I told myself I would write

A short story about a life lost

She woke with a start. Unfamiliar shadows on the weak yellow walls surrounded her. A dream floated in the air �" her father, fallen. The last image was like an old movie, black and white. Sadness etched out on his face reached out to her uselessly.

The phone alarm started playing its strangely cheerful tones, bringing the girl back to reality. Was it 7:30 already? Throwing off the covers, the girl ran into the kitchen �" flicking the pilot light on immediately. Again, V had turned it off before sleeping. Spaniards!

Her feet slightly numb from the floor, she threw on worn out socks and an old sweatshirt over the t-shirt she had worn to bed. The sweatshirt was unfashionable enough that she would be thoroughly ignored anyway. She quickly slipped off her pajama pants, grabbing the jeans bunched up on the floor. Sniffing them, she shrugged and put them on. She stuffed her cold feet unceremoniously into slightly damp pumas, grabbed her backpack, and walked to the door. She paused at the door, wondering. The heavy feeling from the dream still lingered in her mind. Shaking her head quickly, she tried to think of the word for “cantilever” in Spanish and stepped outside.

Her tiny cheap cell phone beeped and buzzed in her pocket. An American number stared back at her. Surprised, she answered in English- “Hello?”

“M, something has happened with your dad. I don’t want you to worry too much, but your brother had to call 911. I came home from your aunt’s early to deal with it. I know there’s nothing you can do over there, but I thought you should know.”

“M? Are you there? Did I lose you?”

“No I’m here. I’m sorry…” she paused. Seconds slowly passed and the black and white image of her father’s face from the week before seemed to float to the surface. “What happened?”

The sunshine was so bright and lovely. Warmly dancing on the light green grass in the patterns of leaves. Large, fat cars chugged their way along the road behind the house. The constant noise was soothing in its consistency. Streaks of the yellow white light bathed the threadbare carpet in dusty warmth. The girl lay there, amid heaps of washed and unwashed clothes, just waiting.

“M! M! We should get going!” echoed up the stairs, muffled only slightly by the closed door.

She grabbed her purse from under a clean pile, her phone from the cluttered desk, and slowly got to her feet. She responded she was coming and rushed down the carpeted steps.

Her skin was slightly flushed and mouth downturned. Her mother looked at her wearily.

“I want you to be prepared. He is not the same. C and I have been here since it happened, and it doesn’t seem like he’s getting any better. Do you understand?”

She mumbled a reply and started to the front door, swinging the purse listlessly. “Which hospital is it?”

“RI Hospital, they moved him to the psych ward though. They also have him heavily drugged. I don’t like it, but they are afraid he will try to leave by himself. He really cannot support his own weight anymore.”

Silence hung over her as they walked to the car. The crisp breezes and glowing sun were almost taunting in their cheerfulness. The neighbors were in their garden. They waved to her mother, smiling. “So glad to see M is home!”

More waving, until her mother finally started the car. Of course the AC was blasted immediately and goose bumps appeared quickly on the girl’s skin.  

“Sorry,” the mother said unapologetically, “you know I hate the heat. Why do you get so cold? You didn’t used to get so cold.”

The rest of ride was silent and the girl stared out the window. She let her eyes unfocus so the scenery turned into a smooth blend of colors, like a large brushstroke of unmixed colors. The lull of ride almost put her to sleep, in motion, but not yet there. She did not have to face the reality quite yet.

When they arrived in the hospital parking lot her heart sped up quickly. Flashbacks of many previous visits appeared in succession. Flashes of reasons for the visits intermingled with each seamlessly. The dark pool of blood on the linoleum near the doorway, the local pastor’s weak smile when she picked the girl up late at night, her mother’s sigh as she started wiping the blood and the crimson soaked the white towel. The girl tried to fight these images away as they got closer to the doors. The mother concentrated on the walk ahead, mumbling about which elevator to take, what the head nurse’s name was, who should be on duty.

They arrived at the psych ward quickly. They signed in unceremoniously and the nurse unlocked the doors. The mother led her down the sea foam green hallway to the last room.

A tired nurse was seated with her father. The ceilings were high and the room appeared to drown them all. All the girl could see was the empty look on her father’s face. Unfamiliar and tired. Deep circles were set in under his bright chocolate eyes. The little hair he had on the sides of his head stuck out at an awkward angle. White and green robes covered him as he slumped in the cheap wheelchair.

Her mother was the first to walk over, with a forced smile, and her right arm reaching out.

“Look who’s here, P?” turning to the nurse, “How is he today?”

The girl did not hear the nurse’s response, for as her father turned to her mother’s greeting, they locked eyes briefly. A flicker of hope filled the girl’s mind, but nothing connected. His eyes bounced from her mother, to her, to the nurse. Almost following the conversation, but moving too slowly to keep up. He seemed lost.

The girl approached her father tentatively. She could not speak, but placed her hand on his hand. It was clearly cold and clammy. His face turned to hers, and finally, softened. She felt the heaviness in her eyes and nose start to build, swallowing to hide the emotion. He stared at her, and whispered,

“M. Why am I here? Do you see the animals? It’s like N and..” he paused, bewildered. He looked at her again, “Why are there animals here?”

Her mother turned around quickly. “What is he talking about? It’s probably the sedatives,” she frowned, “you know how he reacts to drugs.”

She again, could not speak. Staring the man before her she saw his falls play over and over again in her head. When she had returned from piano lessons to find him gasping in pain, holding the shaky phone call to her mother, 911. She remembered the trip to the hospital when he asked her if she could hear the music playing. When he cried shamelessly in the hospital bed, begging her to forget him in this state. And now this. This, for the rest of her life, the rest of her mother’s life. She will watch him as the radioactive treatment meant to cure him slowly decays his brain away into nothing. Turns his words to sounds, people to shapes.

Five years since that day in the hospital, she walks down a corridor with her mother again. A different place, but to the same destination, to the same emotion that paralyzed her that first day. She sees her father, seated with a nurse, staring listlessly at the ceiling. This time, he does not turn at her mother’s greeting.

Author's Note

Does the story evoke any emotion? I am untrained, does the story follow a logical progression? Is it confusing?

Reviews

[Hayden Bridges]

Wow. I really enjoyed this. I felt invested in the story. The end was very good:

This, for the rest of her life, the rest of her mother’s life. She will watch him as the radioactive treatment meant to cure him slowly decays his brain away into nothing. Turns his words to sounds, people to shapes.
Five years since that day in the hospital, she walks down a corridor with her mother again. A different place, but to the same destination, to the same emotion that paralyzed her that first day. She sees her father, seated with a nurse, staring listlessly at the ceiling. This time, he does not turn at her mother’s greeting.

I had my hands press to my face during this part. Very emotional. I would have like to see names in the story though instead of letters, but i am sure you had a reason for this. I thought you wrote very well. I am all self taught myself so I do not know much about progression and structure. I know enough. Good job.

- Hayden