Impossible

by Laurel Curtis

  Max tried to fight back, but his drunkenness combined with ineptitude made him look unbelievably sloppy. Contradictorily, CJ was just like his father, every move made with an ease that suggested he practiced beating up full grown men everyday. There were absolutely no signs that he was fifteen years old.

  I tried to intervene, but CJ had apparently seen Max rubbing up against me when he had looked for me in the crowd, something he always did after finishing his ride, and his protective instinct was in effect full force.

  After a couple attempts to get CJ to stop without success, I decided to just let it play out. At least I knew CJ wasn’t getting hurt.

  However, several violent punches later, when I saw Nan running over, making her way through the crowd that had gathered, I tried again. “CJ! It’s okay, I’m fine. Let it go!”

  It was like he was in a tunnel, and him and Max were the only ones inside. Hopefully the sound of Nan’s voice would be able to get through to him.

  Becoming desperate for help, I looked up again, just in time to see that a secondary crowd had begun to form, and I couldn’t see Nan anymore.

  An incredibly bad feeling overtook me, a sense that something was very, very wrong in the world, so I yelled to CJ, “CJ! Something’s wrong! I think it’s Nan!”

  Her name broke him out of his trance, and his eyes met mine immediately. Once he read the fear and anguish in them, he focused on me fully.

  Leaving Max laying bloody on the ground, I moved quickly to push through the crowd, with CJ following closely at my back.

  Using hands, elbows, feet, or anything else I could, I finally succeeded in making it through all of the bodies, and the image of Nan laying lifeless on the ground took over my senses and brought tears to my eyes.

  Luckily, being the dangerous sport that this was, there were already paramedics on scene and working on her. My hand shot out and fished desperately for CJ’s because as hard as this was on me, I knew it was a thousand times harder on him.

  I could hear the paramedics calling it in, but it was like I wasn’t really there, like someone else was listening.

  “Adult female, early 60’s, signs of a heart attack...”

  Glancing back up at CJ’s face, I could see that the light that normally shown from him like a beacon was gone. He was devastated, his broken heart worn right out on his sleeve for anyone to see. Nan was their world, and the idea of her not being in it was destroying both of us.

  I knew how it felt to experience this kind of torment, everything that’s important hanging precariously in the balance.

  I wanted to be able to do something for CJ, help him somehow, but I knew firsthand there was absolutely nothing I could really do for him other than pray.

  As they worked to get her ready for transport, CJ’s hand convulsed in mine and my hand gave an answering squeeze. When I looked down to our hands linked together, I felt a new wave of guilt. His knuckles were bloody and torn, the evidence of his fight with Max, something he had done for me, unarguably present.

  I couldn’t help but feel like I had caused this by bringing Max and the stress that he produced into their lives. If it weren’t for me, CJ wouldn’t have had to act like an adult, taking full responsibility for protecting me at the young age of fifteen. And Nan. God, Nan. She wouldn’t have been in a hurry to get to us, to CJ, to try to contain a situation I had created.

  They loaded her onto the stretcher, took off for the ambulance, and CJ and I followed close behind jumping into his truck and following them to the hospital. We were both silent, no doubt praying for Nan.

  One thought was on repeat in my head in between every prayer.

  I really wished Coleman was there.

  ********

  Back at the house, after hours of sitting with CJ and Nan, I was waiting for Coleman to get home. CJ had called him on the way to the hospital, and he had gotten on the first flight home that he could.

  Nan was going to be alright, or so we had been told, but I was upset, and mostly, I was blaming myself for the situation that had unfolded.

  Like he always told me, I liked to pick fights, especially when my emotions were at a high like this, and the image of Nan laying in the hospital bed was fresh in my mind. So when Coleman walked in the kitchen, straight off of his flight from Arkansas, I didn’t delay in laying into him.

  “It’s about time you got here.”

  When he looked at me, his eyes went right through me, and his voice was incredibly cold. “I got here as fast as I possibly could, Roni.”

  I had no doubt that he wanted to be there for his mother and his son (and probably for me), but the circuit always came first. Time and time again CJ had to step up and be more of a man than he was ready to be, and I was sick of it. As he reached into the refrigerator to get a drink, I talked to his back, and I didn’t shy away from letting him know my opinion.

  That is, my completely false opinion, created and shaped in a way so that I could push him away from me and be certain it would stick.

  If tonight proved anything, it was that I was bad for their family.

  Their wonderful, unbelievably generous and loving, perfect family.

  “You should have been here, Coleman. Your family needed you! I needed you! It’s time to stop putting yourself first!”

  Realistically, I not only knew I was out of line, but I didn’t want him to leave the circuit. It was part of what made him who he was. But, in the heat of the moment, at a time when I wanted to blame someone other than myself, when I wanted desperately to save him from me, I couldn’t stop myself from spouting the harsh words at him.

  It was the epitome of selfishness. God, I was a bitch.

  His mother had just suffered a heart attack.

  He spun around so fast that I didn’t know what was happening. When I got a look at his face, there was menace in his eyes. I had never seen him like this. Not once. He was always careful to go gentle with me, even when he was angry, reserving this kind of energy for other people.

  He took a few breaths, but it did nothing to soften the hardness of his expression. When he finally spoke, his voice vibrated with anger and rang soundly with life-changing words.

  “You’re one to talk, Roni. You tell me to be there for my family, but what are you doing?”

  That was a low blow, one that I didn’t understand, even though I had been dishing out some low blows of my own, and my words came out painfully hoarse. “You don’t know anything about my family.”

  I had left my parents and Josh’s parents, but he had no right to throw it in my face. He didn’t know what had happened, how much I had lost. I could stand some pretty vicious malice but not on this subject.

  “You’re right. From you, I know nothing. And you know why? Because you don’t tell me fuckin’ anything! I ask, but you never tell. I’ve been patient, I’ve waited, but still, you give me nothing.”

  He shook his head with disbelief, and then hammered a nail right through my heart. “I swear to God, it’s like I only have the ability to fall in love with women who abandon their children,” he muttered to himself.

  When confusion clouded my face, he spelled it out for me, growling, “You have a fuckin’ daughter, Roni. I saw her with my own eyes.”

  His voice was pained and hoarse as he continued, “Prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen, with familiar green eyes and a loving set of grandparents. But you know what she doesn’t have? A goddamn mother.”

  Tears started to well in my eyes as he gave himself a minute to breathe before finishing, “Tell me somethin’. How do you live with that, but come in here spouting this shit at me?”

  No. That wasn’t possible. “That’s impossible,” I breathed, my voice breaking with my agony.

  At the same time that I denied it verbally, my body locked up at the alternative. That it was the truth. The tears that had formed in my eyes ran unrestricted down my face. My chest seized, and it felt like my lungs stopped working. “They cut her out of me. She was dead. Just like Josh.” My f
ingers went straight to my scar, whether it was out of pure muscle memory or habit I wasn’t sure.

  His face changed when he took in my words, but I was too far gone to register it. “They were both dead!”

  He took two steps toward me and gentled his voice. “Baby...she’s alive. I met her.”

  “No! They both died that day, I know they did!” My mind was racing. I had to get out of there. This was a reality I couldn’t face. If she was alive, I had abandoned her; left her even more lonely than I was.

  “I have to get out of here!” I screamed.

  I lunged for the door, but he reached forward and grabbed me, his voice pleading. “Roni, wait!”

  Ripping my arm out of his hold, I spit pure hate in his face. “Screw you, Cade!”

  I made it to the door before he reached for me one more time. Enraged and hysterical at the idea that he might be right, I spun and yelled right in his face, the veins in my neck showing under the strain. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

  He let me go immediately, a desperate but resigned quality coating his face, but I left the room without looking back.

  ********

  Well on my way into a bottle of whiskey, I scoured through my fuzzy mind, searching for memories of that day.

  I had driven straight home to Little Rock after leaving Coleman, but I hadn’t been able to go to Josh’s parents’ house because I was a coward. Not to mention, it was the middle of the night. There was no question in my mind that she was with them, his words a loving set of grandparents indisputably telling. There was no way in hell it was my parents.

  Instead, I had gone to the liquor store, found a cheap hotel room, and set out to try and erase my problems- the replay of Coleman telling me my daughter was alive that was running through my head on a never-ending loop and the look on Coleman’s face after I had treated him like a royal bitch while his mother was in the hospital.

  How had this happened? I couldn’t figure out how I had gotten to this point, left something - someone- so important to me. Was it possible that I had done this?

  For once, I worked hard to force the memories to the surface instead of into hiding.

  I had been in the car with Josh, my hand rubbing my stomach, and he had looked over at me with his easy smile. His overlong wavy brown hair and gray eyes had glistened when the sun hit them, and it had been easy to see how much he loved me with just that one look.

  Focusing hard, I remembered details that I never had before, like seeing the flash of red of the car crossing the center line and coming into our lane out of the corner my eye.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes because I knew this was where any semblance of happy memories ended. From here on out, reliving this was going to be painful, excruciating even, but if I wanted to know the answers, the only person I could ask was myself.

  As the impact rocked us, Josh’s arm shot out in what I used to refer to as the ‘mom arm’. As far as effectivity, it was shit, but the sentiment of it meant everything. The sound of the metal bending to the will of the red car was horrifying, and I remember covering my stomach with my arms as I felt something that felt like a thousand white hot needles rip into the side of my right leg. I could hear Josh’s screams of agony mingled with mine for a few seconds, and then nothing. I wasn’t forcing my memory to blank; it just was.

  The next memory I have is perhaps the most painful. I woke up in the trauma part of the emergency room, and they were working on Josh in the bed right beside me. The ER was packed for some reason, and it seemed like all hands were on deck, except most of those hands were on Josh. I could see his left hand drooping lifelessly from the bed as they worked frantically above him, and I remember calling out to him, my voice hoarse and almost useless. The nurse working on me tried to calm me down, said something about it being “bad for the baby”, but I ignored her, my every will focused on the man I loved beside me.

  That’s when I heard it. The beep that changed my life and signaled the ending of Josh’s. They tried for several minutes to revive him, the beep piercing my ears and heart the whole time, my hysterical cries creating a harmony. The sound of a life lost. A loved one gone. He was unresponsive. Three little words. Time of death.

  I wracked my brain for memories after that, but honestly, the alcohol wasn’t helping my cognition. I was hysterical. That I remember. And I think they may have sedated me, but as I went over that day in the hospital those years ago, I realized I never heard them telling me my daughter was dead. Only Josh. That memory was crystal clear.

  But, I had only heard the sound of eternal rest once. And the three days after that were a blur. In fact, the next memory I could remember was of my driving away. What had happened in those three days?

  Swallowing deep, I accepted what had to be the answer. I had a daughter. A beautiful, innocent combination of me and Josh made out of love. And I left her.

  God, years of suppressing the memories that my nightmares stirred in me, and it finally made sense. My subconscious was trying to tell me that I was missing something, that she was alive, by waving the proverbial red sheet at the bull. I’d fought it. All these years, I didn’t let myself relive it, even though my mind was screaming at me that I needed to, and because of that, I’d abandoned my daughter.

  Now, in addition to that, I had also alienated people I loved with undo nastiness, and become the kind of woman they already had and despised. The kind who took off and left her child.

  In that moment, the clarity of all of my actions overwhelming me, almost swallowing me whole, I hated myself.

  Chapter 13

  Every

  I woke up hungover with the bottle of whiskey still in my hand. After taking one look at my disgusting self, I got up and moved quickly to the shower. I was done wallowing in self pity, and I was definitely done being a coward. But most of all, I was done being away from my daughter.

  It took me a minute to realize, but I hadn’t had my nightmare last night, which went right along with my theory that their purpose had been to get me to remember.

  To remember that my little girl was alive and waiting for me.

  After showering quickly, I threw on the clothes that I luckily kept in my car “just in case” because I had run out of the house yesterday without grabbing anything.

  Gathering my few belongings, I ran out of the hotel to my car, jumped in, and started her up. Noticing my cell phone sitting on the dash, I grabbed it and quickly scrolled though my missed calls. Seven from Coleman, five from CJ, and two from an unknown number. Maybe Nan at the hospital. After hitting the end button, I threw the phone back up on the dash and pulled the gearshift down into reverse. I knew I needed to call them, not only to ease their worry but to apologize, but I just couldn’t do it yet.

  I backed out of the spot, pulled the gearshift further down into drive, and took off out of the parking lot, headed for my in-laws’ house.

  It was only about ten minutes away, but it felt like the longest ten minutes of my life. I took in no details of the town as I drove, completely on autopilot and my mind racing.

  I turned left into the neighborhood and crept my way slowly up to the eighth house on the right. It was pale yellow in color, with a dark gray door, roof, and shutters. The lawn was green, and there were a few toys gathered neatly to the side, as if put away after a day of playing outside.

  My knuckles turned white from the force with which I gripped the steering wheel, and I broke out into a cold sweat. This was it. She was here. Alive. I could feel it.

  My hand went to my scar, but this time for a different reason.

  Kicking open my door and jumping out, I slammed my door and hurried up the walk to the front door of their house. I was scared as hell, but I also felt like one more minute without meeting her would kill me.

  When I got to the door, I took one last deep breath before my knuckles met the gray paint in a series of successive knocks.

  Several tense seconds passed before, finally, the door swung open, and I
was face to face with Joanie Russo.

  When she saw my face, her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes started to shimmer with tears. “Oh my God.”

  I cleared my throat, steeled my nerves, and started my speech. “Joanie, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I honestly thought that...” I choked, the words completely stuck in my throat, before whispering, “I thought she was dead, Joanie.”

  As a tear escaped her eye, I heard the single most amazing voice I had ever heard.

  “Gramma! Who is it?”

  Joanie never took her eyes off of me, as the three foot tall, brown-haired, green-eyed, perfect little girl peeked her head out around Joanie’s leg.

  Joanie spoke softly, murmuring, “It’s your mommy, Every.” But Every already knew. I could see it in her eyes.

  As I realized they had named her what Josh and I had always talked about, I sunk to my knees and tears streaked down my face. We always wanted to name a little girl Every because we knew she would be our everything.

  My throat was clogged, and I struggled to find any arrangement of words that would make any of this okay. I had no idea what I should say, so I just went with the only thing I could come up with, words spoken directly from my heart. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been here, Every.”

  My voice broke with sincerity, and I suppose, even at three years old, Every could sense it.

  Reaching out her hand and resting it on my cheek, she spoke her own version of a soft, comforting voice. “Don’t worry, Mommy. Gramma and Grampa said you would be back.”

  They did? I thought to voice this to the beautiful angel in front of me, but she kept right on talking.

  “Just as soon as you found the impossibubble.”

  Racking my brain quickly to figure out what she was saying, I questioned her with the only thing I came up with. “The impossible?”

  “Mmmhmm. They said you had to find the impossibubble. The one person who could fix your broken heart. They said that it wasn’t really impossibubble, you just thought it was.”