by Lowe, T. I.
Chapter Five
The sun seems just as tired as I am and is beginning to droop in the sky quickly as I make my way farther south. I know I should just drive on through, but I decide to put off the inevitable for just a bit longer. I hit the GPS screen on my dashboard and do a quick search for the closest beach resort. After finding an appealing stop, I follow my car’s direction to my destination.
The beachfront resort and spa has ended up being my easiest decision of the day. I take a deep cleansing breath as I enter the vast lobby, which feels heavenly after being in the cramped confines of my car all day. The space is draped in tranquility from whispering water fountains and sumptuous tropical plants. I scoot up to the check-in counter and get lucky. The place is booked solid, being that it is tourist season, but had a last-minute cancellation. I hurry through check-in and find more peace in my oceanfront luxury suite.
The first thing I do is open the glass doors to the balcony so I can listen to the soothing melody of the peaceful seashore. Some of the tension eases away as I stand by the window and watch the waves roll in under the moonlit sky. I’ve always found the vacant night beaches to be such a seductive mystery. I feel as though we are sharing an intimate secret that no one else is a privy to. I gaze over this natural wonder for a while longer and allow it to emit its calming effect over me.
After getting settled, I call my best friend, and he answers on the first ring. “Hey,” I say. “Just letting you know I’ve stopped for the night. Traffic’s been bad and I don’t feel like driving in the dark.”
“Savannah? What’s wrong with your voice?” I hear the concern in Lucas’s voice.
My little screaming session earlier plays through my head. It’s left my throat feeling like sandpaper got ahold of it in a severe way. “It’s nothing. I just think I’m allergic to the South,” I say dryly.
“You know you can just forget about the whole thing, or I can catch up with you so we can face this together. Please let me be there for you, love.”
“That’s awfully tempting, but I think this is something I need to take care of on my own.” I really don’t want him to have to be in the midst of the chaos I am about to step into. For one thing, the way my family deems fit to treat each other is embarrassing. Moreover, Lucas deserves to be spared from as much of my issues as possible. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you too. If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”
I hang up the phone without replying. Sitting here on the edge of the bed, I rub my shaky hands over my knees as the demons begin to dance. I roll my shoulders over and over, but I am unable to shrug them off. As I glance around the room, my gaze lands on a cocktail menu sitting on the nightstand. Drinking was something I left back in college, but tonight I just want to hush those blame demons. Before I can come to my senses, I call in an order. Maybe the booze will help with my allergies. The hotel operator sounds confused and a bit amused as I order a buffet of various drinks like a pure idiot.
After the cocktails arrive, I fill the large soaking tub and select an orange fruity-looking concoction to medicate myself while I soak. I toss in some complementary bath salts and ease into the steaming water that tingles along my skin. After I am settled, I turn on the jets, hoping to work out the knots in my shoulders. I reach over to the side of the tub to retrieve my fancy glass and take a test sip. The first stings of the alcohol on my tongue remind me of a home remedy Jean used to give us kids when we were sick. It was a combination of vodka, lemon, and honey. I don’t know if it cured anything besides keeping us out of our mother’s hair while we were sick. That potent potion would knock you flat on your butt. Needless to say, we slept a lot when we were sick. I guess that was a good thing for us all.
I rest my head on the back of the enormous tub and sink a little farther down. As I watch the water whirl around in all directions, the demons pick up on their dancing. I’m lost…I’m bored…I’m worthless…I’m so confused. Just slip under the water. Just let it overtake you and the pain will be gone…
I chug the rest of the sharp syrupy liquid and set the glass back down, nearly dropping it in my haste. I sink farther into the steaming, vigorous water and feel as though I’m losing control. All of a sudden, the room starts feeling too hot and overwhelming. The water seems to hold me captive, and I can’t lift my arms with my body feeling like lead. My fingertips start to tingle and I know I have to get out of the tub before the attack overtakes me. It’s like this ugly monster has crept up on me from nowhere, with its claws drawn. I finally muster the strength to climb out and end up staggering into the sink vanity. The immediate pain in my side distracts me enough from the attack so that I can grab a towel and stumble to the bed. It’s too late to take my medicine and now that I dabbled into the poison of alcohol, I don’t have a choice. I select another toxic drink and gulp it down in one long swallow as I try to fend off the panic from overtaking me, but I know it’s too late. My hands are trembling, and my heart is racing at a skipping, hiccupping rate. I stretch across the bed and watch the room blur out.
~ ~ ~
“She’s dying, Momma.” The words bellow from my trembling lips as I stare down at the breathing corpse that once was my sister. “Please do something,” I beg.
“Julia Rose is just being a drama queen,” Jean snaps as she stares down at Julia too. Jean’s arms are crossed over her chest, and she is spitting mad. Her perfectly curled blonde hair is dancing in a hushed quiver with her rage.
I ease my sight from my mother and back towards my sick sister. I know I’m not looking at a drama queen, but a broken girl. It takes one to know one—even though our forms are broken differently, I’ve learned broken is still broken, regardless. Julia lies on her side, facing away from us. It pains me to see her hipbone jutting out under her gown in an unnatural way and her bony arm lies limply over her wasted away waist. I slowly walk to the other side of the bed and continue to stare down at her. Studying her features, I take in the hollowness and severely sharp angles. Her eye sockets are sunk in her ashen skin, and it makes me so scared. I try to capture her attention, but she only gazes to the corner of the room. It’s like she’s here in this puny body, but gone completely in spirit.
I point over at the sodden sheets Julia is laying on. “But—”
“She’s just a lovesick teenager and I won’t play these immature games with her!” Jean growls at me and then turns her attention back to Julia. “Enough is enough. I know you miss Evan, but seriously, Julia. You are just a child. He’s too old for you anyway. Just get your butt up and eat already. I don’t have time for this!” She storms out of the room, leaving me alone with my sick sister and my overwhelming fear.
I find a clean spot on the bed and have a seat. I cautiously sit here looking down at her, scared that she is going to die and leave me alone with the memories. Alone to survive the demons by myself. I’ll never survive them alone. I need her to carry the burden with me. I know it’s selfish of me, because it’s obvious the burden is killing her right before me. My hand reaches out to touch her, but think better of it. I can’t tolerate touch anymore, and I want to comfort her in this moment, but cannot get over my own fears to do so. We are both so broken.
I sit a while longer, but cannot figure out a solution. Moreover, I really cannot stomach being in this room for another minute. The pungent smell of ammonia and body odor attacks my nose, and I am unable to inhale without the assault. I try to stand and escape, but the filthy bed sheets begin to wrap around me, pulling me farther onto the bed. The more I fight against it, the more I am consumed. The sheet snakes its way around my neck aggressively, leaving me gasping for the vile air. My vision darkens frightfully. By the next window of clarity, I find my sister and me being swallowed up by the sinfully tarnished bed. She ends up rolled on top of me, staring a ghostly stare with her pale, vacant eyes. I try to scream, but the overpowering ammonia steals my breath. I’m choking. Gagging. Gasping…
~ ~ ~
My trem
bling body nearly clears the bed in a jolt as the awful dream finally releases me. It’s one of my many repeat nightmares. Asleep or awake, I can get no peace. The only action I can muster is to lay here for a while, trying to get my breathing and heart rate under control. I breathe deeply, trying to chase the lingering ammonia and stench from my airway with the salty ocean air filtering through the room. That pungent smell is one I will never be able to forget. The whooshing sounds of the waves softly rolling onto the shore outside filter in also from the open balcony door, so I place my focus there. I try to conjure up the images of the night ocean as I concentrate on my breathing exercises. I can see the ghostly white caps peeking from the water ever so often and the twinkling night sky watching from overhead. Breathe in… Breathe out…
Once I calm down, I check the clock on my phone and disappointingly discover that I have only slept for a few hours. I feel like I have already battled an entire night’s sleep. I lick my dry lips and try to swallow a pasty swallow uncomfortably. I’m parched, so I wearily grab a watered down drink and sling it back, only to have my stomach protest. I dart to the bathroom just in time for my body to exorcise the alcohol.
After the retching finally passes, I wash my mouth out with some complimentary mouthwash by the sink, for which I’m thankful. My mouth tasted like a sewer. Fatigue pushes my body onto the cool marble bathroom floor. It feels heavenly on my fevered skin. Now I remember bitterly why I don’t drink. Stupid lesson learned—again.
As I lay on this bathroom floor, I can’t help but think about my sister and the reason behind this nightmare I have just endured. She performed her own disappearing act after the darkness of Evan Grey. Julia withered away at such a fast rate that the rumor around town was she was sick with some type of cancer. My mother did nothing to dispel the rumors either. She stayed so mad during this time in our lives. It was the first time my sister had caused any disturbance to our family, and it rubbed my mother wrong something fierce. Jean dared my father to do anything about it, saying she was just being rebellious and would eat when she got good and hungry. But I knew better. My sister did not intend to eat ever again. She had made her mind up while lying up in that room and I knew nothing was going to change it. I took matters into my own hands.
There was only one option, and that was to call Jean’s estranged parents. They had spoiled her up until the grandbabies were born, when they realized the error of their ways. That spoiled brat couldn’t see past herself to care for her own. They encouraged my mother to be a better parent, and this earned them the boot out of our lives. I had not seen them in well over six years by the time I made that fateful phone call. Jean scheduled a spa appointment for an entire day’s pampering that early spring day, saying all of the stress of Julia’s mess had earned her the treat. Scared out of my mind, I arranged for my grandparents to sneak Julia away. At that point, she was nothing more than bones and dried, gray flesh. Her hair had thinned considerably too, and I had to fight the overwhelming urge to be scared of the thing that my sister had become.
I remember them entering Julia’s room and my grandmother going to her knees at the first sight of my sister. It was a memory filled with pity and absolute shame. She finally picked herself up off the floor to make her way onto the bed. She lay there holding my sister, crying, while I helped my grandfather pack a suitcase. He spoke very few words, and I knew he was in shock at the sight of Julia also. My grandfather finally encouraged my grandmother to release Julia so he could gather her skeleton in his arms and carry her to their van. They both gave me a sympathetic look as they drove away, leaving me on the curb with the weight of what I had just done crashing down on me.
By the time Jean entered the house that late afternoon, I had Julia’s bed stripped down and the room aired out of the stench left behind. The bedding ended up in the outside garbage. The soiled material was past the point of no return.
I was lying on the rope rug in my room, listening to the stereo, when Jean stormed in, yanking me up off that floor quicker than I had time to comprehend. Fury was radiating off her, and it scared me.
“Where’s your sister? I know she didn’t walk out that door on her own,” she shouted as she shook me.
I was beyond upset, and the fact that Jean openly knew that my sister was too sick to walk out on her own devastated me. Yet she did nothing about it. She was more worried about keeping up her image in front of the town than to take care of her sick daughter. I hated her in a way I wished wasn’t possible in that moment. It felt purely evil, and I had thoughts about my mother that I’m too ashamed to admit.
She shook me in a violent snatch one more time. “Tell me!” She let me go with a slight shove so that she could light a cigarette. I hated the smell of it, and she knew this as she puffed the smoke right into my face. The acrid smoke attacked me before I could close my airway off, causing me to choke out a cough.
“Your parents took her to get some help,” I muttered while staring at the floor.
She took another long drag, and my room began to fog with the vulgar smoke, setting my eyes on fire. “Just how do you suppose they knew to do that?” She looked nervous in that moment, like she might have been caught doing wrong. This one sign of weakness from her gave me just enough courage.
I looked at her with as much hate as I could muster. “I suppose I called and told them she was—”
Jean didn’t allow me to finish. This smart-mouthed comment earned me a handprint across my cheek. With my cheek on fire, she pushed me back to the floor. I was too busy clutching my cheek to catch my fall, so my head banged into the corner of footboard of my bed. The skin on my scalp felt a little wet, but I was too stunned to check it. My attention was on my mother, who was pointing that cigarette at me as though she wished it were a gun. And in that very moment, I had my first suicidal thought. I had desperately wished it was a loaded gun and that she would use it on me. The standoff between us teetered for mere minutes, but it felt like a lifetime to me. I do believe we both had a death wish for me during this.
She shook her head and stormed to the door. “I don’t want to see sight of you for the rest of the day,” she said before slamming my door shut.
Later that night, I crept to the bottom of the stairs and spied on Jean while she was on the phone with her mom. She was demanding that they tell her where Julia was and to bring her back. Jean backed down when words such as child neglect and social services entered their conversation.
“Fine. Keep her. I was at my wits’ end with her anyway.” The nervousness trembled in my mother’s voice. Something that was not present often. “I… I tried to get her to eat. Just ask her.” The conversation ended with little more commentary than that. She turned around and caught me listening, and I knew I was about to get the beating of my life. Instead, she seemed to not think I was worth her effort. Jean retrieved a bottle of wine and a glass and disappeared into her room for the rest of the night. I went back to my room and pretty much hid there for the next ten months. That was how long it took before the facility for eating disorders would release Julia to come back home. Those ten months alone with Jean were a living hell. Life was lonely, and I felt even more lost.
~ ~ ~
Shivering and aching all over, I wake up on the bathroom floor and feel right disappointed in myself. Here I am, in a luxurious hotel suite, and I end up spending the night on the blame bathroom floor. What an idiot. The crick in my neck and my sore back rebels against movement, but they eventually allow me to rise off the floor and go straight to the shower. I release the towel that is haphazardly wrapped around me and step into the hot spray, trying to wash off the restless night. I don’t ever sleep well. Most nights, I end up roaming around the condo with a nagging restlessness keeping me company. Last night was a bit rougher than my norm. Too many memories chasing me around, and let’s not forget about the stupid alcohol idea.
After the shower, I down two aspirins with an entire bottle of water. By the time I’m dressed, the resolution to not go to Bay C
reek is firmly in place. I am on the verge of a complete meltdown and it’s just not worth it. I pack my bag with determination and head back to Lucas and to my safe life—the only place I should be.
Okay. So not even a half hour down the taunting road, I find myself making a U-turn and start heading back south. Ugh. I have to do this. This unpleasant task has to be followed to the very end. It’s time to face all the demons and just have it out—no-holds-barred.
Two more long frustrating hours pass before my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten in well over twenty-four hours. I pull off the interstate and find a quaint country diner. As I walk through the door, the aroma of savory eggs and sausage frying sends my stomach into a mean growl. The smells remind me of a local diner set right on the beach in Bay Creek. It is rightfully named the Beach Shack because it resembles a dilapidated beach shack with well-worn clapboard siding and a rusty tin roof. It serves the best biscuits and gravy I have ever eaten. It’s tradition for locals and tourists alike to indulge on the greasy, delicious fair before hitting the beach for the day.
This diner is pretty neat as well. It resembles an old farmhouse with blue gingham curtains and tablecloths and roosters perched around the perimeter as though they are keeping an eye on the place. The old wooden floors creak when I enter as though to welcome me. The hostess, who is wearing a gingham apron and an old-fashioned farm dress, greets me and escorts me to a table near the front. I end up ordering biscuits and gravy to compare to my childhood memories. They are okay, but not as rich and creamy as the one back home. Home? Yep, I just slipped, didn’t I?
I sit for a while and overanalyze my slip-up. Boy oh boy. I can’t believe I called Bay Creek home. Honest mistake, I suppose. Speaking of which, it’s time I stop lollygagging and get on with it. Well… Soon. I’ll head out soon.