chapter one

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter one

 

 

3:45 p.m. Tuesday, September 12, Marlboro Massachusetts.

 Almost two years later.

 

 

Doctor Marlene Leisniak leaned forward in her chair and placed her elbows on the desk, then clasped her hands into a pale fleshy ball in front of her. Her deep maroon nail polish looked harsh against her pale white skin. She twisted her wrist slightly and checked her custom etched gold watch then looked back across the room at Karen. “Karen, you know how this works, you’ve been through it before. It takes time, you can’t avoid that.”

Karen looked down at her own watch, silver with a leather band. Three forty five p.m. She wasn’t going to make it. The moving van had already left. She had wanted to be there when they arrived at the other end to supervise the unloading. But she still had a few things to tend to and to say good bye…..She looked up, Doctor Leisniak was staring at her expectantly.

“ I know. But it’s been nearly twenty two months since they…since the accident.” Her son was dead, so was her husband. She knew that, she had accepted that and she was, regardless of the pervasive pain in her soul, trying to learn to live with that.

“Let’s see….” Doctor Leisniak leaned back in her chair and flipped through the pad of paper on her lap.

Over a year’s worth of visits. One visit every two weeks and Karen hadn’t missed a single one. But despite the frequency of their sessions Doctor Leisniak still had to refer back through the notes. Karen wondered if it was the case load she carried or merely a lack of memory….or genuine concern.

“You haven’t had any auditory hallucinations in how long?” She asked, still looking through the file. Her glasses, black rimmed, like her hair, and horned, dangling from the edge of her nose.

Karen frowned and looked away. She disliked that her memory of her son calling her, real or imagined, could be shrunk down into a phrase as cold and unfeeling as ‘Auditory hallucination’. She watched the curtain waver back and forth from the force of the cool air being pushed up and outward by the air-conditioner on the floor behind the middle-aged doctor. Must be the hot flashes Karen thought and tugged her jacket closer. “Since three months after I woke up from the coma.” She answered flatly.

“And the feelings of paranoia?”

Karen brought her gaze back to the doctor. She remembered the sensation clearly, like it was yesterday, and to date would still swear up and down that someone had been following her that day. She had never actually seen anyone. And that day hadn’t been the only time she had that feeling. She had felt it at home too and she was sure that she had been alone. Doctor Leisniak attributed it to post traumatic stress disorder.

 “Not for about eight months now.”

Doctor Leisniak flipped the remainder of the pages back into place and tucked the yellow pad back into Karen’s file then folded over the cover.

“All of the other symptoms of PTSD seemed to have resolved themselves. I’m sure this one will too. Some things just take time.”

Doctor Leisniak looked at the clock, again, then reached into her top desk drawer and drew out a small business card. She stood up and handed it to Karen. “You are doing the right thing. Here is my card, my home number is on the back. I’ll be in Belize for the next two weeks but then I’ll be back.”

Karen took the card then stood up and extended her hand. She wobbled slightly then caught herself. The artificial limb that extended from the stump that used to be her left leg finished extending and she stood up straight. She frowned, uncomfortable with her own clumsiness, but not self conscious. Karen held out her hand again, she couldn’t wait to get rid of the practice leg and onto something more reliable. This one had been used a million times over and took its own sweet time bending and straightening.  But the therapy department at the hospital had assured her that that the exchange would not happen for at least another year or so.

She shifted her hip to be sure that it was on the floor before letting go of the arm of the chair and grabbing her cane.“Thank you for everything you’ve done doctor. I don’t think I would have gotten through all of this without you.” She lied.

They shook hands then Karen grabbed her purse, tossed the strap over her shoulder,  and walked out of the office.

She made her way through the lobby of the medical center and out to the parking lot. When she got to her car she took one last look at the building that had been her home on and off for the better part of two years.

 Ironic she thought. They had sacrificed her leg to save her life. She would have gladly given up both of them to bring her family back.

              She turned and opened her car door, stepped in with her right leg, sat down then pulled in her prosthesis.

               As she pulled out of her parking space she caught a glimpse of a family walking through the parking lot up towards the hospital. The mother and father each had a hold of one of the child’s hands and were swinging her back and forth. Karen watched for a moment then looked away. Scenes like that only made the hole inside her gut seem bigger. Bigger, blacker and emptier.

She turned the wheel and headed for the exit.

Traffic this time of day was at its worst on a Friday thank god it was only Tuesday Karen thought as she slid into an open spot between a water delivery van and a blue Ford Escort. She went through three sets of lights before turning right onto Rutherford street.

She had lived her entire life in this area. She and Ron had met in high school their senior year and gotten married when Ron was just a junior at North Eastern university. She had given birth to their son Bobby two months after he graduated. Everywhere Karen looked she could see them going about their daily routines. Shopping at Moulas Market, walking to the park, spending Wednesday mornings at story hour in the town library. She pulled up to a stop light across from the Friendly’s and remembered just two summers ago they had gone in there for ice cream after a Saturday afternoon of playground exploring.

As she turned down Foster Ave. and headed towards the small white house at the end she realized that Doctor Leisniak was right. Staying here gave her imagination much too much power. If she tried hard enough she could almost make herself believe that they were still alive.

She pulled into the driveway. The house, with its empty windows and toy-less yard, stared back at her. The white picket fence that she had insisted they have to match the home sweet home vision of her life that had, once, indeed come true, was now riddled with chips of peeling paint. The gentle rows of flowers that lined the walkway and climbed the small trellises that stood at either side of the front door were long dead and their beds were overgrown with weeds. The trellises themselves, were covered with vines, gray and brown, that broke at even the gentlest of touches.

Nothing was the same.

 It was just a house, she told herself. Whatever life it had used to have was long since gone. Now it was just an empty shell waiting for someone else to fill it.

 Her time was over.

She got out of the car and went up the walk. The rose bush that she had planted when Bobby had been born was overgrown and flowerless, the stems browning with neglect.

Though it would be quicker to fly she had decided to drive. She felt she needed the time. She needed to get used to being on her own.

She hated to leave it behind but she knew that it wouldn’t survive the four day long trip. She went to the shed out back and found a bucket then went to the outside faucet and filled it up. She watered the rose bush one last time. She left the bucket by the door and walked into the house.

She didn’t linger in each room. She had said good-bye when she had packed. The few things she’d saved from her old life were in boxes in a truck on their way to Montana. She simply turned out the lights and locked the door then walked down to the end of the driveway and checked the mailbox one last time.

“Damn.” She said out loud. She had given her new address to the post office two days ago they were supposed to forward everything from that point on. She took out the stack of envelopes and tossed in her house key, then made a mental note to call the realtor when she reached Montana so that they could check her mailbox before handing the house over to the new owners.

She walked back up the driveway and got into her car, tossing the mail into the back seat. The old bills could wait. She had other things to think of right now. 

She turned on the car and backed out of the driveway. As she pulled out onto the street she didn’t look back, not once. She preferred the version of that house that was in her mind to the one that was now behind her. 

Ten minutes later she pulled into Simpson Cemetery. She was alone, there were no other cars there. She drove to the end and turned right. Isle seventeen, row eight. That number would be ingrained in her mind forever.

She got out of the car and walked across the grass then stopped and kneeled down placing the flowers she had bought before her appointment with Doctor Leisniak on the grass in front of the small rectangular gravestone. It was set flat into the ground. She brushed the dead leaves from its surface. As she touched the cold granite tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced them back. She had promised herself, no more crying. She traced the letters of her sons’ name along the plaque with her fingertips.

ROBERT ANDREW WELLS, REST IN PEACE, 1994-2002.

 He had been only eight years old.

When she had put to memory every cut and ridge she stood up and moved over to her late husband’s gravestone. It was larger and stood up above the ground, towering over both plots. She bent down and dug a small hole at the base of the stone then she slipped the gold wedding band, that they had picked out together almost eleven years ago, off of her finger and tucked it into the dirt.

“I’ll always love you.” She whispered.

Her hands trembled as she placed them on the headstone and pushed herself up.

Before the accident she had been strong, her husband had said that was one of the things that had attracted him to her.

But she didn’t feel strong now she felt empty, whipped. Tiny threads, parts of her, flung haplessly to the wind. Like an old spiders web that had been abandoned then ripped through by some indifferent hand. Not the solid person that she used to be. She sighed,

“I don’t know how I’m going to get on with my life without you both.” 

But I have to try.

She stepped away from the plot and onto the asphalt drive. The headstones and monuments stood, firm against the cool wind and sparse sun of the early autumn weather.

Braver than she, she thought and pulled her jacket closer.

In the distance the sound of the traffic in downtown Marlboro, Massachusetts hummed, interrupted occasionally by the blare of a horn or a squealing siren. This had used to be her home. Now it was as alien and unfamiliar to her as her own life had become.

              She turned and got into her car, forcing herself not to look back, staring, instead, at the teaming traffic in front of her as she pulled out onto the street.

              She hadn’t chosen the cemetery, she would have picked the one on the other side of town. The one that was set farther back away from the sounds of the cars. She hadn’t even picked the gravestones. No, she was in the hospital, recuperating, surviving, living while her family was being put in the ground.

 

Author's Note

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