Past Phantom

An alcoholic carpenter and his daughter reminiscent on their late wife and mother on Christmas Day.

 

Mathilda to Léon- “Is life always this hard, or is it just when you're a kid?”

Léon in response- “Always like this.”

- Léon The Professional 1994 Film

 

The season is winter. On the eve of Christmas a man sits in a dark living-room when all is silent in the dead of night. Cheap whiskey warms his insides though still he feels cold, the coldness of loss makes his ailing soul mourn. The muted static dances on the television. The drunk stares into the darkness of the kitchen not knowing why but an eerie sensation that something watches him, stares deep inside him overtakes the mind. In an impulse of both fear and panic he picks up an empty liquor bottle of many resting on table next to him. Fearful and in a panic he throws the glass into the blackness, sending the ring of a shatter throughout the small two story home. “Get the f**k away from me” the drunkard mutters like a sick person under his breath. The tension dissipates and he relaxes on his soft recliner taking another swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. He rests his tired eyes on the static. The drunkard drinks his cares away, until he’s under the illusion he has none. Upstairs a little girl shrieks and snaps the man away from his disillusionment, his sad state of pitiful being. Clumsily he lifts himself up grabbing for the stairway in the darkness. “Don’t worry Sammy, I’m coming” he yells from the bottom stair, each wooden step creaking as he ascends. Nearing the top he trips and crashing down bites his lip. The girl hearing the loud noise lets out a yelp. “Damn it” fumbling back to his feet he wipes the blood from his mouth as he reaches for the elusive hallway light. Dim luminance reveals the deteriorating plastered walls with brown and yellow stains. A roach scurries on the ceiling, going into the darkness of the bathroom. Rubbing his eyes he opens his daughters pink door, peeling paint revealing the bare wood underneath. It’s decorated in stickers and drawings of her imagination. “Hey Sam, what’s wrong?”

Trying to walk straight a drunken father kneels at the side of his frightened daughter’s bed who sitting upright, trembles underneath her bed-sheets. “Dad” she says shakily pointing to her closet slightly ajar “I saw mom.” The father was taken a-back but concocted the best response he could under the influence of poison. “Sweetie it was just a dream.” He patted his daughter’s fine blonde hair. “But I saw her, she was real!” As most dreams seem to us in sleep. Samantha stared her father straight in his dark brown eyes, adamant on what she saw, knowing what sight bought to her. Christmas Day marked the tragic accident of Alice Mourir, loving wife and mother. “Well, in that case mom just wanted to see her angel.” But still there was a look of fear in the child’s eyes. “Mommy didn’t look well. Her hair was missing, her skin was disgusting. She looked sick… like a monster.” That re-collection made her shake. The father had no idea what to do, how to comfort his daughter having nightmares of her deceased mother, nightmares that often plagued him in his sleep. “You wanna sleep in dad’s bed tonight?” She shook her head. Thinking about it he didn’t want to sleep either. “How about we go for an early Christmas breakfast at the diner?” Sam seemed to like that idea. She got out of her bed rubbing her eyes in purple pajamas reminiscent of the sky, clouds decorating the fabric. Samantha grabbed her jacket hanging on her reading chair as Kevin Mera stared at his reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. He splashed cold water on his face, combing his brown hair over-grown for a man in his thirties and scratching his facial hair. Kevin helped his daughter down the dim lit stairs; turning off the television as he grabbed his thick jacket, throwing it over his filthy white t-shirt. As they left their rented home for the past year the hour 2A.M, a cold wind blew chilling their spines.

Old man Crowley never missed a day to have his diner open, not that he was extremely dedicated to his work (though he cared for it) but just as most old folk are, he was waiting to die. Kevin and Samantha drove in an old pick-up maneuvered on icy roads to “Crowley’s Diner.” The sign displayed the name in glowing red, and in neon green read “open 24 hours;” The “S” in the name flicked on and off. As they got out of the truck the town was so still the electricity running the sign could be heard. Sitting on a stool behind the register an old man with round glasses had his head buried in a newspaper smoking a cigarette. The old man smiled at the familiar faces. Kevin and Sam were greeted by the warm temperature calming their shaking bodies. Kevin was met with an air of solemn melancholy. It was here that they first exchanged glances. Alice a hard working waitress and aspiring artist and he a local craftsman dedicated to carpentry. It all fit so ideally, that perfect moment in their movie. Kevin and Sam went to the corner booth right by the window to look at the snow falling. Crowley walked through his empty diner to the two, pushing up his round glasses as he got to the table smiling at the father daughter pair. He was a man of small figure and thinning grey hair, though his dimming hazel eyes revealed a past of being quite the ladies’ man. “My my Samantha, your beauty would bring a tear to my late wife’s eye.” He smiled a small nearly toothless smile. She gave a half-enthusiastic smile back “Hey grandpa.” Not that similar blood flowed through their veins, but Crowley was like and extension of the family; a kind old man. “What can I get for you two, my treat.”

“Can I have a coffee and some pancakes, with some bacon the side?”

“Of course young miss.”

“Sammy, you sure you want coffee? Stunts your growth.”

“Mommy used to drink coffee all the time” The little girl said sadly

Sadness enveloped Kevin’s memory. “For you Kevin?”

“Just the usual, I’ll have a bit a scotch with that.”

Crowley strolled to the back of the kitchen to cook up the only orders he would receive today. “Y’know kiddo I really miss mom too.” Kevin twiddled a fork on the red table, trying to distract himself. “Why did mom have to go?” Samantha asked innocently. “That” Kevin said shakily, he was wandering in territory unknown; darker than their home when he wastes nights away drunk “is an answer you have to find yourself.” He wished he could give her a better reply, something more finite but what was he supposed to tell her? He searched for an escape, a subject change.

“For your present this year I was thinking we could…”

“The only thing I want now or ever is to see mom the way she used to be, here with us. And I know that can never happen.”  Samantha was young, and Samantha was pained by such weighting facts. Had her mom returned home Christmas Eve from her night-job instead of searching for a present, maybe the three would be sound asleep this year waiting for the morning to break. But both a husband without a wife and a daughter without a mother sat in an empty diner reminiscing on what they had lost. In the monochromatic snow that blanketed the plains of the small town Kevin saw a figure from a distance easing closer and closer. “Alice” he muttered to himself.

                Alice Mourir was a nineteen year old trying to pay her way through a local college, to hone her craft of painting. The very first scene she painted and shared with Kevin was an Angel wrapped in thick iron chains. One wing was bound and fettered in the heavy iron, the other wing flourished but was ruffled, and white feathers blew in the wind. Pain was the first emotion evoked in Kevin’s mind, deep-set pain and suffering. In the background of the piece hung the shade of a dead body swaying on a massive black tree. For the year that Alice and Kevin had known each-other it frightened her to reveal this portion of her nature to him, of her darker emotions. This fear had often proved true, with Daniel who pointed his finger calling her sick. With Alex with a look of panic in his eye stumbled from her apartment. But Kevin saw beauty in the thin hand that had created these works, the uniqueness and intricacy a mind must have to be capable of such things .He saw beauty in the red lips that had breathed life into such an emotional painting. So they were to be wed.

The day before the small ceremony Alice went into labor birthing a beautiful girl who they would name Samantha. But a child is no trivial matter. To support their family Alice abandoned her ambition of finishing college, instead working at the diner and as a bar tender at some small bar. Kevin worked from sunrise to well into the night perfecting his craft, making pieces of furniture to sell. But business wasn’t always jumping. Sometimes it was like an old person sitting in a wooden rocking chair slowly creaking in the dark. After seven years of this routine Samantha had grown into a beautiful girl, fine blonde hair and stunning sapphire eyes; she would grow to be quite the lady. Though the two were never officially married, they loved one another and worked to give the product of their passion a stable living environment in a humble brick home that stood isolated in the country.

                Alice now twenty eight years old would occasionally visit her art study set in the attic of the home. In it hung up the piece she had shown Kevin, and a few others. Some scenery pictures, some portraits of people in dimly lit placea, another a rainy mood painting of a detective smoking a cigarette in an alley.  When the morning sun had not yet risen and Mr. Mera had just finished crafting a beautiful table from oak, with intricate carvings on the sides of leaves and vines, a reminder of where this work came from, he walked to the study as he usually did if he is awake at the time. He watched her brush move and finish the touches on the piece. Kevin got closer and saw it was a gravestone with a little girl mourning over it in the snow. When she rested at ease with the piece complete Kevin wrapped his arms around her asking “where do these pieces come from?” The light of morning slowly began to spill through the only window in the room. The rays could be seen with the naked eye. She put a thin hand on his. “Death was around me, so much as a kid. It was like a plague, that fly you swat away but it keeps coming back. From those that I loved to my grandmother, to my father, to my best friend…” she choked on swelling tears and gripped his hand harder. This was something that had been evaded for far too long, words that needed to be spoken between these two dearly beloved. “My grandmother died as all old people do, I was young around seven or so, but still it struck me knowing that I would share that same fate. Laying in a casket mouth and eyes sewed shut; preserved so people could mourn over my corpse in a glorified box. Then there was daddy who was driven to alcoholism when mom left, without a word without a sound. I don’t know whether she lives or is long dead. But daddy he couldn’t take the stress, the loss and when I went to the basement to wash my clothes there he was lifeless, hanging by steam pipes in beat up blue jeans and a stained wife-beater. Next to him was a tall bottle of Old Crow, drained to the last bit. I was still a kid then maybe twelve and that’s when they started to come, started to haunt me.” Alice pointed the portrait of the fallen angel standing frozen in the snow. It was the only way I could quell my madness, painting that which never let me sleep. You understand don’t you Kevin?”

“I can’t say such black experiences ever loomed over me, I don’t think anybody could ever understand.” She pulled her head back down, not looking at him. “But you’re experiences are unique, as tortuous as they might have been to you at one time I see the gorgeous hand that can dance with a brush on a canvas, bring dreams into reality for all to see. I see you, my lovely wife and the art she creates. Not the madness so many have feared. Yesterday is yesterday, let’s acknowledge when solemn days call and live with the memories. They crafted us to be who we are. ” Hope rejuvenated in her eyes and she smiled, a sole tear sparkling and dripping down her face. She stood up from her seat and they kissed, embraced in the study covered in imagination and paint. He ran his air through her pitch black hair. “So do you still see these demons?”

“Not since I’ve had you and Samantha.” And so their love was reinforced, steel chains crafted into an un-breakable bond that linked two hearts. Between them wrapped in these chains was the beautiful outcome of a woman who overcame her own demons and found love, an angel named Samantha.

                Samantha mourned at her mother’s funeral on that snowy winter’s day. Alice had been hit by a drunk while driving at midnight, frantically searching for a Christmas gift for her daughter. And it ended with her death. Her old red automobile totaled, distorted and in pieces, and the other driver in a panic tried to run but was apprehended by an officer. He was sentenced to a fifty year sentence for man-slaughter. Kevin and Sam stood dressed in black with old man Crowley watching as the casket descend in a flurry of snow. It was a small cemetery located on a quiet back road where she was to rest. The memorial that stood to mark her grave was a statue of a small angel hands clasped together in a prayer. Etched carefully in the stone read “Alice Mourir-Mera, whose memory will remain in her family and paintings. After an hour of staring at the gravesite Kevin motioned for them to go “come on angel” but in shock Samantha had forgotten to toss the rose she brought for her mom, she knelt on both bare knees meeting cold snow as her father dressed in a black trench coat lit a cigarette. Gently she placed the crimson rose on the snow, just below the statue. And she stayed as her father smoked more and more dressed in her black dress and coat little girl knelt mourning over her mother. It was the quiet mourning no erratic tears or yelling. It was the worst kind of mourning, the silent kind under grey skies.  About a week later Kevin left their old home, using the remaining life insurance to pay the rest of the home mortgage off.  After building a home with someone you loved, sharing a bed, watching them walk the halls then suddenly they’re no longer there, that leaves a sad imprint etched in the walls. So they retired to the urban part of the town, to escape the pain. But it still it haunted them.

                “Be careful food is hot” said Crowley as he bought out the two meals. If felt like an eternity for Kevin and Samantha recalling their memory of the late Alice. Not many words were spoken, but the mind has the strength to vividly playback emotional scenes. Now both of them were pulled out of their head and the phantasmagoric image so transient that faded in and out of being, swaying in the snow was now gone.  The old man placed the plates on the table and put a small glass next to Kevin, pouring the scotch. “Now you two enjoy, just give me a holler in you need anything.” Samantha took a bite out of the pancakes without any syrup and it was the best moment this day had bought her. “These are really good gramps!” She exclaimed with a mouthful. Crowley smiled “’Course they are, made especially for you.” With that Crowley lit up a cigarette and threw on a long duster, enjoying the cold while it lasted.

                “Merry Christmas Crowley” Samantha and Kevin said in unison as the left the diner thirty minutes later. “Stay safe” he said picking his head up from a newspaper. Kevin turned on the heater in the pickup, looking at Samantha posing the question “so where do you wanna go?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Then let’s just drive.” The roads were icy but manageable as they cruised on a back road they went straight for quite some time, listening to a radio station playing country. Neither of them seemed to care for it. “Hold on a minute, hey Sam open up the glove compartment I think there’s an old cassette in there.” Shuffling through piled documents she managed the find the un-named tape. “What is this?” He smiled, “you’ll see pop it in.” The cassette was of a performer playing Chopin’s Nocturnes gorgeously. It fit beautifully with this time of year. In the middle of nowhere with such relaxing pieces both a father and daughter settled in for the ride. It was calm, it was serene and the stars shone bright. They were perpetually lost in time, lost in their minds. That’s when they approached a sharp turn, right when an eighteen wheeler was barreling down, blinding headlights glaring at them. The end of the road, or so Samantha’s fearful mind thought but her father in a quick reflex swerved the truck to the side, nearly flipping it had it not been for a metal railway that safe-guarded them. Kevin had a shocked look in his eye, Samantha was a gaping. But they were alive. “Samantha lets go to that meadow and watch the stars before the sun takes them.” She nodded her head. He left the truck where it was, lifting her out and carrying her on his back through fields of snow. When he grew tired they rested backs on the snow, admiring the phantoms of the past as many before them did, and many after will. No longer were they floating in their miseries, evoking memories of what they had lost but instead looking to the future that was much like this ocean of stars. Then the orb of fire that burns within all of our souls began its rise, the first rays seizing the darkness, slowly masking the stars. Their beauty would come again, would be revealed once more but not until the light had been traversed. Not until the light had been acknowledged. Neither of them knew exactly how long they had been laying in the morning darkness, neither of them knew what flowed in one anothers mind for how could a father ever truly know a daughter, and a daughter completely know her father. But still in their differences and similarities they watched the morning sun take the sky and the darkness dissipate.  Once all the stars had gone that’s when Kevin rose extending his hand to his daughter whose hair glowed in the sunlight, whose pale skin was flushed from the cold. They met eyes, he his brown and her celestial blue. “Come on Samantha lets go.” He had a smile on his lined face not yet wrinkled, but soon to get there. For the first time Samantha noticed the strands of grey the flowed with his long brown hair. “Where are we going dad?”

“Home of course, to our real home. There are some things I need to pick up, ghosts I need to face. And I can’t leave my angel behind.”

She laughed and smiled “I want to support you in whatever you have to face, I’m tired of running too.”

Kevin and Samantha drove away into the morning light. The statue looming Alice’s grave still stands though the grey has been mysteriously tarnished to a black. The seasons have damaged it, but not destroyed it was it still stand head down, hands clasped or bound, and one wing broken off. During the coldest winters if one stops at the grave the normally solemn face of the angel lightly smiles.