Ajar

by Marianna Boncek

  I turned and left the room. I could hear my uncle yelling, “You are not excused from this table, young man,” and my mother shouting through tears, “Gus? Gus, where are you going?”

  I grabbed the keys from the sideboard by the door. I drove over to Lindy’s. I did not park in her driveway but across the street. I crept through the yard peeking in windows until I found her room. I tapped lightly on the window.

  “Lindy,” I whispered against the glass, “Lindy, it’s me, Gus.”

  I waited. I tapped again. She opened the window and pulled up the storm window. Warm air from her room rushed my face.

  “Gus, what are you doing? Are you crazy?”

  “Let’s do it, Lindy. Let’s run away.”

  She smiled. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  As usual, Mrs. O’Reilly was not at the library. Lindy and I sat at the table and I told her what my uncle had told me.

  “I think they have old papers and things here. We could look it up and see if it was in the paper. We can see if it’s true,” Lindy suggested.

  It was a good idea. Lindy, like me, didn’t even know if what my family was telling me was true. I was tired of being in the dark about everything.

  We approached the circulation desk with trepidation. Of course, the librarian knew us. She had been relaying Mrs. O’Brien’s messages to us for quite a while. She always smiled at us but we’d never spoken to her before except for a few words here and there. She looked up and smiled as we came close.

  “Good morning,” she chirped.

  “Good morning,” I responded.

  I could hear Lindy behind me mumble, “Good morning.”

  “I was wondering,” I started. I wish I had thought this out a little more. I wasn’t sure how to frame my request. “I was wondering if you keep copies of newspapers here. Old newspapers.”

  “Really old newspapers,” Lindy added.

  “We do. How far back did you need to go?” she asked.

  “Nineteen sixty-one,” I responded.

  She didn’t even ask us why we wanted a newspaper from 1961. Maybe she knew about my father. Everyone else seemed to know all about me, except me. Maybe she didn’t care. Maybe she thought it was a school project. All I know is that she was very helpful.

  She explained to us that the old newspapers were kept on microfilm. She showed us the cabinet where the microfilm was kept. The microfilm looked like small reel-to-reel movie film. She pulled out a drawer and handed us a reel. It was labeled 1961. She showed us how to feed the film into an odd-looking machine with a big screen and how to move the knobs that made the film move forward and backwards. Then she left us to search on our own.

  “If you need any help, just ask,” she said as she returned to check out books at the circulation desk.

  Lindy pulled her chair close to mine. We stifled our laughing as we practiced forwarding and reversing the film. We stopped at some old advertisements. We looked at pictures and Lindy giggled at the hairstyles and clothes.

  And then it was there, on the screen.

  It was just a small article on page seven. We almost missed it in the fun we were having with the microfilm. “Man Dies after Jumping from Mill Street Bridge.”

  I felt all my breath leave me. My chest was heavy. My hand was frozen on the microfilm reader knob. Lindy placed her hand on top of mine. She focused the article so she could read it. Her voice was soft and compassionate as she read.

  “Sawyer Police say a man likely jumped to his death from the Mill Street Bridge shortly after 9:30 p.m. Witnesses say they spotted the man climbing over the railing and jumping into the stream below. Several cars stopped but witnesses say the man jumped before they could get out to help him. Rescue teams worked through the night to recover the body from the bottom of the mill dam. Identification is being withheld pending positive identification. Several witnesses claim he was a local man who lived near the bridge.”

  When Lindy was done, she sat back and looked at me. I could not even turn my head to look at her.

  “I’m so sorry, Gus,” she consoled.

  I tried to nod because I knew I couldn’t move my mouth to speak but I was sure my head wasn’t moving either. She took my hand gently away from the knob and forwarded it stopping each day on the page titled “Obituaries” until she found my dad’s. I could move my eyes but not my head. Lindy read again.

  “Clayton D. Woodard, 36, of Sawyer died unexpectedly on June 3rd, 1961. He was born on May 5, 1925 in Sawyer to Ethel and Daniel Woodard. He is survived by his wife, Helen, and two sons, Daniel and Agustin at home. He is also survived by his brother, Elliot, and his wife, May. He belonged to St. Mary’s Catholic Church. There will be no visitation. Funeral Mass will be 10:30 on Saturday, June 7th. Burial will be at the Heavenly Rest Cemetery.”

  Lindy let me sit for a long time staring out at nothing. She rewound the film, returned it to the cabinet and then flipped the reader switch off. The screen went from white to black.

  “C’mon,” she whispered into my ear while placing both her hands on my shoulders. I got up and robotically followed her. It was cold when we left the library but I felt nothing. We drove to the cemetery and I parked near my father’s grave. I did not get out. The late autumn sun sliced into our car falling warmly on our laps.

  “Gus, I’m really sorry,” Lindy said, breaking the long silence.

  I was finally able to suck in a full breath. I slumped down in the seat.

  “I just didn’t know,” I said, still feeling dazed.

  Lindy slid across the bench seat and curled into my side. Without warning, I began to cry big uncontrollable sobs. My tears rolled down my cheeks. Lindy put her arms around me, resting her head against my shoulder. She held my shaking body against her as I cried. When I was finally spent and could cry no more, Lindy lifted her hands and wiped my tears with the cuff of her sweatshirt.

  “It’s like everything I thought I knew is gone,” I said to her. “Everything I thought was true, isn’t. It’s like I lived my whole life as one big lie. I thought I was living one life and I really wasn’t living that life at all. My dad killed himself, God knows why. Nobody is going to tell me. It’s some big secret. Not to everyone else, mind you, only to me. The whole town knows my dad took a dive off the bridge but no one thought to tell me. My brother Danny has lost his mind. He isn’t even my brother anymore. He sits up in that hospital like some sort of zombie. He can’t talk to me. He went and did things I didn’t even believe he was capable of doing. Where the hell did he get that gun? Why couldn’t anyone help him? My mom is wacked out all the time. She just stares all the time at anything: the wall, the TV, out the window. She doesn’t even know I’m even alive anymore. She doesn’t talk to me and when she does, it’s like she’s a robot. All my friends have abandoned me. It’s like I never existed. It’s like I’ve been wiped off the face of the earth.”

  I snuffled and then lifted my own hands to my face to wipe away the rest of my tears.

  “But I love you, Gus,” Lindy said.

  I turned to look at her because I couldn’t believe the words I was hearing. When I turned to her, she leaned toward me and kissed me softly on my cheek. I looked into her blue eyes, rimmed in red.

  “I love you, too,” I said feeling the heaviness begin to lift.

  “It’s going to be OK,” she said, leaning against my shoulder, “I feel the same way, too, like I never existed. When I was a freshman, I made the cheerleading squad. That’s all I ever wanted to do when I got to high school. But I passed out at the first game. They had to call the ambulance and all. The nurse just told my mother I couldn’t come back to school until I was better. She didn’t even ask what was wrong. No one, not one person, called me and asked how I was. Not one.”

  We were both quiet for a long time holding on to each other.

  Lindy went on, “But we have each other now. We exist for each other. That’s enough for me.”

 
; I put my arm around her and pulled her into me. I kissed the top of her head resting against me. She was right. This was enough. The truth was it had to be enough. It was all either of us had.

  After I dropped Lindy off, I stopped just a block from our house at the Mill Street Bridge. In my father’s day, it had only been one lane. The new bridge was wide, with two lanes and a sidewalk on each side. Red steel girders rose above me. There was a pull off at the end of the bridge for cars to park. I parked my car and walked to the center of the bridge. It was dark but house lights and street lights danced in the water. I could just make out the mill dam and I could hear the water rushing over it.

  This is where my father had done it. I must have ridden over this spot hundreds of times, maybe even thousands of times on my bike. I had thrown stones and sticks into the stream. Why had no one told me? Did Dan inherit this illness, this paranoid schizophrenia, from my dad? Was I at risk, too? This is where my dad decided there was nothing left to live for: not me, or Danny or his wife. I curled my hand on the railing. It would be so easy. It would be so easy to just pull myself up and over. The cool water would take all of this away. But, unlike my father, I had something to live for. I left the bridge and got into the car.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My mom and I moved back into our 35 Mill Street home. It had the same number but it was definitely not the same house. I knew I needed to get my mom settled before Lindy and I firmed up our plans about leaving town. The whole house smelled like new paint. The insurance had provided for basic furniture, so we had beds in the bedrooms, a couch in the living room and a table in the dining room but not much else. There was nothing that seemed like it actually belonged to us. All our pictures were gone; there was nothing to hang on the walls. My mother’s china cabinet, filled with the mementoes of our lives, was ashes now. My aunt had come over to help us unpack but not my uncle. We really didn’t have much to unpack. We had lost everything in the fire, but Aunt May had given us some things. Since they were moving, she was able to give my mother some things she no longer needed: pots, pans, sheets, things we’d need. My aunt May did all the unpacking. My mother sat at the new dining room window staring at the back yard that was just dirt from the construction.

  “I’m really sorry about all of this,” Aunt May said. But it did not convince my mother to speak.

  “He’s right you know,” Aunt May went on. “You really should sell this place and move on. The house is new; you could get a good price. The real estate agent said it is a good time to sell.”

  “Where could I go?” My mother’s neck snapped back and she looked at May, “Where do you suggest I go? I’m going to be fifty years old next year, May. Who is going to hire me?”

  “You would get money for the house. You wouldn’t have to work.”

  “Really? And who exactly is going to buy the house where the Sawyer Shooter lived?”

  May looked away. My mother went back to staring out the window.

  “I think we should sell it, Mom,” I finally said. “I don’t want to live here anymore.”

  She looked at me. Her eyes were cold and distant.

  “You, too.” was all she said. “You, too.”

  She got up slowly, went to her bedroom down the hall and closed the door.

  * * * *

  A “For Sale” sign went up in front of my aunt and uncle’s house. Lindy’s mother called Mrs. O’Reilly but somehow the communication had got mixed up, most likely on Mrs. O’Reilly’s end, and we still met at the library with, or without, Mrs. O’Reilly. Lindy and I started to plan our escape. If Lindy had it her way, we just would have up and split. But I knew we’d need some money. I applied to twenty-two places in Sawyer for a job and not one called me back. My mom put an ad in the paper for alterations but no one called her either. She spent most of her days in front of the TV with her coffee cup of vodka.

  I felt nervous and guilty when I thought about leaving my mother alone. What would become of her? But what would become of me? I didn’t think I could stay in Sawyer any longer. There was nothing left. But did I owe my mother something? If she refused to leave, did I have an obligation to stay?

  Lindy grew paler as winter approached. There seemed to be a change in her, too. She seemed desperate to get out of town. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to get any paler. She took on a bluish cast in her lips, the tips of her fingers. Her lips got thinner and stretched across her face. Her eyes became dark hollow holes in her face. When I told her I didn’t know if I could leave my mom in the shape she was, Lindy looked at me, pale and hollow-faced and said, “We have to go. I can’t stay here anymore. Really.” Then she added, “Gus, if you won’t go with me, I am going to go by myself.”

  “Lindy, you wouldn’t...”

  “I have to, Gus. I have to.”

  So, I agreed. We decided we’d sell the car and hitchhike south. We made up signs and I copied them at the library and we hung them around town. The car wouldn’t give us a lot of money, but it was a good car. I figured we could get about $1500. It wasn’t a fortune, but it would be enough to get us out of here. No one would know me in the south. I’d be able to get a job. Lindy said she had about $100 from past birthdays and Christmases. Since she never went out, she never spent any of her money. We even picked a date: April 12th. By then it would be spring. This buoyed Lindy a little. It would give me a little time to prepare my mom. I wasn’t going to tell her I was leaving but I would try to make sure things were in order.

  And then Lindy didn’t show up one day at the library. I drove by her house and there were no cars in the driveway. I even worked up courage to knock on the door and no one answered. I could not imagine where she could be. She never went anywhere except for the library or out with me. The same thing happened two days in a row. I was terribly worried.

  When I got home that second day my mom was at the dining room table staring into the back yard.

  “A girl called for you, Gus,” she said absently.

  “Lindy?” I said grabbing the back of a chair.

  “Yes. Is that the girl you study with?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said urgently. “What did she say?”

  “She is at the hospital.” My mother didn’t even seem to care.

  I raced out of the house. There was only one hospital and it was in Hutton.

  I had a little trouble finding her. They were slow to find her name on the list. They told me she was in ICU. I didn’t know what ICU was but they told me I couldn’t see her unless I was family. I told them I was family.

  When I finally got to the ICU nurses’ station, I said, “I’m here to see Melinda Stevenson. I have her schoolwork.”

  The nurse looked at me sympathetically and said, “I’m sorry. Melinda can only see family. I don’t think she’s going to be able to do schoolwork for a while but you can leave it here with me.”

  “No!” I said, tears forming in my eyes, “I have to see her.”

  The nurse looked at me a moment.

  “OK,” she said finally, “but only for ten minutes and not a minute longer, do you hear?”

  I nodded obediently and followed her down the hall. In the room Lindy lay small and pale in an oversized bed. She was propped up with pillows and tubes ran from her nose and arms. A box next to her bed beeped out her heartbeat. There was the sound of raspy breathing from a machine. Her eyes were closed when we entered but when she heard me she turned her head. Her eyes grew round and I could see she was happy to see me.

  “Gus.” Her lips formed the name but there was no sound.

  I stepped forward next to the bed. I had only ever seen Lindy in her gray sweatsuits. Now, she was in a hospital gown. Her arms were resting above the blanket. They looked like skeleton arms. The skin was a yellow-white and covered with large ugly maroon bruises. Her neck was thin and her collarbone stuck out at a sharp angle. I was shocked at how sick she looked. How long had she been like this?

  “Hi,” I said trying to sound casual and light.
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br />   “I’m glad you got my message,” she said as her thin lips worked laboriously into a smile, “I wasn’t sure if your mom would give it to you.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

  “Oh, just the eating thing.” Her words came out very slowly and deliberately. I had to lean in to hear her. “I passed out at home and they got me hooked up to get some nutrition in me or something like that.”

  “Well, that’s good,” I said because I could think of nothing else to say, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring flowers.”

  “That’s OK. We’re still going to run away, aren’t we? Please tell me we are.”

  “Lind, you look pretty sick.”

  “No, really, I’m fine. This has happened before.” She sounded desperate again, “You have to promise me that we’re still going to do it, OK?”

  “OK,” I said placing my hand on her arm. It took everything I had not to pull it away. I felt like I was resting my hand on a cold bone.

  “I love you, Gus.” She seemed to relax.

  “I love you, too, Lindy.”

  She smiled and rested back into the bed. In a moment she was sleeping. The nurse came and I left with her.

  “Is she your girlfriend?” the nurse asked.

  “Yeah,” I said and could feel my face redden a little. It was the first time I had acknowledged Lindy as my girlfriend. Then I asked seriously, “What happened to her?”

  “She had a heart attack.”

  “A heart attack? Kids don’t have heart attacks.”

  The nurse stopped and looked at me. I could see pity in her eyes.

  “Melinda is very sick. She has a condition called anorexia nervosa.”

  “Anorexia nervosa? What’s that?”

  “It’s a condition where a patient starves herself.”

  I furrowed my brows looking at the nurse in disbelief.

  “She’s starving herself? Why would she do that?”

  The truth was I had never seen Lindy eat anything except for those little tiny bites in the diner and those she spat out.