How Sweet the Sound

by Amy Sorrells

  Se nan chemiz blanch yo wè tach.

  “It is on the white shirt that one can see the stain.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Anniston

  Vaughn dialed for the ambulance, and Mama and Solly took off running back to Comfort’s. I stuck my head out the back door. “Ernestine! C’mon, we gotta go! It’s Comfort!”

  “Lord Jesus, help us,” she said, then switched to Creole. “Seyè, a ede nou. Seyè, a ede nou. Seyè, a ede nou. Seyè, a ede nou,” she said over and over and over again.

  All the arguing forgotten, Mama and I, Vaughn, Princella, and Ernestine, hobbling as fast as she could behind us, hurried down the driveway to Comfort’s house.

  “Mama, help her!” I screamed, my heart thudding in my ears when I saw Comfort lying there beneath the pergola covered in weeping vines of wisteria. She lay there, curled up like a baby, in a white T-shirt, blood and torn-up patches of grass everywhere. Her eyes gazed at nothing, and her skin reminded me of thin, white sheets hanging in the breeze. Even her lips were white. Each of her wrists was wrapped in torn pieces of what must’ve been Solly’s shirt, now soaked in blood that still trickled from them. Spots of blood on her nightgown grew larger while we watched.

  “Leave me to die, Solly. Tell ’em to leave me to die.” Her eyes stared blank at the clouds floating past while Solly gathered up the small ball of her in his arms, and Mama felt Comfort’s neck for her pulse.

  Pins and needles ran up and down my arms.

  Felt like the world was spinning and darkening, even in the middle of the day.

  The blood on the carpet, running straight outta Daddy’s heart—that’s all I could see.

  His life and love for me nothing more than a river of blood reaching toward me hiding in the closet.

  Would anyone notice if I passed out?

  Ambulance sirens came closer, the scream of them a welcome slice into the thickness of our panic.

  My knees melted, and I wouldn’t have been able to move ’em if I had to, just like in my dreams.

  Too much blood.

  She was dying, like Daddy. I knew it. I felt her life leaving her, like I’d felt it leaving Daddy.

  I felt life leaving me, too.

  Solly held Comfort like the night Jimmy came by, like she weighed less than a leaf, and carried her to the ambulance as it pulled into the drive. The whole time, Princella screamed and moaned like the awful howling winds of those tornadoes a few weeks back.

  “I’m coming along,” Mama said to the paramedics. “She’s lost a lot of blood already. Pulse is 130s and thready, and her arms and legs are like ice. Good luck finding a vein, guys.” Mama climbed in the ambulance, and the doors shut on them, the swirling red of the lights blinding me like the blood coming out of Comfort’s wrists.

  “C’mon.” Solly motioned to me and Ernestine, and we climbed in his truck to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

  “What about Princella and Vau—”

  “Never mind them. They can get there themselves. Let’s go.” Solly peeled out of the driveway, red dust swirling in a fit, blurring the sight of Princella on her knees, and Vaughn standing above her trying to help her to her feet. I turned back around and concentrated on the flashing lights of the ambulance in front of us, so I wouldn’t be sick.

  By the time we parked, Mama stood at the doors marked “Ambulances Only,” waiting for us. Same doors we came to less than a year ago. Same doors that mighta been a way to save my daddy if he hadn’t died right then and there. “They’re waiting on results to see exactly how much blood she’s lost. They may need to give her a transfusion or two before they take her to surgery to repair her wrists. Gave her some lorazepam and morphine to calm her down and keep her comfortable.” Mama turned to Solly. “It’s probably best if only you see her for now. She called out for you when we were in the ambulance. I think it’d be good if you saw her.”

  “Thanks, Oralee.” Solly squeezed Mama’s shoulder as he walked past her through the double doors of the emergency department.

  I fell into Mama’s arms and let her hold me. “Shh, baby girl. Sh-sh-sh. It’s gonna be all right. Gonna be okay.” She moved to and fro as she held me, rocking me like I remembered her rocking me when I was small.

  “Can we pray, Mama? You, me, and Ernestine? Can we pray for Comfort?”

  “Aw, sure, darlin’. Let’s go sit over there where it’s quiet.” She directed us inside to the waiting room and a semicircle couch covered in fake blue leather. A TV hung from the wall with the sound turned down, some news anchor talking, but none of us could hear a word he said, and we didn’t care to. We held hands and prayed in silence, the three of us in a circle, automatic doors of the emergency room opening and closing, opening and closing. I could hear a child crying and the beeps of monitors and equipment through the double doors leading to the treatment rooms.

  “Lord, please help Comfort. Please,” I whispered, and squeezed Mama’s and Ernestine’s hands.

  Zanno kase nan sak, grenn li pa pèdi.

  “[When] the necklace [is] broken in a bag, its pieces are not lost.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Comfort

  The light I swim toward fades.

  Air thins within me, and I thirst for more. Desperate, I search for the surface. I must breathe. I need air, more than anything I’ve ever needed.

  The music of death slows, and my manic lover slips through my arms.

  Or do I slip from his?

  The water pulls me in directions I never intended, pulling me down farther. I flail for life, even as it ebbs from me. My limbs burn for air, lungs near-bursting from the ache for oxygen. My mouth, my throat, form the shape to scream help, but whatever life is left within me is not enough to move sound through water.

  Then I feel pain, and I know.

  I am still here.

  Abba, why didn’t You let death take me? If one day in Your house is better than a thousand elsewhere, why didn’t You let me come to You?

  I press a plastic button with my thumb and feel an icy burn of medication move up through the veins in my arm toward my heart. I feel for my wrists, covered in gauze and tape, stiff and hard over the blue veins I cut. I strain to not open my eyes, clinging to leftover wafts of death lingering behind my eyelids and unwilling to realize the nightmare awaiting me in the day.

  “Comfort.”

  The sound of Solly’s voice gives me no choice but to face life. He is here. He came.

  “You shouldn’t have come.” My words struggle and tumble past the cottony thickness of my tongue.

  “Yeah, well, I came anyway.”

  I open my eyes and fight to bring the duplicates of him together. I turn my head away from him, so he won’t see the tear roll down my cheek. He scoots his chair closer to the bed, and I feel the warmth of his fingers as they lace between mine.

  “They said you’re gonna make it.”

  I stifle a sob, not sure if it comes from relief or from the grief of wishing they’d have let me die there under the wisteria. I push the button again and let the fog of medication woo me to sleep—weightless, demonless sleep.

  For now, I do not mind how long Solly sits beside me.

  For now, I let his life enfold me and bring me back.

  Lè syèl la tonbe, mouch yo pral kenbe.

  “When the sky falls, the flies will be caught.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Anniston

  The moon was lifting the thick, wet blanket of daytime off the earth by the time Comfort’s surgery finished and the nurses settled her into her room. We walked into the star-canopied night—me, Mama, and Ernestine—grateful for the cool, weightless air. Solly took us home, so he could pick up some things to take back to Comfort. He’d be staying with her at the hospital, since she required watching every minute on account of trying to kill herself. The nurses called i
t “suicide watch.” If Solly didn’t go back, one of the nurses would’ve done it instead. Better someone she knows, we figured, since the next couple of days would be hardest for Comfort. Mama explained she’d wake up frustrated and ashamed her plan didn’t work, but in the end, most folks who try are glad to have another chance at living.

  When Solly pulled up to the house, we found Princella slumped against the steps at the base of the pillared front porch. Her gray updo hung in sad and droopy chunks around her face. She didn’t notice us, even when we got up close to her. She cradled a large, mostly empty bottle of wine like a baby, and the hems of her beige, Ultrasuede pantsuit were stained red from the driveway. Mama gently shook her on the shoulder.

  “Princella.” She didn’t move. Mama shook her harder. “Princella, wake up.”

  Princella moaned and tried to focus her eyes on Mama. The whites of her eyes were red and watery.

  “Princella, get up. Let’s get you up to bed,” Mama said.

  “You sure you don’t need me to stay? I can call the nurses at the hospital …” Solly worried.

  “No, Solly, you get on back to Comfort. We can handle this. Anni can help.”

  “’Kay. I’ll check on y’all tomorrow then.”

  “Thanks, Solly.”

  Ernestine went to fetch Vaughn, and me and Mama held Princella by the waist, one of us on either side of her, and shuffled toward the front door. The wind blew through the pecan trees, the shells clacking as if applauding us for our efforts.

  Princella interrupted my thoughts with a wet, wine-laden gasp and hiccuped in my direction.

  I couldn’t help gagging. “Is she gonna be sick, Mama?”

  “It’s a possibility.” Almost as soon as she said it, Princella crumpled over and gagged. Me and Mama let go of her and jumped back in the nick of time as Princella heaved and choked out what seemed like gallons of puke.

  Mama’s face scrunched at the acidy smell. When we were sure Princella was finished, we helped her to her feet and stumbled toward the door again.

  Vaughn came out to see about all the commotion, cigar smoldering between his fingers. He took a draw on it and blew a cloud of smoke into the clear night air. Then he chucked the rest of it into the grass. “Not again, Princella.”

  Princella laughed a tired, angry cackle. “Isn’t it a shame?”

  “That’s one word for it. Look at you.”

  “I think I look pretty good, all things considered.” Her words jumbled and slurred together. Vaughn took my place holding Princella up, and he and Mama half pulled her the rest of the way up the stone steps stretching across the porch.

  “Wait here, Anni,” said Mama. They nearly dragged Princella up the curved staircase, and I heard the soft thud of her landing on the bed. I waited for them in the den, where the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves overflowed with football trophies, photos of Cole, and signed photos of Alabama Southern coaches and players who played pro ball. One corner featured a couple of photos of the whole family, one of Comfort in her cheerleading uniform, and another of her and Daddy in what appeared to be homecoming court. Mama and Vaughn startled me when they came back downstairs.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, Anni. Thank you for your help,” said Vaughn.

  Mama, looking furious, stood behind him.

  “She gonna be okay?”

  “She’ll be fine,” said Mama. “Let’s go over to Comfort’s and see what we can do.”

  I kicked at stones on the driveway as we walked. My bones ached all over, even when Mama and Ernestine used the happy smell of lemon Pine-Sol to scrub away Comfort’s wavy trail of blood that led from the bathroom sink, where the razor blade lay, through the house and out the front door. On Comfort’s dressing table, I found a yellow-edged note card, words a soft jumble of blue, felt-tip ink.

  Come Master come

  Find me

  here

  Let me finally

  Find

  rest in You

  Bondye di, “Èske pati ou a, epi mwen pral fè m”.

  “God says, ‘Do your part, and I’ll do mine.’”

  CHAPTER 37

  Comfort

  I am assigned a nurse or an aide or some other stranger in a hospital uniform to watch over me every hour of the day. After a few days of not reopening my wrist wounds, I am trusted enough to be given a moment of privacy in the bathroom. Layer by layer, I peel away gauze until the lacy bandage no longer hides the slit edges of skin. Rusty blood oozes past stitches straining to hold me together.

  I avoided watching all the other dressing changes. I watched the nurses’ faces, pale masks tight with the pressure of holding in disgust. Disappointment. Impatience with someone like me, about whom they imagine all sorts of lurid, ghastly pretexts.

  Besides, I know well what the scars of slit wrists look like. I know the precise angles, the length, the off-color streaks of skin from my work as a nail artist. They wear long-sleeved shirts, even in the height of summer. They are careful to keep any skin above their palms covered. Others are not so careful. Either that, or they are not so ashamed. So when I turn their hands over to rub in lotion or dry their cuticles, I see.

  The last chunks of gauze fall soundless to the floor, revealing angry puckers of sutured skin. Incisions, macabre smiles, stretch from my wrist halfway down my forearm. I hoped lengthwise would’ve made things go faster. Not that it matters, since I’m still here.

  I lose track of how long I stand there, unprepared for unclad mirrors before me.

  Me.

  Gaping at the barrenness of my reflection, I crumple to the floor and sob, sliding down the antiseptic vanity, pressing my face against the tiny, cold, octagon-shaped white floor tiles. A nurse forces herself into the bathroom and calls for a couple of panicked coworkers to come help take me back to bed.

  Why did Solly save me?

  So you can live.

  The voice smarts.

  Live, Comfort. Choose to live.

  The voice bores into secret places privy only to pain.

  See My torn and bloody wrists.

  I see, and my soul hemorrhages at the verity of the vision before me. If I can put a finger, a finger, against my Abba’s wounds—but no. Wounds cannot heal wounds.

  Can they?

  I reach toward Abba again, unable to stop myself. In shame, I reach, without the intention of coming close. Not really. Without believing any power, high or low, can infuse my soul. How could it?

  Who touched Me?

  I did not.

  You did.

  No, Abba, I only reached.

  Reaching is faith, and faith is the intercourse of the eternal.

  What good is that to me?

  You took a risk.

  I ran from life.

  You reached for Me.

  So have dozens of others.

  My only concern is you.

  People. My mother. The town. They will say it cannot be. I cannot heal.

  Trust Me.

  Can You—even You—create a clean heart from this filth?

  Yes, and I can renew your spirit.

  My fingers trace the wound invisible beneath bandages again.

  Have mercy on me, Abba?

  Be still as My love falls upon you, blotting out your shame.

  But the dross of my pain, it covers everything.

  I cleanse with the fire of justice and sanctify with the sweet smell of hyssop.

  I am crushed.

  I restore.

  They stole everything.

  I reclaim.

  All I have is broken.

  Broken mends best.

  Chaj ou pa ka pòte, ou mete-l atè dousman.

  “The load you cannot carry, you put it down carefully.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Anniston
r />   The days came and went, and during this time, I figured out what people meant when they said “slow as molasses.” I spent most days working at the Curly Q, still looking for but never seeing Jed working in the orchards on my days off. Mama and Solly visited Comfort, and when the time grew closer for her to come home, Ernestine and I visited her too. Solly stood outside the double doors to the nurses’ station waiting for us. Mama pushed a buzzer, and someone at the nurses’ station let us in.

  “She’s better today. Cheeks pinkin’ up this morning.”

  “How’s she feel about visitors?”

  “I told her you were coming, and she smiled and said, ‘Good,’ so I think it’s fine for you to visit. But she’s still tired. So not too long.”

  “I got her this in the gift shop.” I showed Solly the pen and journal.

  “She’ll like that, darlin’. Come with me.”

  The smell of bleach and hospital cleaners burned my eyes. The first thing I saw when I walked into the room were the thick, white bandages covering Comfort’s wrists. I must’ve stared at them without realizing.

  “Doesn’t hurt. Not anymore.” Comfort smiled at me slightly. Her lips were still pale, too pale, like the pink inside of a seashell. “Y’all can sit down.”

  Ernastine and I sat on the air register under the window. Mama sat in a chair in front of me, and Solly sat in a chair right next to Comfort’s bed. She grabbed his hand. He held hers like a fragile piece of china in both his, rough and suntanned.

  I handed her the pen and journal. “Here you go. I got this for you. Well, Mama helped.”

  “Thank you, Anni.”

  “You’re welcome.” I wanted to ask her a million questions, but fear grew fat in my throat.

  Thankfully, Mama spoke up. “The doctors say you’re going to be fine, Comfort. That’s such good news. You gave us quite a scare.”