Faltering

by Jennifer Lyndon

  Lara was still quiet as she drove the car that morning, forcing me to finally bring up what I believed was upsetting her.

  “You’ve been thinking about Pineville, haven’t you?” I asked gently.

  When she didn’t respond I knew she was ignoring me. I was trying to decide if I should push her about it or change track and ask about the route she had chosen for the day, when she finally spoke.

  “It’s been a while since I thought about the hell I experienced there,” she said, interrupting my thoughts. “It’s almost as if I’d forgotten. But now I can think of nothing else.”

  “I’m sorry,” I offered quietly. “I can’t imagine what you went through. It must have been horrifying.”

  “You were there, with Mother. You saw that place. It’s only because mother had you lined up to look after me that Joe let me out at all.” I nodded. “You saw me, Sylvie, what I was like. I was lost. You’ve never asked me about it, though.” I shook my head. “Why is that? Do you think I’m like those people? Are you afraid I really am crazy, too fragile to handle even talking about it?” I shook my head, but she wasn’t looking at me. “Last night, during the movie, I could sense you pulling back, shrinking from contact with me.”

  “That’s not true, Lara.”

  “Do you think I’m cracked?” she asked sharply. “That’s how Joe put it. He said I was cracked. When he said that, I thought of the egg in that nursery rhyme. Humpty Dumpty. Do you think I was put back together properly? You’re the expert, Sylvie. You’ve worked the Mental Ward, cared for inmates like me. You’re my own personal Nurse Ratched. What’s your expert opinion? Are all my pieces back in place?”

  “Lara, you’re not being fair,” I said quietly. She laughed bitterly at that.

  “Not fair?” Her jaw was set, her upper lip curled slightly. “You know what’s not fair, Sylvie, sending volts of electricity through someone’s brain because she’s grieving over the death of her baby boy,” she said sharply. “It’s not fair drugging her out of her mind either, or imprisoning her in an ice bath under the guise of helping her relax. And possibly the worst part, the talk, talk, talk, talk, and more talk, to some creepy man, with an oily comb-over, who’s asking about sex and whether or not I saw my father’s penis when I was as a child, and if I ever touch myself, and how often, and if I enjoy it more than sex with my husband. And if I don’t answer his question, that’s called resistance. Did you know that? Patients who resist don’t get better. Patients who don’t answer questions get shocked again, and then more drugs and more ice baths, and…”

  “Pull over, Lara,” I said, interrupting her diatribe. She shook her head and kept her eyes glued to the road. “Please. I can’t talk to you if you won’t look at me.”

  “We have to make Amarillo before dark,” she replied calmly. “And I’m already exhausted from that miserable rat hole we stayed in.” My temper started flaring. I knew how to get her to stop. I placed a hand across my abdomen.

  “I don’t feel right, Lara,” I said meekly. Her gaze shot over to me, a worried expression wiping the anger from her face as her eyes focused on that single hand pressing my belly. She slowed the car and eased over onto the shoulder. When the car was stopped she turned to face me, focusing on my belly again.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” she asked gently. Before I could answer that I had just wanted her to stop the car so I could talk to her, she was out of the driver’s seat and coming around to my side. She jerked open the door and knelt, on one knee, next to me in the snowy slush along the roadside, ruining her pale grey gabardine trousers. She had one hand on my belly, the other on my shoulder and wore a worried expression on her face. I almost felt guilty for manipulating her. “Are you cramping?” she asked. I shook my head. “Are you sure? Have you had any spotting?”

  “The baby’s fine, Lara. Everything’s fine. I’m sorry I worried you,” I said.

  “Are you in any kind of pain?” she asked. I shook my head again. “Just motion sickness then?” I forced a smile, and she took that to mean yes. The car was getting cold with the door open. “Do you think you should stand? Maybe if you walk around a little and take some fresh air you’ll feel better,” she observed. She started struggling with my seatbelt, finally unfastening it. I let her help me out of the car, and with her arm around me for support, we walked around to the trunk. She went back to fetch my coat and then draped it around my shoulders solicitously.

  “It’s all right, Lara,” I whispered as she wrapped me up snuggly in my coat. “I really am fine.”

  She leaned back against the trunk of the car and watched me as I took a couple of deep breaths in an effort to clear my head, my breath forming cloudy puffs in the frigid air.

  “I was so sick when I was pregnant. I always wondered why they called it morning sickness. I vomited constantly, at all hours of the day. You’ve been far healthier.” I nodded. “I keep forgetting, almost, that you’re pregnant. That’s strange, isn’t it?” I scooted closer to her, leaning against the trunk, needing that physical contact with her. She wrapped an arm across my back. “Do you want to get back inside the car? Is it too cold for you?”

  “Lara, I don’t think you’re crazy. I never have, even for a second,” I assured her. Her arm dropped from my shoulders as her gaze shifted away from me to the road stretching out in the distance. My eyes scanned over her, stopping briefly at the dark, wet stain on her knee. “The reason I never asked you about your time in that place is because I was angry. I was furious about what was done to you. It took everything in me to control myself when your mother told me where they had put you.”

  “That time it wasn’t her fault,” Lara said.

  “I know. She was angry too. I could see it in her eyes,” I replied. Lara glanced at me for just a second, as if surprised by my observation. I reached down and took her gloved hand in mine. “I wasn’t shrinking from you last night. It’s just…you were upset. You pushed me away. I left you alone because I thought that’s what you needed. I was giving you space.” She nodded slowly. “I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted you. I always want you, Lara. I want you right now. It’s a persistent, aching need, and completely unquenchable. I’ve had you in every way imaginable, but I crave you more every second. Nothing could ever make me not want you.” She pressed her lips together, and stared at the ground. “Please, talk to me. Tell me what happened.” She didn’t move for a moment, but appeared frightened, obviously reliving something horrible. I ran my fingers through the side of her hair to get her to focus on me. She scooted closer to me and tilted her head to rest against my temple.

  “It was that terrible nurse in the movie, with those frightening eyes. She made me remember. They handled me like an object, a thing, never hearing anything I said. I had no power, even over my own body. They used those empty endearments, honey or missy, speaking gently while they did the most dehumanizing things imaginable. I would scream and fight, or worse, beg. It never fazed them. They can appear kind and caring, but they’re cruel and unyielding, a different breed. I remember one inmate, a girl named Betsy. She quit speaking while I was there and started smearing feces on the walls of her room every day. At first I was repulsed. I thought she was the craziest person in there, but then one day I realized why she did it. That was the only thing she could do to strike back at them, smearing her own filth on the wall was the only power she had. If I hadn’t gotten out of there, I’d have become like her,” she said with quiet certainty.

  “Jesus, Lara!”

  “You’re a nurse, Sylvie. And you worked in a mental ward.”

  “Lara, please. Yes, I worked on the top floor, but the environment was nothing like what was depicted in that movie. No one was lobotomized while I worked there, and we weren’t equipped to deliver shock therapy.” She leaned her head against my shoulder and I felt the tension draining from her. “Do you think I’m like that nurse in the movie? Do you think I would hurt people out of a need for power?”

  “No,” she said. “You’re ki
nd, at least with me, even when you’re angry.” She lifted her head and met my eyes. I couldn’t control my reaction to the frigid temperature any longer. I started shivering. “Baby, you’re cold,” she observed. I nodded. “Why didn’t you say something?” I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her quickly before she could object. When I released her she stepped back and then glanced around us furtively to check if anyone was watching. The road around us was deserted. Satisfied we were truly alone, a slow smile shifted her features as her gloved hand cupped my jaw guiding me close for another kiss. “I take it you’re feeling better,” she whispered against my lips.

  ****

  We drove the next couple of days without incident, stopping only for food and gas, and to sleep. There were no strange or alluring attractions to see, though Lara did pull off the road to take pictures in front of this odd little leaning water tower in Texas. At first she held out the camera and took a picture of the both of us, laughing that it probably wouldn’t turn out right. Then she had me stand by myself in front of the tower. The sun was setting at the time, painting the sky interesting shades of pink and purple. When I saw the picture, years later, I noted that my face hadn’t show up in the pictures, but she had captured the shape of me, and the tower, and the magical sky above.

  The following day our wandering ended when we reached Santa Fe, New Mexico. Lara fell instantly in love with the extraordinary little town. We checked in at the Inn at Loretto, which had only recently opened, on the plaza, near the Palace of the Governors. We were told that our inn had formerly housed a girls’ school, though looking around the place it was hard to imagine that previous incarnation. The inn was an interesting little collection of mud boxes molded together, blending seamlessly with the otherworldly design of the little town.

  Lara was smitten with the quaint architecture and unique culture we found ourselves immersed within. During those first few days we were there I was unsure whether I’d ever manage to convince her to leave. It was an absolutely charming and magical little place. The weather was mild when compared to Chicago, and no one really paid attention to us, or seemed to see us as out of place. Lara finally started to loosen up with me, holding my hand and asking locales to take snapshots of us together. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

  The food there was something else new to me. I was accustomed to the diners and fast food dives we stopped for along the roadway, and the steaks in Chicago, but I’d never had food similar to the fare served in Santa Fe. Everything was roasted peppers and vegetables, and corn tortillas, Spanish rice, and spicy sauces. My mouth was on fire regularly, but I found it addicting. I’d allow my mouth to calm only a few moments before sampling something even hotter, enflaming my tongue again.

  It was after I had taken a bite of something of a particularly high flame factor that Lara spoke. “This feels like it could be home. I’m thinking we should stay here, baby,” she said softly. I nodded as tears formed in my eyes from the pepper I was eating. “I saw this little adobe house advertised for lease. It’s on a few acres and has the most spectacular view of the mountains.” She smiled. I shook my head and reached for my water, taking an enormous gulp in preparation of speaking.

  “Lara.” My voice sounded sharper than I intended.

  “Don’t say anything yet, Sylvie. Give yourself some time to just imagine it, what her life could be like here,” she said quickly.

  For a moment I allowed myself the fantasy of the two of us settling there to bring up our daughter, sheltered from reality, and surrounded by those warm generous people as well as the austere beauty of the landscape. Lara must have read where my mind was traveling.

  “There are all different types of people here. Some call themselves Spanish, others Mexican, and American Indian, and there are artists from all over who live here. It would be an ideal place for a child,” she said wistfully. Her hazel eyes shone pale amber, reflecting the sunlight surrounding us, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. I had an impulse to catch her hands and kiss them, but I refrained.

  -Ch 6-

  We were shopping, a favorite pastime of Lara’s, and one that was growing on me surprisingly quickly under her skillful influence. Our enthusiasm was tempered only by the limits of our trunk space, or I’m certain she would have purchased half of that little town to take away with her. Still, we enjoyed looking. To us, everything on offer appeared unique. There were little signs visible everywhere I looked, proclaiming the wares to have been created by some artist or another.

  We were in an old general store and Lara was examining what appeared to be handmade textiles, mostly blankets and rugs. She wasn’t far from me when an old man, the shopkeeper I assumed, stood up from his stool behind the counter and went outside. Lara took me by surprise, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders before turning me to kiss me hard on the lips. I was responding, my hand sliding beneath the hem of her sweater when the dark-haired girl sitting in the corner, quietly reading on a stool, dropped her book on the floor. I froze and stepped back from Lara. The girl had been staring straight at us, but quickly diverted her dark eyes and dropped down to retrieve her book from the floor. I slipped the blanket from around my shoulders, refolded it, and deposited it with the others, as if nothing had happened. Lara glanced back to see from where that noise had come. When she saw the girl, fear flashed across her smooth features for only a moment. She reached for my hand, gripping it tightly, and attempting to tug me toward the door to leave. I shook my head.

  “Sylvie, you don’t understand,” she said sharply. “We need to go.” Her cheeks were pink, and she could hardly meet my eye. When I shook my head firmly she added, “I’ll be waiting outside for you.”

  After Lara left, I continued to look through the blankets, determined not to run away just because I’d reacted naturally with the woman I loved. I couldn’t imagine living my entire life under the censure we imposed on ourselves. If I was really considering settling down with Lara, I needed to get used to people watching us, as well as their reactions. I heard movement in the corner as the girl stood up from her stool and approached me. I met her eyes, defiantly, as if untroubled by what she had witnessed. She had straight black hair, parted down the middle of her head, and cut bluntly in a straight line at the bottom, about three inches below her shoulders. Her face seemed too pure for makeup, her skin a cinnamon color, her eyes a deep chocolate brown. She was wearing a flannel shirt, and worn out jeans.

  “You don’t want to buy any of those blankets,” she said softly, in a voice huskier than I expected. I stared down at the blanket I was touching. “Those are here for the tourists. I think they were made in Hong Kong, or Korea.”

  “I thought they were woven by hand,” I said, pointing to the sign over the shelf. She shrugged and grinned.

  “We’ll, they might be. I doubt it though. They don’t look like any of the blankets my Ma has,” she observed. I nodded. “No one on this street makes blankets. There’s a rug place a few doors down, but the woman who makes them is a really talented artist, so they’re pricey. Hers are for hanging on the wall, not walking on.”

  “What would you buy if you wanted something in this store?” I asked. She encircled my wrist in a light grip and led me over to a small selection of handmade leather clothing.

  “These really are made here. This pair will adjust for you too, as your belly grows,” she added, glancing at my belly as a sweet smile formed on her lips. “See, the waist can be loosened with the laces, and then after you have your baby, they’ll go back to normal. Just wear something to cover the waist while you’re pregnant.” I nodded and looked at the pants. “They’re buffalo leather,” she offered, as if reading my mind.

  “All right.” I smiled at her.

  “And your girlfriend might like these,” she said softly, as she turned away from me. “They would be lovely on her.” She held up a pair of soft cream pants, the cut slimmer, and with a soft fringe down the sides of the legs. “I don’t guess she’d want to come back and try the
m on, though.” She hung them back up and looked at me. “She was upset. I didn’t mean to stare at you, before,” she added. I shook my head.

  “Please don’t...”

  “It’s just, she’s so beautiful. You both are.” I shrugged, “Your girlfriend, I thought she might be someone famous, like in the movies. Is she?” the girl asked. I shook my head. “They come here sometimes, stars, from California.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked to change the subject.

  “Talise.”

  “Well, Talise, I’m Sylvie,” I offered, extending my hand to the girl.

  “Where are you visiting from?” she asked, taking my hand in a warm, quick grip.

  “Chicago.” Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head. Obviously she didn’t believe me. “Originally we’re from Louisiana.” She nodded.

  “You don’t sound like you’re from Chicago,” she said, grinning.

  “Are you a Santa Fe native?” I asked, growing more comfortable with the girl. She smiled and shook her head.

  “No, but I look the part, don’t I? I’m from Oklahoma. I’m just here for school. I go to the tribal college here. I study art.”

  “You’re an artist then?”

  “I’m trying to be.”

  “Do you paint?” She shook her head, her eyes steady on mine, and then she smiled.

  “Here, I’ll show you,” she replied, taking my wrist again to lead me back to the counter in the corner, where she had spied upon us from her stool. “I make jewelry. I use the lost wax technique. See. I sculpt my object in wax and make a cast of it and then I pour metal in the cast to create pieces. No two are ever really alike because the casts get destroyed with each piece.” I focused down on a shiny little bear on a leather cord.