Disconnected

by Lisa M. Cronkhite

  After my five-minute babble, I am suddenly struck with sadness and start crying. “I’m…sorry,” I say to him. “It’s just…” Sniffling in between words. “It’s just that I’m so happy to see you. This is truly wonderful. How did you know I was here?”

  He looks at me with surprise. And for a few seconds there is an odd silence. But as we get into my room, he tells me, “I can’t believe you don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what? Please tell me.”

  “I’m the one who brought you in.”

  A wave of confusion hits me. I remember sitting there in the darkened moonlight, surrounded by all the beauty of the garden. And yes, I even heard something rustling in the bushes. But I was so out of it, I couldn’t tell who or what it was. I just always assumed Aunt Rachel found me and brought me here.

  He goes on to tell me how worried he was with all that blood running down my arm. He says he tried to wake me while he called 9-1-1. He says to me that he waited for hours in the ER.

  It’s amazing to hear all this. Then something strikes me. “How did you get up here? I mean, visitors have to be eighteen, and I wasn’t sure—”

  He cuts me off before I can even say any more. “Listen, that’s one of the things I need to tell you. I’m actually twenty. I live alone in the Hillshire Apartments a few miles away from your Aunt Rachel’s.”

  Suddenly confusion morphs into anger. “Why did you tell me you were still in school?” I don’t know what to think. Amelia is laughing at me right now. See, he’s just a liar. Wanna get involved with that? He’s just gonna bring you down.

  “I had my reasons. I just didn’t want to turn you away.”

  I’m cold to him. I’m hurt and can’t think of anything else to say. “You know, Blake, I don’t get you. Why are you so interested in me anyway? I’m sure there are plenty of other people you can save.”

  “I didn’t want you to think I’m a deadbeat, okay? I dropped out of high school in my junior year and had to take a job after my father kicked me out. Please forgive me, Milly. Everything else that I told you was true.”

  After hearing his outpouring, my urge to know the truth about my journal bubbles up inside of me, rising to my mouth. A chill spreads across my skin.

  Blake looks at me, waiting to hear a response.

  And just like that, as if I hadn’t struggled to ask at all, I exhale the words, “Did you read my journal?”

  “No. I would never do anything like that,” he says, looking surprised that I even asked. “I found it in my car and gave it to your aunt right away.”

  Somehow I believe him. He looks at me with sincere eyes, almost ready to cry. I think of how dark his life is. He has mentioned his problems with his sister’s passing followed by the onset of depression—about his brother too. His family’s just as messed up as mine is, but in a different way. How could I turn my back on him now? He’s just as lost as I am.

  We stand in my room, near the windows, and he comes in closer, putting his hands around my waist. Suddenly it feels like butterflies have drifted all inside my body. From head to toe, the feeling is amazingly good. I can’t say anything, but look in his eyes.

  “Milly, I know this is early to say. And you don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel it. But ever since we’ve met, there’s just something about you I can’t stop thinking about. You make me feel important. Like I’m a somebody. I know all I got is that garden job, but it pays the rent. I promise myself and I’ll promise to you too—to do better, to get my GED.”

  “Blake, you don’t have to promise me anything—”

  “Just listen,” he says, cutting me off. “There’s so much I want to share with you. I just can’t handle being without you and seeing you suffer so alone like this.”

  “But—“

  “Please, Milly. What I am trying to tell you here is—”

  “Blake, before you say anything, you should know I am so messed up it isn’t even funny. I think something bad happened with my parents and until I figure it out—” I look down to the floor, trying not to cry. “I have nothing.”

  He leans in close, raising his warms hands to lift up to my face. “You have me…and we can figure it out together.” He then moves in to kiss me on my cheek and whispers in my ear, “I’m in love with you….”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Finally! Finally, after a two-week stay at St. Luke’s Hospital, here it is the Monday morning I get out. In the end, thanks to Spring Break, I only missed a week of school. And to just think, Beth and Matt and Lance and Jenny and whoever else were all having a grand ole time while I had to suffer here.

  Aunt Rachel never came to visit me, though she called me a couple of times. But that doesn’t matter now, what matters is that I am getting out of here. At least she promised to come get me today.

  Amelia is happy that today is my last day too. She hasn’t said anything about what Blake said last week, so I wonder what she’s thinking.

  The doctor goes over my outpatient therapy schedule with me, telling me everything about my drugs and where to make my appointments. I tell him the side effects that have already been happening—like stomach discomfort and headaches. I can’t really remember all the things he tells me. But it’s all in the five folders they’ll give me during discharge. If I want to know more, I have all the information I need.

  I pack my things—clothes from the donation bins I got when I first came to the hospital. They’ve come in handy, made me feel more comfortable. The nurse gave me the okay to take them. I was also able to give some to Randy, which she liked.

  I was surprised at the quality of the tie-dyed t-shirts and two pairs of pajama pants the nurse gave me. They were in such good condition. It made me realize that there really are good people out there willing to donate such fine clothes. I know my clothes are old and outdated, but I would like to donate some of them when I get home. I know I have things that I haven’t worn in a while that don’t fit anymore. This compelling feeling gives me great joy. Today I feel good. The overall hopeful feeling is so invigorating that I promise myself a lot of things. I promise to change, first and foremost. And I promise to do good things for others as they’ve done for me.

  “So, you excited?” Heather asks while I pack.

  “Yeah,” I say, folding my clothes. “I am. Sorry it’s taking you longer to get out.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me. So what are you going to do first?”

  “Well, go outside.” I laugh.

  “I know, ya goof, I mean when you get home.”

  “Oh, God. I’m really just going to enjoy the day to be honest. Maybe get ready for school again? In the meantime, maybe take a long walk? Spend time in my aunt’s garden?”

  She looks at me and for that moment I feel ashamed and embarrassed that I’d babbled on about being outside. Clearly by the glazed look in her eyes, she’s envious.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

  She stops me and says it’s really okay. And that her time will come soon.

  We continue talking for a while and something she says reminds me to talk to Randy one more time before I leave. She too will be getting out soon. She promised me we’d buddy up and go to outpatient sessions together.

  “Hey, I’ll be right back. Would you watch my stuff?” I ask Heather.

  “Sure.”

  I step out of the room and run down the hall, getting yelled at for doing so. I slow down and eventually come to a stop at Randy’s door.

  She’s sitting on the bed combing her hair. She looks so much better—hair washed and looking fluffy and soft, and her eyes seem to smile more, along with her face too. Ah, but yes, she’s definitely looking good. I am as proud of her as she is of me. We really bonded tightly during the stay we had together. When there was nothing else to do but talk, most of my conversations were with her.

  “Yo, Randy, I’m leavin’ today. You better give me your number before I go.”

  “Yeah, totally. Hurry up and get so
me paper and a pencil at the nurses’ station.”

  “Okay, be right back.”

  I scurry down the hall to the nurses’ station and ask for the materials. I write my full name, cell number, and even e-mail, which I never use, but just in case. When I go back and hand it to Randy, she rips part of the paper off, holding her hand out for the pencil and does the very same for me.

  “So I’ll call you when I get out, okay?” she says to me as she hands the paper back.

  “Okay, when do you get out again?”

  “Should be by tomorrow.”

  “Good, we could go to Five North together, then.” Five North is the other end of the fifth floor of the hospital, where the outpatient classes take place.

  After we hug and say our good-byes, I go back to my room and wait for Aunt Rachel, as it’s the only thing left to do.

  ***

  This morning, when Aunt Rachel called me, she said she’d made arrangements to come pick me up in the afternoon. But the exact time she’d come get me was unclear. Two o’clock rolls around. Then three. By the time it reaches five, I start to really worry if Aunt Rachel will ever come and get me. I wonder what’s she’s doing and why there’s such a holdup. The discharge papers were all ready hours ago.

  “Still here?” Heather says as she comes back into the room after one of the meetings.

  “Yeah, I don’t know what’s taking her so long.”

  “Don’t worry. She’ll be here. Maybe she just got caught up doing something.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  She is never going to get you, Milly. I told you. You should have listened to me.

  Amelia’s at her worst as the time keeps passing by. It isn’t until close to six o’clock that the nurse tells me Aunt Rachel’s here.

  I take all my bags up to the front and see her standing there near the nurses’ station, signing in. She’s got a hard look on her face, like she’s deep in thought.

  “Amelia, are you ready?” Aunt Rachel asks. She seems in a hurry to get out of here. Hey, I am too. I’ve been waiting to get out of here for a while now, but still. I think I’m calmer than she is.

  “Yes, I’m ready.”

  I check my bags one last time to make sure I have everything, while the nurse hands me my papers.

  “Okay, got it all?” Aunt Rachel asks, checking her watch again like she’s got somewhere else to go.

  “Yep, let’s go.”

  We are escorted out by the older lady assigned as my nurse the whole time. We walk down the long hallways to the elevator doors. The nurse takes us all the way down to the ground floor.

  As we walk past the gift shop, with all the get-well balloons and beautiful flowers, I am reminded of the flowers Blake gave me. I left them there in my room for Heather to enjoy. I think of her and Randy and everyone else getting well. But it’s hard to walk past the people in wheelchairs and the many loved ones coming in to visit, as it shows how many people are truly suffering in the world. It’s hard to look at. I hope the best for them and want to help them all. But I know it’s impossible.

  We continue down to the front of the building. I imagine myself a nurse or volunteer and want to do that someday.

  We part ways with the nurse right before we exit through the sliding glass doors. Cool wind brushes against my face and blows my hair around a bit. It feels amazingly good to be tickled by the wind, to smell the fresh flowers off in the distance in the garden center. And it feels amazingly good to finally feel the outside air kissing my skin again.

  “It’s quite a walk from here to the car,” Aunt Rachel says.

  “That’s okay. I want to walk.”

  “Good, we can talk as we walk. There’s something I need to tell you, Amelia.”

  “What is it?”

  “Grandpa George passed away this morning.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The sky is a crystal-clear blue without a cloud in sight. It’s warm, with the afternoon sun at its highest. The magnolia trees are in full bloom, with ripened petals falling off the branches. Everything’s colorful. But I feel too dark to really feel any color inside.

  Here I sit in Hansen’s Funeral Home, dwelling in mourning over the loss of my grandfather, George Livingstone. It’s a closed casket. Like the case is finally closed. But I have no closure on this day, and the days ahead seem bleak right now. I really didn’t think he would pass away so soon. Amelia is deathly silent. She’s no longer telling me her forecasts of what she thinks about the days to come. I can’t look two feet in front of me, how can I look ahead?

  There’s a small crowd gathered in the corner, speaking softly about the things they remember about Grandpa George, but my thoughts drown out their chatter. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to think anymore. I’ve gone from feeling like I was on top of the world when I got out of the hospital to feeling so low I just want to sleep all this away, as if it was all a bad dream. But it isn’t a dream. It’s reality.

  Blake is sweet enough to comfort me while I stare in silence. He says nothing either. What is there to say?

  After sitting there for a while, Blake asks me if I want something to drink from the kitchen. I shake my head “no.” He gets up and tells me he’ll be right back.

  Father John—the priest from our old neighborhood, the place I grew up in with Grandpa George—is talking to my Aunt Rachel. I notice for the first time she is crying. I don’t understand her. One minute she is cold and distant and yet here she is grieving. I watch the tears stream down her face and wonder what she is telling him. Father John leads Aunt Rachel into one of the more private sitting rooms.

  “May I sit here?” a man’s voice asks. When I look up at him, I am taken aback. It’s the man with the salt-and-pepper hair.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  He sits there awhile, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap.

  “I never met your grandfather,” he says, whispering softly, as if we’re in a library and we have to be quiet. “But I heard about him from your mother.”

  My heart starts to flutter just hearing the words “your mother.” I still can’t believe I am sitting right next to him.

  “You knew my mother?”

  “Yes.” He says the word carefully, as if he’s afraid I’ll break.

  I am now feeling uncomfortable. I shift my body away from him and suddenly spit out, “You’re that man. That man on the bus.”

  “Yes, I am. I took the bus to work that day. I was shocked to see you. I wasn’t sure if it was you, but your looks—. When I realized you were back, I tried to get in touch with you, but your aunt forbade me to call or contact you. I approached you anyway and you gave me your number—do you remember?”

  I say nothing. I’m too shocked.

  “In fact I’ve tried this before with you, and you didn’t take it well. We’ve spoken a few times on the phone. Are you okay with me speaking to you about this?”

  A rush of questions floods my mind and clutters inside my mouth, just trapped on my tongue. It won’t come out. My body tightens up like a long elastic band just waiting to snap.

  He crosses his legs again and settles into the chair. “My name is Keith Norris. I’m Frank’s brother.”

  “My father’s brother?” I give him a dazed look. My mind scrabbles at his initials, too. K.N. The same one I found on the baseball cap. “That means you’re…”

  “Yes, I’m your uncle.”

  Did you hear that, Milly? He’s your uncle, Milly. Amelia?

  “Amelia?” Keith says, snapping me out of the conversation with Amelia.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you remember me?”

  Suddenly seeing him up close like this, it all comes crashing down. My thoughts are clearer than ever. Maybe it’s the medication; I don’t know. But it’s that face. Underneath those layers of cloth like in my dreams. The vision is so clear I have to close my eyes. He’s standing there, walking toward me, holding out his hand; his face is young—a teenager’s face. When I
open my eyes again, he’s still there, yet much older.

  “It’s like my dreams. You were the man with the covered face.”

  He looks puzzled for a moment.

  “You came toward me through the smoke. You had a towel over your face. You grabbed my shoulder.”

  “Yes,” he says with a sigh.

  “It’s true my parents didn’t die in a car accident. It was a fire, wasn’t it?”

  Tears well in his eyes as he nods. “You were in your bedroom. Thank God I found you. But Violet, Frank. I just couldn’t find them. There was too much smoke. They must have been unconscious. If I could have just had more time, I would have been able to save all of you.”

  “So it was real, then.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. And as I look back at him, more memories invade my mind. The vision comes into focus. The drapes in my room catch on fire. Orange flames spread on the cloth and crawl up walls. Everything becomes a dirty cloud of smoke. Someone’s calling my name, reaching out for me in the fiery fog.

  Then my mind rewinds a little more, just before the fire.

  My parents are arguing, screaming at each other downstairs.

  Arguing over me. No Milly, I’m scared, don’t! Just don’t! Something terrible will happen. I fight with Amelia, forcing her fears aside, and focus on my parents’ fight. My mother’s saying “You know she isn’t yours, Frank. You have no right to her!” And there was something he said back. What was it?

  I sit there with Keith, silently willing my mind to remember. Then suddenly it comes.

  “Don’t forget,” my father shouts, “she isn’t yours either!” After that everything goes blank.

  I get up off the chair and back away, feeling lightheaded. The room is spinning. Dear God, this can’t be happening. Just as I’m ready to faint, Aunt Rachel storms out of the small sitting room and grabs me.

  “What are you doing here?” she sneers out to Keith as she holds on to me. “Leave her alone. You’re not welcome here.”