thanked her and took a last look at Brad before we left. Maybe Bradley had been right; I shouldn’t have seen him like this. I should have remembered him as I first met him, at that party, a young blond Adonis in a white dinner jacket. We headed down to the car and sat for a while before leaving, listening to the sound of the rain on the metal roof.
“The doctor wants to do an apnea test tomorrow,” Helen said, breaking the silence.
“What’s that?” I asked her.
“They take him off the resuscitator to see if he can breathe without the machine,” Bradley said.
“And if he can’t?” I asked him.
“Then that’s it,” he replied. “There’s no chance he’ll ever wake up again.”
“You can’t...,” I said. I
didn’t understand this. “There must be a chance he could...”
“He can’t, Annie,” Helen said, reaching over the front seat for my hand. “We’ve been trying to reconcile ourselves to the fact that we’ve lost our son. Now we have to keep him from suffering.”
“But...but...” There would be no miracle this time. Bradley started the car and we drove home in silence.
It was Sunday night and the housekeeper was off. Bradley and Helen had missed dinner, so after we brought my bags up to Carrie’s room, I went down to the kitchen and opened a couple of cans of vegetable soup and toasted some bagels, glad to have something to do to take my mind off of Brad. We sat down at the table and ate in silence.
“So, how was your trip?” Helen asked me after we’d finished eating.
“Wonderful,” I said. “It seems like it was a year ago now.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Bradley asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “I want to stay here, at least for the semester. I’m going to visit them during spring vacation and maybe for the summer, but I want to stay with you for now.”
“Are you sure?” Helen said. “Don’t do this just because Brad...”
“I made up my mind a few days ago,” I said. “And even if I was going to live with them right now, I’d still want to stay here. I want to help you get through this.”
“You’re an angel,” Helen said, taking my hand and bringing it up to her lips, kissing my fingers. We sat at the table, holding hands while Bradley put on some tea. Afterwards, I went upstairs to unpack and call my father, letting him know I’d arrived safely. He was saddened to hear about Brad.
“You liked him a lot, didn’t you?” my father said.
“I loved him, Daddy.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Bradley and Helen need me right now.”
“Send them my condolences. Here, Dana wants to talk to you.”
I spoke with her for a few minutes, trying to mask my sadness and grief. She’d already started writing a letter to me, and she said she was wearing the nightie I’d given her, even though it was a bit big for her slender body. We said goodbye and after I hung up the phone, I realized how much I missed her, wishing I could be with her right then, cuddling with her, kissing her ruby lips.