Only six entries this month. BOOOOOOO! But that’s okay, these ones are pretty frickin’ terrific. Winner to be announced when I return from vacation.

No shill voting. Seriously, I can see your IPs.

Rebyj

I let my thoughts drift as the home health nurse stood by my bed and took my vital signs. The slightly antiseptic odors in my home just didn’t belong. What happened to the normal scents of home? The god awful pot pourri and overpriced scented candles my wife of 22 years kept around the house always irritated me to no end , my teenage son’s stinky shoes and sweaty sports uniforms used to make the entire house reek, my daughters makeup and fingernail polish used to mix with brewing coffee and my wife’s questionable culinary experiments cooking this early in the morning.

My wife returns after walking the nurse out and fusses around with my clothing and bedclothes. I stop her and bring her hand to my face, a small sniff and I notice it too has that sick room antiseptic smell, usually this early she smelled all rumpled and slightly sweaty from bed as she wouldn’t take her shower till she got all of us off for the day.

I grumpily say to her ” Everything smells like cleansers and old man in here, I came home to die and you’ve turned home into a hospital room. And why is it so quiet? I’m not dead yet but I have to fart to hear something so that I can reassure myself of that!”

She looks at me in surprise, it’s the most I’ve spoken since I returned home to die a few days ago, I’m usually so weak that I just answer her questions in one word responses or simply nod.

She said, “Well! We wanted to make sure you were able to rest comfortably !”

She looked into my eyes and I saw her nod as I drifted off to sleep.

With a start I awoke, I lay there reassuring myself that I was still alive before opening my eyes and became aware of noise from the other part of the house, I opened my eyes and exerted the same effort to turn my head towards the door as I used to exert to move a refrigerator and took a moment to focus. What I saw made me feel better than a morphine shot. My kids were fighting over a video game in the living room, their school paraphernalia was spread everywhere, my wife was in shorts and one of my old t shirts frying what smelled like onions and feet and dancing to some 80’s song on the radio, every light in the house was on and candles flickered. My sons bellow of laughter filled the house, he is such a loud fellow that my wife turned to check on me to see if it had woke me and our eyes met.

“Dad’s awake! ” she yelled towards the kids.

The kids tossed their video controllers down and raced each other to the bedroom like they’d done as youngsters and they circled my bed chattering a mile a minute telling me about their day. Shortly we heard a loud intruding intermittent beep and the kids eyes got wide thinking it was some of the equipment I was hooked up to for a moment then both of them yelled ” Dinner’s ready!” realizing it was the familiar sound of the smoke detector set off because of their mom’s cooking.

I felt myself smile, how could I ever have thought these things were irritating? I was home.

Jambrea

“Is that…Is that her? Is she here yet?” It was hard to hear the man on the bed over all the machines. Lucky for him, his room was full of nurses and one happened to be at the head of Joe Donavon’s bed.

“I’m sorry sir, but she isn’t here yet. Try not to speak. She’ll be here soon and we will bring her right in.” The nurse placed the oxygen mask back on Mr. Donavon. He had taken it off in order to ask about his daughter.

Joe started to drift off a little and he could remember when Mandy was three and she wanted a doll. Joe didn’t get her the doll and he really couldn’t remember why, he just remembered hearing her cry herself to sleep that night. If he could go back now he would buy her that stupid doll, but he was out of time and he couldn’t go back. He just hoped she showed up at the hospice house before it was too late.

There were so many times over the years when Joe had made his daughter cry. The last time had been two years ago and they hadn’t spoken since. It was all because his daughter had told him a hard truth that he didn’t want to hear. He had suspected for a few years, but he didn’t want to believe until she forced him to listen. In the greater scheme of things it didn’t really matter. Nothing could give him back the two years he had lost from his daughter’s life.

A nurse touched him on the shoulder to get his attention. “She’s here sir. We’ll send her right in.”

Joe was a little nervous. He didn’t know if he really expected her to show up. Through the years Joe had been rough on his daughter. He thought he was giving her a little tough love after her mother died, but he realized now that he had just been taking his anger out on her. It was sad that it took his dying for him to realize what an ass he had been. He just needed her to know that he accepted her in all ways. She was his daughter and she would always be his daughter no matter what. He hoped he had enough time to let her know.

Joe had drifted again when he felt another hand touch his shoulder.

“Dad, I’m here. You should have called me sooner. You should have let me know what was going on.” Joe could tell she was trying not to cry. He couldn’t let her cry or he would never get this out. He could feel himself slipping and he needed to get this off of his chest before he passed.

Joe slowly lifted his hand to his face so he could remove the oxygen mask. He needed her to hear him.

“Dad, no. Don’t talk. Just let me be here for you.”

“I…I have to…I have to tell you this. You need..” Joe slipped off again to another memory and had to drag himself back. He had to finish this. “I love you.” That came out strong and clear. “No matter…No matter baby. No matter what. Just remember…remember. Nothing matters…if…if you’re…happy. If she. ..if you and her…happy…all that matters.” With those words he slipped away.

Mandy leaned down and kissed her dad on the forehead. “I know dad. I know. I love you too.”

Lorelie

“Let’s go scuba diving,” Jack had said.

They were planning their tenth anniversary trip. She and Jack had their ups and their downs, same as any couple. For six months things really seemed solid between them and they’d decided on a trip to Australia. Then Jack announced a burning desire to swim the Great Barrier Reef.

Vicki was afraid of sharks, always had been. They were flat out ugly, like something from the primordial sludge. The first bite, which she was sure must be excruciatingly painful, terrified her. Blood clouding the water would sound the alarm to any other shark in the area. They’d come in droves and Vicki would be their mid-afternoon snack.

Jack talked her out of it. It had taken him six months of persuasion and even then they started small with classes in swimming pools, then local lakes. Eventually they moved on to the relatively calm waters of North Carolina and Jack promised he’d stay near her. Vicki had felt like she could handle it.

The Reef had been beautiful. The strange fish, the bright colors. The flamboyant beauty had soothed her after the frantic pace of travel and Jack’s crankiness after they’d missed a connection. There wasn’t a shark in sight and she managed to forget all about them.

She’d drifted farther away than she expected.

On a softly swelling crest, Vicki looked around. Nothing. Nothing but water that was taking on a grey cast as the evening sun dropped below the horizon.

She’d told Jack they shouldn’t use such a fly-by-night operation. Their lives and safety weren’t worth choosing by lowest bidder. Jack had talked her into it. He’d told her they’d be able to afford a fancy five star restaurant if they used this one.

Still, each dive pair was supposed to stick together as buddies and each buddy set would be accounted for before the boat could leave. Jack must have vouched for her. He wouldn’t be raising any alarms. She wondered how he thought he would get away with it. Maybe he would wait until he got home, then play the poor pitiful me card because Vicki had run off with a hot Aussie.

The way she figured it, Vicki had two options. Right now she clung to her buoyant scuba tanks, using them to support herself. If she fell asleep she could slip below the water. Vicki knew herself, she’d fight for life and kick her way to the surface. If she were unlucky she’d go through it time and time again. She’d feel the water close over her head, the sharp burn of salt water in her lungs. The wracking coughing fits that would only exhaust her more.

Dehydration was another possibility. Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. What extreme dehydration felt like, she had no idea. But she’d heard if you broke down and drank salt water you’d go insane.

Gently Vicki bobbed in the water. She slowly kicked her feet towards nothing. At least as night fell the horizon moved in from infinity. She licked her chapped lips. More salt.

Jesus.

Where was a shark when you needed one?

Amy

“My toupee….what should I do about my toupee?”

“What are you talking about Stan?”

“What I mean Bev, is should I wear the one with the bangs to the side, or the other one?”

“I don’t care; does it really matter at this point? The only other person that sees you besides me is the nurse and she doesn’t care. For heaven’s sake.”

“I hope that’s where I end up.”

“Where, heaven? She laughed. “Heaven? Your worried about that now huh?”

“Yes Bev, I’m worried about that!” He shouted.

Now that got her attention. There was something else in his voice this time that she hadn’t heard before. Maybe it was time to ease up on him.

But they always argued like this. It was just what they did. Even after they had left the doctor’s office that day Bev couldn’t believe Stan had wanted to pick out a suit. “A funeral suit”, he said. He didn’t want anyone accusing him of looking like a bum. He was going to get it now while he was still in his right mind because lord knows what Bev would dress him up in for the viewing. He even made a big fuss about his white paten leather shoes. He complained to the salesman that one of them had a scuff on the heel.

“You’re only going to be exposed from the waist up Stan! Oh, you are something else!”

She looked over and Stan was asleep. He had these episodes where he would be so feisty she just wanted to scream, but lately they were coming few and far between.

“Stan…Stan, wake up. Stanley !”

“Huh?”

“The nurse is here. Are you going to put on your toupee?”

“No, not today.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I had a dream. I was naked. I felt so free. I was at the office and I was naked and nobody cared.”

“The office? You haven’t been to the office in 20 years. Why are you dreaming about the office now?”

“I don’t know Beverly . I just know I love you.”

“What? Oh, I love you too Stanly”

“I’m so tired.”

“Get some rest my love. I’ll be right here.”

“Ok.”

*****

A week later Bev sat at the viewing. It was busier than she thought it would be, that’s for sure. He didn’t have any friends did he? They’re probably just here for the food.

“Aunt Bev, why is the casket closed?”

“Oh, hi Christine. Well, why don’t you go up there and take a little peek.”

“You mean go look in the coffin?”

“Yeah, go ahead. Nobody will notice. They’re just here for the food anyway.”

“Ok.”

She walked slowly through the crowd of guests. Aunt Bev was right. They all had plates in their hands and were engrossed in their own conversations. It was heavy, but she managed to open it a few inches and closed it back really quick.

Bev watched as her niece turned around slowly with a half smile on her faced and mouthed the words….

“He’s naked.”

Samantha

“Janine?”

A voice came, slightly breathless, out of the blue from the back room.

“Yes, mama?” Janine answered quietly, the pain of the day dragging her neck down as she threw the dish towel on the rack of wet dishes.

“The house can stay when I’m gone.”

Janine’s head snapped up and she quickly walked to the doorway of her mother’s room.

She stood at the edge and peered at the woman lying beneath a pile of quilts in a sea of pillows, restless hands rustling and smoothing the linen sheets. She could smell the mixture of jasmine perfume and cold-cream hanging mildly in the air, just like always.

“Stay?”

“After I’m gone, don’t tear it down.”

“But…you always said–.”

Janine walked into the room and perched on the chair beside the bed, confusion pleating her forehead.

“I know what I said. Leave it. Keep it. Sell it. It doesn’t matter – just don’t tear it down.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

A long, exasperated silence filled the space between them, silent wheels turning in both their heads.

Soft, fragrant night air drifted in through the window in the kitchen.

“I don’t understand you,” Janine finally said.

It was a statement that covered more than just this instance, encompassing countless situations over the years, from what color Janine’s high school prom shoes should be to a sudden change of heart over what was thought to have been a longstanding agreement regarding the house after her mother’s death.

“I know.”

“Why’d you ever want it torn down in the first place?” Janine tiredly curled up into a comfortable ball in her chair, idly noticing that her legs were just as long as always but her thighs were not quite as thin, and waited for an answer.

“Bad memories,” finally came out of the soft, yellow gloom.

“What sort of bad memories?”

“Just bad ones. My bad ones. And they won’t matter after I’m gone ‘cause they’ll go with me.” Her mother paused, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t take the house and the good memories with me, too.”

“You’ll take your good memories with you anyway.”

“I was talkin’ about yours.”

“Oh.”

“Mmhh,” was her mother’s only response. She sounded like she was chewing something else over in her mind. Finally she spoke again.

“I used to think about watchin’ it burn when I was a little girl. From the tree across the road.” She gestured in that general direction with her head.

“I’d imagine the flames roarin’ over the walls, the glass breakin’, cinders floatin’ through the air, all silent, all peaceful.” She turned to look at Janine in the dim lamplight, eyes shadowed and almost eerie.

Janine’s breath caught in her throat as she waited expectantly, almost feeling like a child hearing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“One of my favorite daydreams,” she continued. “Made me feel calm. Content for hours just to sit in that tree and imagine this house burning.”

“Were they still inside?” Janine finally asked, picturing photos of her grandparents, aunts, and uncles curling at the edges in the heat, a slow, quiet horror in her voice.

She waited, not breathing, until her mother spoke again.

“I never really thought about them. But probably.”

Darlynne

“Do you know who I am?”

Funny how the preposterous and implausible were easier to grasp than the mundane and mechanical–-breathing, standing up, peeing. We’ve left the carnival midway, baby Jesus, and headed into the sideshow.

“Shouldn’t the question be: ‘Do you know what I am?’”

Silence, a glide closer.

“It’s the same question, really. Who, what, followed by how, why. I get that all the time. So?”

“I was with my mom when she died, watched her for hours as she talked to someone we couldn’t see, a figure in the corner. At one point, she asked if we saw the man over there, behind her. We didn’t, but she was clear that he wasn’t frightening, or at least that she wasn’t afraid. Yeah, I know what you are, I just didn’t expect you to look like Gene Siskel.”

“The film critic?”

“Right … don’t you know what you look like? You’re not all guys, are you, by the way, because that would just frost me.”

“I don’t look like anything, really, I’m simply a projection of what’s going on in your head, a form you think is non-threatening. If that makes me a balding, film critic from Chicago …”

A shrug, silence.

“I always liked Siskel, you know, he was so smart and interesting, a philosophy major, I think. He used to ask famous people, “What is the truest thing you know?” I thought that was such a great question because “truest” doesn’t mean “right” or, or “noble” or anything except true. So I decided I should be prepared to answer such a question, from anyone, and it made me think about what I know down to the ends of my hair.”

“The ends of your hair?”

“You know what I mean, the absolute truest thing. I came up with one, I was so jazzed, and then I came up with two more, which I can’t even remember now.”

Silence.

“And …?”

“Ignorance kills. That’s it, just … ignorance about medication you’re taking, about how ABS brakes work, about people and the stupid, ugly assumptions we make, the things we don’t bother to learn; ignorance about anything can kill you in the end. I’m proof of that, right?”

Silence, which stretches.

“Hey, I remembered the second truest thing I know: Perspective is everything. Are you at the head of a long line of traffic or stuck in the back behind all the semis? Are you waiting to retire or just starting work? Everything you experience is colored by where you are at any given point in your life; lying here, waiting, as opposed to standing there looking like you just stepped out of the balcony at the movies.”

Silence, except for the sound of the cars outside the window.

“I wish I’d come up with something more profound, like why we keep doing the same things over and over and expecting different results.”

“That’s the definition of insanity.”

“No, that’s the definition of housework.”

A longer silence.

“But that’s not why you’ve come, is it?”

“No.”

Silence, then quietly: “I didn’t ask for help.”

“No,” quietly.

“When I needed it, I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t ask, not anyone. I was too proud, too stubborn, too … Only weaklings need help, only babies, only … just not me, not me.”

Silence.

“Guess I got that part wrong, huh?”

“Yes.”

A long sigh.

“I’m not angry any more, OK? I get it, I understand and I know you won’t make me beg. Thank you for that.”

A long, quiet look.

“Help me. Please.”

A touch, a breath.

“I’m here.”

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 27th, 2007 at 9:25 am and is filed under Contests and Free Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.