Awake in Hell

by Downing, Helen

  Dad says, “why buy a vowel? It’s obvious, ‘You can take it to the bank,’ you moron!” Then he turns his attention to me. “Just jump right in front of the bullet, baby. That’s the best way.” That’s all I’m going to get, because now he’s yelling at the next contestant for guessing, ‘You can make it to the bank.’

  I pick up the phone and say, “Right on time! So how much do you miss me?”

  Bobby’s low raspy laugh is the only response, and even after four years together, the sound still makes my thighs ache. “I miss you more than I miss Elvis!” His standard answer, for which I wish rolling my eyes made a noise so he could hear it. Bobby loves Elvis — like total-pathetic-fanboy kind of love. Because of all the traveling he does, he has learned to live with very few material possessions. I drag him into clothing stores hoping this time he will agree to a few more shirts, or a new pair of jeans. But no, he will gladly sacrifice any sense of fashion and at least a third of precious suitcase real estate for his miniature Elvis shrine. I always make horrible fun of him for it, but in reality, it is just one of those quirks that make him different from anyone else. One of those things that made him able to convince me to fall in love with him, after years of self-induced exile in the world of romance.

  “So, what’s new in the world of amusements?” I ask breathlessly, indicating to anyone with any powers of deduction that I am just being polite because I have something way more important to impart. But no, he settles in and starts to tell me about three new rides with all the features, ticket sales and whatever else, under ordinary circumstances, would puts me to sleep. Then he says, “Oh, and Sue Ann is in love with a local again,” sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

  Now, I love Sue Ann stories. Sue Ann, bless her, is more hormonally challenged than I ever was. She “falls in love” at least twice a month. Her heartfelt romances usually end with her climbing out of the back of a pickup truck and swearing to keep in touch while throwing his number away in the nearest trash can. I adore Sue Ann. But today, even the promise of a few vicarious thrills from the girl that took me out of the game by introducing me to my dream guy, is not enough to keep me quiet.

  “Well, I have some big news!” I say. My mom comes rushing out of the kitchen to stand next to me and I silently wave her off. Privacy in this house can be a commodity sometimes. She doesn’t move, so I say, as quietly as I can, “can I tell him on my own, please?”

  “Is that Mom?” he asks. I love how he calls my parents Mom and Dad. They love it too.

  “Yes. She’s excited.” Suddenly, I know how to spring the news. “You see, because you are far away, I had to tell Grandma and Grandpa first.” Then I wait.

  “Grandpa and Grandma? I thought your grandparents were dead!” He can be truly clueless, but in an adorable way.

  “They are.” I answer.

  Then, it hits him. “Weez!! Really? Are you sure?” he asks quickly.

  “Yup. Got professional confirmation this morning. You are not going to believe how many doctors’ appointments this is going to require. I may need to go back on drugs after this.” I say laughingly.

  “We are going to cure you of your White Coat Syndrome, yet!” he says, obviously excited. “Is there any risk in the pregnancy?” he asks, with sudden concern.

  “Dude, I’ve been clean for almost five years!” I say, assuming he meant due to my drug history.

  “No, I mean because you’re so....” he trails off.

  “So…what?” I ask accusingly.

  “So… OLD!” he yells into the phone laughing hysterically.

  “Fuck you - very much!” I say, back. He loves to tease me, simply because I am five years older than he is. Stupid Jerk.

  However, having brought that up, I do have to admit that having a baby at the age of 38 was never in my life plan. “The doctor says there’s always some risk with women my age, but, since I’m relatively healthy, he isn’t worried.” I say proudly, as if I had total control of the condition of my body.

  “Baby, you are a testament to clean living!” Bobby says with affection, and yes... more teasing.

  “Have I said ‘Fuck You,’ today?” I say back laughing right along with him.

  “I love you, Weasel” he says, and I know he means it.

  “I love you, too.” I answer, and so do I.

  I feel like a virgin on prom night. I am truly that nervous and self-conscious, which is ridiculous. Bobby is coming home, as he’s done a hundred times before. He will hold me, and kiss me, and tell me how glad he is to be home, where he belongs. I’m not sure if I am nesting or if this is due to the fact that Bobby missed the entire first trimester, as well as part of the second. I’m terrified how he will react when he sees me in my hugeness. Linda keeps telling me to get a hold of myself and that I sound like a neurotic wife. Linda is a bitch.

  Bobby and I are not married. First of all, I abhor the idea of institutionalized commitment. He doesn’t agree but he loves me enough to be somewhat compliant. That is the other thing that is bugging me. Since, he successfully got one past the goalie and knocked me up, he has brought up the idea of marriage more often. But, I don’t think it’s real to him yet. It’s still a concept of me being pregnant. Once he sees me in all my glory, I’m half afraid he’ll knock me over the head and drag me to the altar by my hair.

  Anyway, our house is closed up at least seven months out of the year. Bobby travels, and can only come home for occasional weekends and our fair week. I hate living alone, so I move back in with Mom and Dad when he’s gone. Every fall, when there is a chill in the air and I realize that carnival season is coming to an end, I return and open up the house. But this time, I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Linda is hanging out, supposedly to help but, mainly just, to put flame on my anxiety fire. I’ve dusted at least twice, the windows are wide open so the crisp autumn air can drive out the musty smell, and I’m vacuuming. I look at Linda, who took the slipcover from off the sofa, sat down, turned on the television and has now clocked at least three hours in front of it. “Hey! Pregnant girl doing tons of manual labor over here!” I say.

  “Studies have shown that exercise is good during pregnancy. So are you going to relent and name your kid after me or what?” she responds.

  This is the argument Linda and I have had ever since I found out I was having a baby. What to name it. If it’s a boy, of course it will be called Bobby. However, if it’s a girl... well, that is still up for debate. Linda wants it named after her. Bobby wants it named Marie, after my Mom, and I want it named Willow after a character on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. No one is compromising at this point.

  “Is that what this is? Blackmail?” I ask accusingly. She laughs out loud.

  I look at the clock and realize we only have 20 more minutes before Bobby is due back. I run and put store bought cookie dough in the oven. I heard once that real estate agents do that when they have open houses because it makes people feel at home when they smell something baking. Linda comments that Bobby will think he’s in someone else’s home. So, I do the only thing left to do to make my house presentable for the man I love.

  I kick Linda out.

  Now I’m in front of the TV, lost in an episode of Friends when I hear Bobby’s key turn. I instinctively stand and grab a throw pillow from the sofa to hold in front of me. The first thing I see when he walks in are those gorgeous blue eyes. They still leave me breathless. You know how people say, “absence makes the heart grow fonder?” Well, I hit the jackpot in that regard. Every single time he walks in the door I get to fall in love with him, all over again.

  He walks up to me and snatches the pillow away. Then he looks at me as though he’s ogling a 22 year old supermodel in a bikini. By the time those baby blues get back up to meet my gaze they are filled with love and desire. “Damn Weez. You look amazing!” He leans over and kisses me deeply.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and reply, “who knew you were a chubby chaser?” Then I wrap my legs around him and we fa
ll onto the sofa. His kiss is passionate yet his touch tender. He has always been a generous lover, but this time he is mind-blowing, better than ever. I’m gasping for air and riding my third climax in less than a half an hour when suddenly we both sit up. The fire alarm is going off.

  Damn real estate agents.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m in the hospital. Eating lime jello and staring at the most incredible miracle I’ve ever laid eyes on, my darling girl. She has Bobby’s eyes and just a wisp of white blond hair. All she’s done so far, besides being born, is cry and sleep. Yet, I find her fascinating. I just want to watch everything she does every minute for the rest of my life. She is only a couple hours old and she already has made at least seventeen different expressions on her tiny face. I am thinking that she is going to be very smart. The nurses come by every few minutes to press on me and check my vitals and encourage me to sleep. But who could possibly sleep after having such an amazing experience? Well, Bobby apparently. He’s snoring on a chaise lounge next to me. I have just let go of the only person with whom I ever shared that much of myself. For almost a year she went .everywhere I went, she ate everything I ate, she was part of me. Now she’s outside, in the world, and I will never be able to get that close to her again. Except for feedings, she and I will never be connected again. All of a sudden, I find myself crying. My heart is full, my life is happy.

  Bobby wakes up and crawls in next to me in my hospital bed. He stares at her for a few minutes and then looks at me. He wipes the tears from my cheeks and says, “Why is it that all the greatest moments in my life involve you weeping?” I smile up at him.

  “Okay, we have to do it.” I say

  “Do what?” he replies.

  “Pick out a name,” I say.

  “We can call her Willow, if you insist,” he says kindly.

  “Actually, I was thinking she looks like a Linda,” I say and begin to cry all over again.

  Welcome to the world Linda Marie Patterson.

  My Darling Girl.

  * * *

  We are at the Easter Egg Hunt at Mom and Dad’s church. My darling girl, who we now call Dinny, to tell her apart from Aunt Linda, looks adorable in that pansy blue dress that Mom just had to get her. She’s running around looking desperately for eggs but having no luck. I tried to be her spotter but she gave me the whole pouting, “stop helping!” thing. So I’m on the sidelines trying to will her toward the obvious colored orbs lying within two feet of her.

  Bobby comes up and wraps his arms around me. He’s been so good lately, coming back for holidays and giving whole weeks to his assistant so he can come home more often. I put my hands over his and lay back against his chest. I love the feeling of being wrapped up in him. Even now, after almost ten years, we are still like brand new lovers. He still hasn’t managed to get a ring on my finger, but in every other way I belong to him totally.

  “Hi ya, Baby Daddy,” I greet him warmly.

  “The girl having any luck?” he asks

  “Nope, assuming you’re talking Easter egg hunting. Now, if you’re actually referring to retaining her most-precocious-kindergartner-ever title, I think she’s got it in the bag!” I reply.

  “We did make a great kid didn’t we?” he says

  “Yup. In fact, I’ve been thinking. I don’t think I can bear another letter to Santa asking for a baby brother or sister for Christmas. Perhaps we should think about making that happen for her?” I ask. And yes, I too have a hard time believing I was volunteering for childbirth a second time, just in case anyone was wondering.

  “We’ll talk about it after your doctor’s appointment.” he says matter of factly.

  “Seriously? I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about!” I protest.

  “Weasel, I honestly don’t care what you think, unless you have been secretly going to medical school. What I do know is you would be willing to ignore something serious if it meant avoiding a doctor’s appointment. Now, I love you and I always will, but it’s time to let go of this fear and take things seriously. I’ll be leaving on Tuesday, but your Mom promised me she would take you to the doctor this week and I expect a full report.” He seems so determined.

  “I kinda dig it when you go all ‘Me Tarzan You Jane’ on me,” I say. “Fine. I will go to the Doctor and we’ll find out that it’s just a fibrous cyst or something. Then we can get back to talk of making babies.” I sound so much more confident than I actually am. The lump Bobby found a few nights ago seems to move from my breast to my heart and to my throat. Every time I think about it my stomach turns. Every time I think about the needles the Doctor is going to poke me with in order to see what it is also makes me feel a bit queasy. But I will go and endure whatever torture they have for me. For Dinny and for Bobby. For my family.

  * * *

  I’m back in the hospital. More lime green jello, and more nurses poking and pressing on me. This time, there is no baby to look at with wonder. I have recently endured a double mastectomy only to find out that it was in vain. My cancer has spread and is now incurable. This trip to the hospital will be my last. Honestly, I have not made peace with that yet. I don’t know if that is what is keeping me alive or if it’s just my family sitting around willing me to live another day. I do know that I am tired. I feel like shit warmed over and I am pissed off beyond all reason. Linda is sitting with me now, while Bobby takes Dinny to school and Mom and Dad are home getting some rest.

  “I remember when I told Bobby I was pregnant with Dinny,” I start, “he asked about the risk because I seemed so old to be having a baby. Doesn’t it seem funny now? That seems like such a long time ago, and today I feel so much older. But he made a smartass comment about my being a testament to clean living.” I look at Linda, who gazes back at me with sad eyes.

  “Not clean living, perhaps. But you were always charmed, Lou. You could fall into a pile of shit and come up with an ice cream cone.” she says with a quiet laugh.

  “Yeah, what flavor of ice cream is cancer?” I say bitterly.

  “Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, now.” Linda chides. “When we were young you swore you wouldn’t make it to thirty. The fact you have survived to forty-five means that you have been on borrowed time for a while now. Look at what you accomplished in that fifteen years.”

  “That’s the problem, Linda. I have accomplished nothing. I got knocked up, and now I won’t even be able to see my darling girl become a teenager, let alone an adult. I have never had a job, or a husband, or done anything worthwhile. I have used everyone who has ever loved me. I was terrible to you and to my parents. Now, I’m going to die. I will never be able to make it up to all of you.” My tears are coming fast now. “I am so sorry.”

  “No, I am sorry.” Linda says grabbing my hand, her tears coming on strong to pace with mine. “I feel so bad that you think your life means that weak description of failures. Your life means so much more to Bobby, Dinny, and your Mom and Dad. And your life means everything to me. Your life and my life are so interconnected. I can’t imagine what the world is going to look like without you. And it makes me scared to think that someday I may wake up to a life that can’t be shared with you. Does that sound like a failure?” her voice is almost pleading.

  “I think that means there is one thing I have always been great at,” I say gently, grabbing her hand with both of mine. “I’ve always been good at picking wonderful best friends.”

  When my family returns, they all surround me. Linda, Hank, Dinny, Bobby, Mom and Dad, along with Rev. Dawson and a couple of hospice nurses. Rev. Dawson prays, the nurses attend, and we all cry and hug and say our goodbyes. Bobby leans over and looks into my eyes one more time, “I love you so much, my beautiful little Weasel.” Dinny climbs into my bed and says, “Why is everyone crying Mommy?”

  “Because I have to go away, and you guys won’t see me anymore,” I answer, my heart breaking as I do.

  “Daddy told me. He said you can’t help it,” she responds. “And that
you’ll miss us as much as we miss you.” Her beautiful face looking up at me with a sense of understanding even though she can’t possibly grasp what is about to happen.

  “Every day, I will be looking down at you.” I say to her, knowing deep inside that I am lying. “Every day I will say the same thing. I hope you are happier today than you were yesterday. And, I hope all your tomorrows are wonderful!” I bury my face into her hair and breathe deep, taking in her scent and trying to imprint every cell of her onto my dying heart.

  Mom leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “You have always been a wonderful daughter,” she says through her own tears.

  “Mom, now is not the time to start practicing hyperbole,” I say, laughing.

  “I know I’ve never been good at being good.” I squeeze her hand before letting go and giving out a long sigh. I look at this lovely woman.

  “Promise me you’ll help Bobby with Dinny.”

  “Of course, you don’t even have to ask!” she answers.

  “You were a great mom to me. I know you’ll be a great mom to her. Please, don’t let her forget me. Just don’t tell her that I was a bad person. Lie to her for me, please.”

  “I will never tell your daughter a lie. She will know every day how wonderful you are,” she says smiling down at me.

  I feel like I am finally going to sleep after a long, hard day. Only this time I am not going to wake up. As I look into the faces of the people that not only shared my life but were my life, I can only think of one thing to say to each and every one of them. So, I say it over and over until everything fades away.

  “I’m sorry....I’m sorry....I’m sorry”

  As my surroundings begin to disappear, Mom leans over me once more and starts to speak. I cannot hear her anymore. There is just a rushing sound in my head that drowns out everything else. But I finally know what she was trying to tell me.