“My parents conditioned me to have milk in my tea. For the English, as my parents were, tea in milk is as common as ketchup on hamburgers.”
Barbey looked at him curiously. “You always say the funniest things. I never really thought about my great grandparents being from England. It seems kind of weird now that I think about it—I should have thought about that. I mean it’s kind of a part of me in a way—now that I think about it.”
“It’s the truth, dear.” He patted her on the hand. “You look different than the last time I saw you and it’s not just your new hairdo. Something has changed in you. It has been a couple of months since you’ve come to visit. Am I correct?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ve just been, like, kind of busy lately.” She tried to block the memories of Rave out that were rushing into her mind like a rapid current.
He put his fingers on his chin as he examined her. “Are you doing ok these days? You don’t look so well.”
“Actually, I don’t want to be so forward, but I came here because I’m not doing that well.”
“What is it dear?” He took a sip of his tea and moved his chair closer to her.
She looked out the window for a moment, gazing ahead at the bird bath in the front yard and began to feel sorry for it. “That bird bath looks lonely without any birds in it. Do you mind if I take a picture of it?” She took out her camera from her tote bag and snapped a photo.
“I didn’t know you were into photography.”
“I’m not. It’s just that lately I like to take pictures is all. I’m not sure why.”
“So, tell me. What is on your mind?” He patted her hand which was resting in her lap holding the camera.
“Oh, yeah.” Standing up, she returned the camera to her tote bag and pulled out the jewelry box. “I found this in the garage at my house and there’s some pictures in it that I want to ask you about.” She handed him one of the photos as she sat down nervously.
He stared at the photograph a long time, grunting occasionally while nodding his head.
“Do you know who that woman is?”
He sat the photograph down on the coffee table and stared out the window for quite some time not saying anything.
“I don’t mean to be pushy, but there are several pictures in this box with that same woman, my dad, David, and me in them. You can see—it’s a little confusing for me.”
He began to pace the room. “I warned your father he should tell you about her. Your grandmother is rolling over in her grave right now knowing that your father kept her a secret from you and David all these years. I never agreed with him, but he’s your father and he has to be able to raise his children the way he thinks is best.” He sat back down in the wicker chair. “I’m sorry Barbey, but your father hid her from you because he wanted to protect you.”
“Who is she?” she demanded.
“I suppose you’re almost an adult now, so you should know. I don’t think your father has a right to keep it from you anymore. I’ve actually been thinking I should tell you myself before I die. Her name was Shira. She was your mother.”
Barbey was shocked. She didn’t know what to say.
“Shira was your father’s first wife who he loved very much. I’d say he loved her too much. She was seriously injured in a car accident shortly after this picture was taken and as a consequence, suffered severe neurological damage that was caused by a lack of oxygen due to compression asphyxia putting her in what some described as a persistent vegetative state. Eventually, she was taken off the ventilators and was able to breathe on her own, but was kept on a PEG tube to supply her with hydration and nourishment as she was not able to eat or drink on her own. About six months after the accident, your father decided it was best to take her off the feeding tube and let her die rather than remain in an extremely compromised neurological state.”
Barbey was shocked. She sat in the wicker chair shaking her head, unable to speak.
“Your father is going to be furious at me for telling you, but now that you’ve seen the pictures, I know you won’t stop until you find the truth. You need to know your roots.”
“I should have already known!” Barbey was looking at her grandfather with fire in her eyes. Her insides felt like a hot oven about to burn through her flesh.
Her grandfather shook his head empathetically and continued, “Shira’s parents didn’t agree with your father’s decision to take her off the feeding tube, saying that though Shira had severe brain damage, she was responsive. It was true, in my opinion—Shira did seem to have some awareness as she would follow moving objects with her eyes. Well, your father just wanted what was best for his wife and he thought she would rather die than be in that severely disabled state. Shira’s parents fought him in several legal battles, but the court eventually judged in his favor and Shira was taken off the feeding tube. She died thirteen days later from dehydration.”
Barbey began to cry. “I hate my father!”
“Don’t hate him, Barbey. He is a sad man and he thought he was doing the right thing.”
“Your father thought it would be best for you and David if you believed that Trudy was your real mother. Trudy was already living in your home as the live in nanny, so after your mother became sick, she took over. A couple years later, your father married her. She loved you kids and she helped your father with his grief. They thought it would be better for you and David if you both believed she was your real mother. I understood why your father made that decision, but I was always uncomfortable wiping out the past as if it never existed.”
“I always felt there was something wrong with our family. I just knew it. He’s such a liar. I just hate him.” She sat for a few minutes staring down at her lap feeling lonelier than she had ever felt in her life. “You said the accident occurred soon after the picture was taken. How do you know when the picture was taken?”
“That’s a picture at the Wailing Wall in Israel. You all went to Israel for your grandparents’ friends’ wedding. After the ceremony, your father took you and David back to the hotel to sleep, while your mother stayed for the dinner and dancing. Your uncle said he would drive her back to the hotel after. Well, your uncle had been drinking and on the way home he lost control of the car and smashed head on into a telephone pole. He died instantly. Your father blamed her family for letting her go in the car with her brother while he was intoxicated, and then after the legal battles, he forbid them to have a relationship with you and your brother. He didn’t want to hurt them—he simply didn’t know how to cope with his anger and pain, so he blamed them.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me all these years,” she looked at him accusingly and then turned away. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m feeling very sick.” When she got up from the chair, she felt a sharp cramp and grabbed on to her stomach releasing a short wail before collapsing to the floor. “Something’s wrong with me,” she cried clenching her teeth and holding her stomach. “You have to take me to the hospital.”
38
When they got to the emergency room, a nurse with a long thin nose and slouching shoulders wheeled her into a large room that was divided into individual bed spaces by curtains. She was transferred from the wheelchair into a bed behind a curtain. The nurse helped her change into a hospital gown because she was crying and cramping so much that she couldn’t manage on her own. After the doctor, a short gentle man with glasses and curly dark hair, examined her, he gave her some pain killers and asked her to rest while the nurse cleaned her up. “Why am I bleeding so much?” Barbey cried.
“It’s gonna be ok, honey,” the nurse said. “Just try to relax and the doctor will be back in shortly to talk with you.”
The pain had stopped just before the doctor came back into the curtained room. He smiled at Barbey gently and put his hand on her hand. “Did you know you were pregnant, dear?”
“What?” She looked at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
�
�From your response, I suspect that you didn’t know,” He spoke very gently and seemed to measure each word on his tongue before it left his mouth. “Yes, dear, you were indeed approximately six weeks pregnant and I am truly sorry to tell you that you had a miscarriage.”
She looked at him in shock.
“We have a list of excellent counselors you can talk with. It’s very important in these situations, to share your feelings with a counselor.”
“There must be some kind of mistake. I haven’t had sex with anyone.”
His eyes became even more saddened and they seemed to droop behind his glasses. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ve had patients in this situation before. You definitely need to speak with one of our counselors right now. Let me see if Peggy Banks is available. She’s a very nice lady. I’ll send her in to talk with you and then we’ll speak after.” He quickly left the room, getting his stethoscope caught on the curtain as he walked out.
Peggy Banks was a short, heavy woman with round, red cheeks and frizzy, brown hair. “Hi. You must be Barbey?”
“Yes,” Barbey said, barely looking up.
“Dr. Towne said you had a miscarriage?”
Her hand was resting over her eyes as she lay in the bed shaking her head in confusion. She was still shocked by the information that her grandfather had relayed to her. “I couldn’t have had a miscarriage because I am a virgin.”
“I think it would be a good idea if we had some sessions together at my office, so we can get to know each other better and talk things out. Dr. Towne is an excellent doctor and he and the nurse confirmed your miscarriage. The fact that you do not recall having intercourse around the time of conception could be due to a number of possible scenarios. I would really like to help you and get to know you better, so we can solve this mystery. You must be suffering a lot right now and confused by the opposing information. We won’t make any judgments yet. Would you be willing to have some meetings with me, sweetheart?”
“I’m telling you, the doctor made a mistake.”
“Barbey, did you see all that blood coming out of you when you arrived at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that blood was your body discarding the embryo. Dr. Town has the embryo. I think it would help if you saw it.”
“It won’t make a difference to me because he could just trick me and bring some other embryo.”
“I need to ask you some questions to help us figure out how to help you. Whatever you say to me will remain confidential. Can I ask you some questions?”
“I don’t mind. It’s just that I haven’t had sex with anyone.”
“What were you doing six weeks ago?”
“I was at the river with my boyfriend at the time.”
“Did you have sex with your boyfriend?”
“No!”
“Have you ever had sex with your boyfriend?”
“No. He wasn’t interested. He dumped me.”
“Were you drinking or under the influence of any drugs? Remember whatever you say will remain between us.”
“No I didn’t drink at all or do any drugs on that trip.”
“Can you remember anything unusual that happened while you were at the river?”
“My boyfriend kissed me and then backed away from me shaking his head as if I was too pure to touch.” She began to cry. “And then he just walked away. It was weird—it seemed like he just vanished. That was the last time I saw him. And then I saw a glass slipper on the ground. I tried to pick it up, but it cut my hand really bad and then I fainted. The next day I woke up in a motel room with this photographer guy I met at a dance contest. My hand was bandaged up and he said the doctor had given me a sedative and pain medication so I could sleep.”
“The doctor?”
“The photographer guy found me on a hill at the river passed out bleeding from my hand from the glass. I think my boyfriend must have been upset about something and left back to the camp, leaving me there on the hill. We were out hiking. The photographer took me to a motel because he was afraid of hospitals and he called a doctor to stitch up my wounds.”
“Do you know the name of the doctor that stitched up your hand?”
“No. I don’t even remember seeing him.”
“Are you still in touch with this photographer?”
“No, actually I haven’t seen or spoken to him since he drove me home that day after leaving the motel. He was supposed to drive me back to the river the next day to get my car, but he’s kind of weird, so I had my brother take me to get my car instead. I hadn’t thought about it, but I haven’t heard from John Prince since.”
“John Prince? Is that the photographer’s name?”
“Yes.”
“This seems to be much more serious than I expected. It appears from what you told me, that John Prince may have raped you while you were sedated.”
Barbey was horrified. She looked at the therapist for a moment with her eyes widened and then clenched her head in her hands. “I just can’t talk anymore. I’m just too confused.”
“Barbey, for you own safety, as well as others’, we need to report the incident to the police.”
Rapidly, Barbey got out of the hospital bed and dressed into her street clothing, sliding the clothing under her hospital gown so to not expose herself to the therapist. As she was bending over to put on her shoes, the therapist set her hand upon her back soothingly.
Barbey swung around snapping at her, “What are you doing? Don’t touch me!” She grabbed her purse and ran out of the emergency room, forgetting all about her grandfather who was in the waiting room.
39
It was nine-thirty the following night. The street lights on her grandfather’s cul-de-sac were overbearingly bright, as the millions of sharp prisms seemed to cut through Barbey’s watery eyes, temporarily blinding her from rational thought as she shut her Jeep door, overwhelmed with the confusion of having had a miscarriage from a rape that she could not even remember occurring and furthermore, discovering that her birth mother wasn’t Mama at all, but another woman who she could not even remember. Holding her head in her hands as if trying to contain the frantic brainwaves that seemed to waft out of every mucous membrane in her head, she walked up to her grandfather’s ominous house feeling its monstrous window eyes weighing down upon her confused essence. She had so many questions to ask him about her birth mother. She just hoped he wouldn’t judge her as strange, showing up at his house late at night. Oh, he’ll understand, she told herself. After all that’s happened, hopefully, he’ll just be happy to see me even if I seem a little off balance—and even though I’m showing up unannounced, and even though it’s late at night. Oh, she just couldn’t think anymore—she needed answers and she needed them fast. He would tell her how to find her birth mother’s parents and meeting them would make everything clear and ok in her mind. It had to. She needed some truth, something real, to grasp onto.
Holding her breath, she knocked on the door, hoping he wasn’t asleep already. Sounds from the television penetrated lightly through the door. Oh good—he must be awake because the TV is on. When he didn’t come to the door after a minute, she knocked again—this time louder. She waited, but he still did not come. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. Remembering that he kept a key hidden under the basin of the bird bath, she retrieved it and let herself in. “Grandpa, it’s me, Barbey,” she hollered out hesitatingly, so she wouldn’t startle him. “I just stopped by to talk.” There were dancing potato chips singing a catchy advertisement on the television and a cup of tea was resting on the coffee table. She touched the cup and it was cold, which surprised her. She called out a few more times as she walked to the hall that led to his bedroom. But, there, on the carpeted floor was her grandfather—dead!
Chageet's Electric Dance Page 30