by L. M. Carr
I sit on the stiff plastic chair waiting for our direct flight to Orlando International Airport to board. The flying time to Florida is only about two and a half hours. I thumb through a trashy celebrity gossip magazine to pass the time. I didn’t want to bring my iPod; all the music reminds me of him.
Three police officers dressed in blue uniforms run past, yelling into the radio secured on their shoulders to describe the child who is missing, setting off something similar to an Amber Alert. I hear the description. Little girl, five years old, brown hair, grey eyes, wearing a yellow t-shirt with a rainbow. Normally, I would be the first to jump in and help look for this little lost child, but at the moment, I can’t move. I can’t speak. A frantic woman who I assume is her mother calls for, “Lindsey.” She tells her that she’s not in trouble. She just wants to see her. The father tries to reassure the mother that she’s fine, but the look on his face isn’t one of confidence. I watch everyone around me take notice of the tense situation. Everyone is doing something except me. I sit there thinking about Maddie and the dream that she had back in November when we were in Texas. She was so scared. She said she looked everywhere for me, but I was gone. Panic grips me as I think about her needing me now but I’m not there; he made sure of that. I swear I could feel her arms tighten and wrap around my body. I miss them so much. As much as I hate him for what he’s done, I still miss him every moment of every day.
A movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention. It’s a yellow blur and it’s making the sound of a plane flying. I look around to see if anyone else sees her. Everyone’s attention is still in the center of the airport. Her arms are stretched out at her side and she’s pretending to be a plane as she imitates the jetliners she can see through the huge glass windows.
I stand quietly and walk over to her. “Lindsey?” She continues to fly. “Lindsey, your mommy and daddy are looking for you, sweetheart. I think they’re a little worried. Why don’t you take my hand and we’ll go find them.” She continues to fly as if I’m not even there. “Come on. Let’s go see your mommy.” I smile at her, but she won’t look at me. For a minute I think she’s hearing impaired, but then she speaks. “Go pane. Go pane.” It takes me a few seconds to decipher what she’s saying. “Yes, Lindsey goes on the plane.”
I want to call for help, but I don’t want to startle her. “Mommy and Daddy want you to go on the plane. Let’s go.” I squat down to make eye contact, to reassure her that she is safe, but the blank look on her face and the faraway look in her grey eyes tells me that she is a child with special needs. “Come, Lindsey. It’s okay.” I open my arms and she steps in, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Shhh . . . you’re okay.” I call to the first police officer I see and he radios in that they’ve located the missing child.
Three minutes later, the child’s mother rushes over, taking her daughter from me, and thanks me profusely for finding her. “Go pane. Go pane.”
A shocked expression mars her mother’s face and I’m confused. Aren’t they going on the plane? “Did she just speak?”
“Yes, I think so.” I smile.
“Praise Jesus!” She buries her face in Lindsey’s hair. “She’s nonverbal. She has never spoken before.” The child continues with her monotone words on repeat as her mother looks at me. “You have a gift with children. Thank you. God bless you.”
I watch as Lindsey walks away with her parents and boards the flight for Cincinnati, Ohio. Mrs. Chapman comes over with a cup of coffee in her hand and sits next to me, smiling warmly. “She’s right you know. You do have a gift with children. I see it every day, Mia.”
***
THE FLORIDA STATE Reading Conference goes off without a hitch. My presentation about using creative literacy centers effectively in the classroom is flawless and I’m approached by principals and some district superintendents congratulating me on a job well done. I wish I could be happy at their praise, but happiness is an emotion I haven’t felt since before he took his family away from me. I smile at their words and wait until I’m in my hotel room before I allow myself to feel the hidden emotion and I sob uncontrollably.
***
THREE DAYS LATER, I wave goodbye to Mrs. Chapman as she boards the plane bound for St. Louis. She’s going to spend the rest of April vacation visiting her son and his family. I’ve made plans to visit my mom while I’m here.
Standing on the curb, I wait in ninety degree weather for her to pick me up. I love the heat, but it’s only nine o’clock in the morning. She’s uncharacteristically late and I’m a little annoyed. I should’ve stood my ground when I offered to rent a car, but she insisted that she wanted to get me so here I wait. And wait. And wait.
The beeping of her car horn lets me and everyone else at the airport know that she’s arrived. She has the top lowered on her canary yellow Beetle, reggae music blasting through the speakers. I look at her dubiously and ask, “Who are you and what have you done with my mother?” She just laughs, hugs me tightly and then tosses my suitcase in the backseat. Her brown curly hair becomes wild and frizzy, flying around in the wind. I pull my baseball cap out of my oversized bag and lower it on my head to avoid a tangled mess later and to hide my puffy eyes.
Her condo is in a gated community and is home to a variety of eccentric people like herself. The smell of incense burning wafts throughout her cluttered space. Gone are the days of neat and tidy. The back deck looks like a shrine or an altar to every deity known to man. She has a crucifix, a statue of the Virgin Mary, a statue of Buddha and some odd, circle statue with a woman standing in the middle. My father would shit bricks if he ever saw this. It’s so hard to believe that this is my mom. She was so normal before my father died.
“Tell me, love, how’s your heart?” she asks while she serves baked kale chips with hummus for dinner. This isn’t dinner; it’s an appetizer. Good thing I saw a Subway down the street.
“It’s fine, Ma.” I pick up a chip, sniff it and then break in half before dipping it into the seaweed hummus and slip it into my mouth. I hold my breath as I chew in case I don’t like it. It’s surprisingly good.
“You’re still so fussy with food.” My mom rolls her eyes.
“Something’s never change.” I tease.
“And others do,” she retorts.
I look out at the waves that never cease. I watch as one crashes quietly onto the shore while another is being pulled back into the vast sea. It’s the ocean’s way of keeping time for this journey called life. One, then another, and then another. The glass of freshly squeezed peach lemonade rests of the small resin table in front me. The chair I sit in doesn’t match my mother’s; hers is a repainted teak chair and mine is an old weaved, rattan seat. I wonder how with all this what seems like chaos, my mother seems to have her life in some sort of order. That’s not me. I need structure and routine.
“Do you have any pictures of him?” she asks.
I freeze. I have tons of pictures of him on my phone, but I don’t allow myself to look at them. It’s still too painful. Too raw.
“Yes. What’s the point though? It’s over.”
“Mia, isn’t it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?”
No! I wish I never met him. I wish I never met him on the summit. I wish Madison had never been in my class. I wish he had never moved to town. That way I wouldn’t have to piece my heart back together yet again. He did nothing but shatter me. That’s not entirely true. He made me feel sexy and alive. He made me feel safe and loved.
“Ma, I don’t want to talk about it.” I silence my phone when I see Pete’s number show up on the screen.
“Is that how you feel about what happened with Dad?” My lip quivers when my eyes flash to her, wanting to see if she practices what she preaches.
“Sweetheart, come here.” I don’t want to go to her. I don’t want to collapse into her arms and let it all out so she can comfort me like she did when I was a little girl. My mother was so caring; she could make anything better. I do
n’t want to cry anymore. But I go to her and I let it all out.
“Baby, I know that man loved you. Your brother told me he was a good guy and you were perfect for each other.”
I hiccup and wipe my tears. “It was perfect. At least, I thought it was.”
“You know the saying, ‘if it’s meant to be . . .’”
“I hate that saying! It’s stupid. Why do people have to hurt before they can be happy?” I argue through my sniffle.
“You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You have been through so much in your time on Earth. You will get through this. Let’s pray, shall we?” I look around at all the statues, wondering to whom, which of the many gods and goddess, she is referring.
“I’m good, Ma. You pray for me.” I glance at the crucifix and send up a silent prayer. If there’s anyone who knows indescribable pain, it’s Him.
Later than night, I go in search of a bottle of Pepto Bismol; the kale chips and hummus weren’t my friends after all. My mother suggested I try one of her herbal remedies; I politely declined and walked to the nearest CVS Pharmacy just a few blocks away.
“Hey, Peter.” I figure I’d call him back on my walk.
“Mia, babe. How are you? I miss you like crazy!”
“I’m okay. You?” I smile and wave to a car that was kind enough to stop and let me cross the busy intersection.
“Stop, Ty! Um . . . I’m good, too.” I hear him laugh away from the phone.
“Do you want me to call you back? You sound preoccupied.” I tease. I don’t want to think about what’s going on between him and Tyler.
“No, he can wait. How’s your mom?”
“The same. She has rare and brief moments when she’s the mom I remember before my father died.”
“Aw, shit. I’m sorry. I thought she was over that already.”
I cringe. “You thought my mom was over my father’s death already?” Holy shit. That’s a bit harsh. I don’t think you ever get over someone you loved dying.
“No! Of course not, Mia! I meant that new age crap. I really thought she’d be back to her old self again.”
“Nope, I don’t think she’s ever coming back; my father’s death changed her forever.”
“Man, that’s so sad. Does she have a boyfriend or anything?”
The thought of my mother having a boyfriend is a little unsettling, but maybe that’s what she needs. I doubt that she’ll ever love anyone as much as she loved my father. I guess in some ways, I am my mother’s daughter. I will never love anyone as much as I loved him.
My mother and I spend the next day shopping at a few small boutiques along the shoreline. Many of the things sold in these stores are handmade, one of a kind, original pieces. I spy a beautiful oak carving of a family of four. The figures in the back represent the parents while the two smaller ones in the front represent the children. I love how all of their hands are intertwined in the wood, creating a full circle. My fingers run along the smooth, whittled wood and I smile. I absolutely love this piece. I know if he were here with me, he’d buy it instantly even though it wouldn’t really fit the style of his home.
My smile drops immediately. Resentment begins to surface. He’s not here with me and the fact that he chose this makes me angry. I remove my hand and move along to another piece. It’s a smaller piece with just one parent and one child. This should’ve been mine; this piece represents me perfectly.
“Ma, I’m ready to go.” I call to my mom who is busy chatting with the store owner, a woman in her late fifties wearing a light pink linen shirt and a flowing hemp skirt. I hear their whispered words, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
“Yes, we’ll talk soon. Will I see you next week at the retreat?” the store owner asks.
My mother brings her palms together as if she’s praying and bows her neck slightly. “I will see you soon, my sister. Namaste.”
What the fuck? My mother has seriously gone off the deep end. The woman who ran the PTO at my elementary school, the one who encouraged me to have a lemonade stand, the one who had Sunday pasta dinners is gone, hidden beneath the surface of this new age hippy. I’m glad she never met him or the kids; they would’ve thought she was crazy. Right about now, I’m kind of thinking the same thing.
***
THE FLIGHT BACK home is quick and I’m thankful to be home with Brady. Pete was nice enough to pick me up at the airport even though I’ve been avoiding him lately. I don’t really want to talk, so I listen to him tell me about the plans he and Tyler are making for the summer. I wish I could close my eyes and bypass spring altogether. I want it to be summer so I can pack up the Jeep and hit the open road. I need to be in Texas. I need to see my brother. I need my family.
ON EASTER MORNING, I find myself wedged between the hard wood of the pew and Mrs. Longo who sits beside her husband of almost sixty years. I’m not a religious person; I’m more spiritual. I believe in God. I truly do, but I often question why a God who loves so much allows His children to endure excruciating pain and intolerable suffering. I often question why an innocent child only gets eight minutes on this Earth and yet a murderous, vile person gets to live a full eighty years. I question why He would allow us to feel love just to have it taken away. I listen thoughtfully as the pastor talks about unconditional love and sacrifice. My heart starts to feel heavy. I feel as though I’m being ripped apart all over again on this supposed joyous morning of redemption.
Mrs. Longo reaches for my hand, squeezing it reassuringly as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “He loves you.” I turn slightly, meeting her blue eyes, and smile tightly at her. “I know He does. I just wish He would show me.”
She taps my hand lightly, “Give it time. He will.” She turns back to the pulpit where the aging pastor bows his head and prays for the church. I am greeted by Mrs. Longo’s church ladies who offer hugs, kisses and blessings. A yellow flyer on the bulletin board catches my eye. I read it carefully. It’s a reminder to the kids in the Youth Group to attend an informational meeting on Wednesday night about their Missions Trip to Venezuela in June. I smile when I think of Luis, Araceli’s brother, and all the work he does in Mexico at the Missions Church. Maybe I’ll visit and help out this year.
***
THE FOLLOWING WEEK. Mrs. Warren, Shelby’s mom, and I have a wonderful baby shower for Shelby to welcome the impending arrival of her baby. She’s been having Braxton Hicks contractions everyday and is hoping to go early. She thinks she’s as big as a whale when the reality is she still looks like a middle schooler with a basketball tucked underneath her shirt.
As she opens each gift and holds it up for all to see, the oohs and ahhs are heard in unison. She and Mike don’t need a thing except for that baby, who I’m betting is a boy. She said she doesn’t care as long as it’s healthy. If it’s a girl, she and Mike have decided to name her Aubrey and Michael if it’s a boy. I’m so happy for my best friend. She deserves every bit of happiness there is. I think I’d like to have just a little bit of happiness for myself if she has any to spare.
Later that week after I’ve decided that I can’t ignore Pete anymore we make plans. It’s not his fault after all. He’s not the one who broke me. On Friday, Pete and Tyler are supposed to come over for Pictionary and pizza, but Ty canceled at the last minute so Pete and I sit in front of the television and watch Criminal Minds. He tells me about how Ty’s been acting weird lately and he’s getting suspicious. Oh, God. Not him, too! I can’t help him through a break up when I’m still dealing with my own. We talk about making some plans for my birthday, but I don’t really feel like celebrating; the last birthday celebration was for him and that ended pretty badly.
The time on my alarm clock says 2:12 and I go in search of Prevacid. Damn spicy pepperoni gave me heartburn and some nausea. Maybe I should just stick to cheese pizza next time.
I throw on my yoga pants and a sweatshirt, brush my teeth and throw on my ball cap to hit the pavement for my morning run. I’ve been running every morning and
today is no exception even though I feel like shit and still have heartburn. This is a nice time of day with only a few other people out so early. I wave a quick hello as I pass a handsome, older man who smiles at me. I pull my cap lower and continue into the park entrance. Brady pulls me toward the stream. I stop to refill my water bottle and walk off the cramp in my side.
“Hey!” I hear a familiar voice call to me.
I turn to see Shane stretching behind me. “Hey, Shane. What are you doing here? Don’t you have to be at work soon?” Since he teaches at the high school, he has to be in at least an hour before I do. I time my morning run just right so I’m never late for work.
“Yeah, but I have my clothes in the truck so I can shower in the locker room at school.”
“Oh, well that’s good.” I look anywhere but at him because I know if I look at him, I’ll think of his wet, naked body pressed against mine in the tiny shower at his apartment and I do not want or need to think about that. I take a drink of water and when my hand grazes my chest, I notice my nipples are hard. What the hell? Thoughts of Shane are turning me on? This cannot be happening to me. What is wrong with me?
“I’ve got to run. I don’t want to be late for work.” I smile.
“Mia, do you want to meet tomorrow for a run?” he asks before I turn away.
I feel panic start to creep up. “Uh, sure. I’ll meet you here at 6 am sharp.”
“Cool! I’ll see you tomorrow.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. I have a brief moment of insanity because I have the urge to run my fingers through his dirty blond hair. Oh, God! I need to get home after this run and relieve myself of the tension that’s been riddling my body lately. I don’t think I can ignore it anymore.