Broken (2 page)

Someone is at the door
, and I open my eyes reluctantly.  The room is still dark, making it hard to tell if it’s morning yet.  The visitor is persistent, knocking and ringing the doorbell at the same time.  It’s probably my mom making sure her not-so-little girl is still alive.  She is known to do this from time to time, and based on our last phone conversation, she probably has a good reason to do so. I take my time walking to the door, cursing silently.  I look through the peephole, more out of habit than anything else, but can’t really tell who’s on the other side of the door.  It looks like my next door neighbor and his little girl, yet I tell myself that’s not possible.  I don’t know these people and there is no reason for him to be knocking on my door.  I breathe slowly, calming my anxiety down, and try to decide what to do next.  He’s talks to his daughter in a funny voice making her giggle, then knocks on the door again.  I finally push myself from the door and open it, leaving the chain on.

“May I help you?”  I
ask, my voice still raspy from barely waking up.

“Hi.  Sorry, did we wake you?  I’m sorry if we did but it’s almost noon so I figured you would be up already.”  I don’t answer
, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.  “I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.  A bunch of us put this together for you,” he continues and points to the basket at his feet, “and also to let you know we’re having a block party sometime next month.  It would be cool if you could join us.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.  I’m not going to be home
that day.”  I try to close the door, but he stops it with his foot.  The beautiful little girl is trying to get my attention, waiving and saying “Hi” over and over again and I do my hardest to avoid looking at her.  I know all it would take is one touch and I would be lost. 

“
I haven’t told you what day it will be.”  Why is he still smiling?  Better yet, why is he still here talking? “Look I’m David and this is Lily, my daughter.  Just try to stop by for a few minutes, ok?  And if you ever need anything, feel free to let me know.”  His smile is so genuine and warm that I finally allow myself to look at him better.  He eyes give away his Asian heritage giving him an exotic look.  He’s tall, way over six feet, with thick, dark hair, and he has the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen on a man.  The baby girl is a carbon copy of him and seems to smile nonstop.   

“Thank you
, David, but right now is really not a good time.”  This time I’m successful at closing the door and I wait a few seconds to make sure he’s no longer there.  All I wanted was to find a house in a nice quiet neighborhood, but now I have a feeling I’m in Stepford.  I don’t need any welcome baskets or block parties. What the hell? Seriously people. Do I look like I do welcome baskets and block parties?  Yeah, I didn’t think so either.

After a while it’s safe to say he’s gone, so I make a pot of fresh coffee to get me ready for the day.  I don’t have to visit Dr. Collins today and that alone makes me feel a little better.  I’m just about to pour myself a cup when the doorbell rings once again.  Are you kidding me?

“What?” I yell from behind the close door.

“Honey, it’s me.”  I recognize my mom’s voice and let out a loud sigh before I open up.  “Would you look at this?” she says pointing at the large basket.  “Looks like Christmas in August.”  She smiles as if she just made a joke.  She picks it up before I have a chance to tell her I’m not interested in keeping it, and pushes her way past me into my kitchen.  Instantly, she makes herself at home.  She is like that, and I know better than to say anything.  I watch her as she tears the pretty foil that covers the basket, and she starts taking apart its contents.  You would think she’s never seen a basket before.  She oohs and aahs each time she pulls another thing out.  There’s wine, crackers, cheese, and some chocolate, all wrapped in pretty, colorful paper. 

“Oh my goodness, whoever did this sure has good taste.  I mean this is the good stuff here.  Here, try this,” she says and tries to force-feed me a piece of chocolate.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” I ask as I try to chew the donut-size sweet treat.  “Don’t you have anything better to do? Someone else to check on?”  I’m moody, especially since I haven’t had my coffee yet.

“Oh shush.  Sit and drink your coffee and let me visit for a little while.  I miss having you home.  The house is so quiet now.”  I do as I’m told grudgingly and try to enjoy the dark aroma of my coffee.  “So do you know where this came from?”

“Where what came from?” I know what she’s talking about but I pretend not to.

“The basket silly.”  Can she be any more cheerful?  I swear sometimes I wonder if maybe I was adopted. 

“Some neighbor dropped it off before you came.”

“Oh how nice.  So what did this neighbor look like?  Come on, girlfriend, talk.  There was a time when I couldn’t shut you up.”  I hate when she tries to sound like she’s my friend instead of my mother.  Or maybe I just hate life period. 

“Mom, the only time I talked nonstop was when I was five.  Besides, there’s nothing to tell.  His name is David and he has a little girl.  End of story.”

“Oh honey.”  I can see the concern on her face.  She knows how I get around little kids.  That’s one of the reasons I no longer work as a teacher.  Being a writer gives me the advantage of never having to face the world.  There are no little kids in my writing cave to remind me of my past. Just me and darkness. 

“It’s ok, Mom.  I’m ok.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”  We both know the answer to that question, yet she asks me all the time. 

“If I haven’t talked about it in the last five years, why would I want to talk about it now?  How is me telling the world that I lost my unborn baby on that awful night when some fucking assholes decided to break into our home, kill my husband, beat the shit out of me, and rape me over and over again, going to make me feel better?  How Mom?  TELL ME?”  She looks at me with wide eyes, uncertain of how to react.  The minute the words escape my mouth, I know I’m in trouble.  She’ll immediately know I haven’t taken my medication and I fear of what she’s going to do.  She surprises us both by staying calm and I watch her get a cup of coffee for herself.

“I’m sorry, Mom.  I didn’t mean to yell.”

“No baby.  I’m glad you did.  You need to yell and let it all out.  Keeping all that inside will only kill you.  And it kills me, honey, because I know you’re hurting and I can’t do anything about it.”  We stay silent for a while, neither one of us knowing what to say next.  Eventually Mom is the first to speak.  “When your dad died, I thought my world would end.  Oh, it was the worst time of my life.  I used to wait for you to go to school, then I would close myself in the bathroom and scream until no air was left in my lungs.  I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call the cops on me,” she laughs lightly, but I know better.  She’s hurting, even now, recalling those times.

“Remember how I used to sleep all day on weekends?  I didn’t want to wake up.  It was selfish of me, and I know I wasn’t a good mother during those times, but I didn’t know any better.  Eventually Irene—remember her, the lady that owned the bakery next to your dad’s office?  Well, she came over one day and I was so embarrassed that the house was a mess and I looked like I hadn’t showered in months.  She didn’t say anything. Instead she started cleaning the kitchen while she forced me to take a bath.  She cooked us dinner that night and after you went to bed, the two of us stayed up all night talking.  That was the night I got my life back together. What I’m trying to tell you sweetheart is that we all have had a broken heart.  Some cuts are deeper than others, but we must go on.  You can’t let life pass you by. The only way you’ll be able to move on is by talking about it.  Talk to yourself if you have to; just let it out.”

How can I make her understand that I can’t do that?  There is no way to compare what happened to me and Sam to what happened to Dad.  I didn’t get to have my husband for fifteen years.  We had only been married a year when he was horribly murdered before my eyes.  No amount of talking could ever erase that memory.  I look up from my cup and see my mom wiping her eyes.  She looks small and tired, and I know I’m the reason for all of that.  I force a smile and pat her hand.

“Mom, I don’t want you to worry about me anymore.  I’m going to be just fine, I promise.  I’m going to talk to Dr. Collins about it and see how that goes.  Ok?”  She looks at me with hopeful eyes, and I know my lie worked. 

“Ok, good.  Now why don’t I go buy you some groceries as my housewarming gift?”  God, she knows me so well, and in that moment I love her even more for the simple fact that she didn’t ask me to go with. 

“If that’s what you want, then by all means.”  Her smile grows bigger and I watch her busy herself with the shopping list.  I clean up the coffee mugs and excuse myself to take a shower.  By the time I return, she’s already gone and the house feels safe once again.

The next few days go by pretty uneventful, me writing, Mom calling and checking up on me, Dr. Collins trying to figure out a way to make me open up some more.  I feel so much better for whatever reason, but I still try to hide in my writing cave as much as I can.  Avoiding the outside world is the only way I feel safe, far away from the questioning eyes that seem to follow me everywhere. 

Friday night I order Chinese takeout and rent a movie on Netflix. It has been a long time since I allowed myself such worldly pleasures, but I try not to make a big deal out of it. I know it would make Dr. Collins happy just as it made my mom happy when she called earlier to find out what my plans for the evening were. 

As expected, I can’t concentrate on the movie, it doesn’t appeal to me, and I barely touch the food.  Nothing feels right without Sam.  I store the takeout boxes in the fridge and after I’m sure all doors are locked, I go to bed.  I don’t wear Sam’s shirt tonight, instead I use it as a pillowcase.  I can still smell his aftershave as I hold the pillow close to my face.  Or maybe it’s just a figment of my imagination.  Whatever it is, it gives me comfort and I need that more than ever.

“Babe I want to believe you are still here somewhere and that you can hear me.  I have to believe that.  Do you miss me as much as I do you?  Do you think of me every minute of the day the way I think of you?  I miss you so much it hurts. I miss your touch and your love.  I miss YOU.” The tears are getting the pillow wet, and I jump away from it.  Getting it wet would make the smell disappear.  I fall asleep thinking of him, of his hands touching me all over, of his mouth kissing every inch of my body. 

Saturday morning I wake up feeling better than ever.  I slept all through the night and for a change the dreams did not haunt me the way they usually did. 
Thank you, Sam
, I whisper. 
Thank you for sleeping with me, baby.

While the coffee is brewing, I look out the kitchen window and notice commotion outside.  The cul-de-sac has been transformed into a fairground.  There are long tables lining one side of the street covered in bright red tablecloths, two big jumpers on the other side, and a couple of barbeques are already fired up judging by the smoke flying toward the sky.  The block party!  The second I register what’s happening, I jump from the window and pray that no one has seen me.  I fill the largest cup I have with coffee and move slowly toward my office. 

No one can see me there as all the windows are covered. I’m half-way through a chapter when the doorbell rings.  I swear under my breath and pretend I don’t hear it.  I have a feeling it’s that pesky neighbor that just doesn’t get that I don’t want to be neighborly.

I type away; annoyance making me hit the keyboard harder than necessary, and the stupid bell rings again.  He just won’t go away. 
Stupid friendly neighborhood
, I think as I make my way to the door. This time I unlock the door, chain and all.  His smiling face and the little girl attached to his hip like a little Koala bear come into view. Before I have a chance to say anything, he speaks.

“Well at least this time I didn’t get you out of bed.” His smile angers me, yet I find myself staring at his mouth.  He truly is beautiful. 
“So how about some lunch?”  Suddenly I remember why I am locked away in the dark, on the other side of the living world, and that snaps me back to reality. 

“Why can’t you people just leave me alone?” my voice is harsh, and I’m sure my expression matches it beautifully. 

“Well I’m not sure about the rest of the
people
, but I like you.”

“You don’t even know me.”  I start closing the door, but he’s ready for me.  He is half-way into my house now
, and I can feel the anxiety creeping up my spine. 

“I know you’re hurting, Jen.”

“Oh my God, what are you, some kind of stalker?  How do you even know my name?”  All the questions are pouring out of me and I can’t seem to calm myself. 

“You seriously need to relax.  Your mom stopped for a chat the other day and told me your name.”

“Look I don’t know what my mom said to you, I don’t even know why she was at your house to begin with. But I’m not some charity case that you can fix.  I just don’t like people that barge in, invading my privacy, and I wish to be left alone.  Now if you’ll excuse me.”  I try to push him out, but he just looks at me with his warm eyes.  Even Lily is watching me curiously. 

“Jen
, I know what you are going through.”

“You don’t know shit.  Now get the hell out of my house before I call the cops.  No more fucking visits, no more baskets, no more hi-I’m-your-nice-neighbor shit.  You got that?”  The anxiety has fully taken over now, and I can’t control the shaking and the foul things that are coming out of my mouth.  It’s like a safety mechanism that gets unlocked when things make me nervous, and I feel like someone is trying to cross the invisible line of my safety. 

The little girl’s bottom lip is trembling and she looks terrified.  Great job Jen. Not only did you manage to make yourself look like a macadamia, but you also managed to scare the poor thing. 

“I lost my wife in a car accident, so I think I know some shit.” He turns around, his arms now comforting his girl, leaving me to my emptiness.  That’s the way I like it. 
Keep telling yourself that, you fool
.  

I slam the door then lean my head against it. I don’t know how long I stand there, frozen in place in front of the locked front door.  My mind is blank and the shitty feeling I had a while back still lingers all around me. 

As I move away from the kitchen, I glance one last time outside.  The street is now filled with people of all ages.  Kids are bouncing up and down, full of life.  I push away from the window and walk down the dark corridor that takes me to my cave.  That’s where I belong, that’s where I’m safe. 

I stare at the blinking cursor unable to write a single word.  The laughter and children’s voices have found a way inside my head, making me want things I haven’t wished for in a long time. 
Sam, what am I doing here without you?

Knowing I won’t be able to concentrate on writing, I change into the summer dress my Mom got for me a few months ago, and grab my bag and keys.  I am happy my car is in the garage, because it only makes my getaway easier. I don’t have to worry about anyone seeing me get in the car.  I turn the key and the engine comes to life.  It’s been a while since I got behind the wheel, and I realize just how much I’ve missed it.  The garage door slides up slowly, giving me a view of the busy street.  David’s eyes find me as I pull away from my house, hurt still present all over his face. 

I push his face away and drive faster, without any specific destination in mind.  I drive around downtown, a feeling of freedom wrapping around my soul.  It feels good and new and I know that, at least in this moment, I am in control.  The sun is starting to set when I pull up my mom’s driveway.  I find her reading outside on the porch swing.  She looks up, her eyes filled with worry and questions.

“Honey, what a pleasant surprise.”
  I take a seat next to her and give her a hug.  I hold onto her for a while longer and she doesn’t question it.  She just holds me, playing with my hair, the same way she’s done so many times when I was feeling sad. I maybe older but deep inside I’m still her little girl. We stay like that in the warm summer evening, while I tell her all about my day.  I don’t remember the last time I talked so much and it feels freaking awesome.  Before I know it, we’re laughing at old memories, and remembering old jokes my dad used to tell during summer nights just like this one. 

I spend the night in my old room and dream of Sam and our wedding day.  We met in college and I was instantly attracted to his sense of humor.  It didn’t take long before I was head over heels in love with him. Six months later, on New Year’s Eve, he asked me to marry him.  We got married a week after graduation and spent the next two years making love, laughing, and dreaming.  The dream goes to the day I found out I was pregnant and just how happy he was.  He cried and kissed my flat stomach, talking to the baby. The dream takes a sudden turn and I’m surrounded by darkness.  I’m scared of this dream.

“Wake up, honey.  Wake up, baby, please.”  Someone is pulling me out of the darkness but whoever it is, is not strong enough.  “Oh my God, come on baby.  I know you can hear me.”  I feel the pull again, this time harder, and I am back into my room, into my mother’s arms.  “Thank you Lord,” she cries.  “Baby look at me.  Do you need anything?  Your medicine?”  I shake my head feeling calm again, the fear long gone left in the darkness. 

“I’m ok, Mom.  It was just a dream.”

“Just a dream?  You were screaming and crying. I thought someone was hurting you.” 

“I’m fine.  Can you bring me some water please?”

“Sure, honey.  I’ll be only a second.”  I watch as she leaves the room, her shoulders heavy with pain.  I keep hurting her and that’s the last thing I want.  I grab my bag and pull the plastic bottle out.  We stare each other down, the pills taunting me and as much as I hate them, I know they are my only hope.  My mom returns with a large glass of water and I pop open the top of the container, letting two round, red pills fall in the palm of my hand.  I can almost hear them laughing at me, doing a winning dance. 

I swallow them, ignoring the strong gag reflex as they try to push their way down my throat.  It’s only a matter of minutes before I start to relax, the floating feeling taking over my tired body.  I feel good and fly away into that happy place where the sun is always shining, colorful birds are singing, and dark memories are long forgotten. 

The next morning I hug my mom goodbye and drive back home.  As I pass David’s house, guilt washes over me and I know I have to apologize.  Once home, I take a quick shower and change in fresh clothes then, before I have a chance to change my mind, I pick up a bottle of wine and walk the short way to his house.  The street is empty this early in the morning and I look around, unsure if I’m doing the right thing.  Who am I kidding?  Of course I’m doing the right thing. 

There are several steps leading to his door and I take each one slowly, with care, biding my time.  I have no way to tell if he’s home or not.  My eyes move from the door to the doorbell, back and forth, uncertain.  The medicine I took last night is still helping keeping my anxiety at bay, but not enough. 
Ok, it’s now or never
. I knock twice and turn around, ready to bolt at any moment. I can hear commotion on the other side of the door and I know it’s too late to run.  Based on our last meeting, I know he is probably angry with me so I prepare for the worst.  He opens the door and instantly a smile comes across his face. 

“Are you lost?” he jokes.  In that instant I can’t find anything intelligent to say, so I simply stare at him, my eyes locked on his lips. 
Get a hold of yourself, you crazy woman.
“Would you like to come in?” He moves to the side to make room for me and I surprise myself by walking in.  I hear the door closing behind me, but I am focused on the little smiling girl running toward me.  A hand is placed on my back making me jump.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.  Let’s go into the kitchen.  I was just about to grab some coffee.”  Lily grabs his hand; her eyes are glued on me, and walks ahead of me. I can’t do anything but follow.  There are toys everywhere, and I try not to step on any of them.  The kitchen mirrors mine but the similarities end with the layout.  There is a highchair next to a large table, and more Lily-related items have taken over the countertops.  The toy trail follows us even here. David helps Lily into her highchair and pushes it next to the table then sets a bowl of cereal and milk in front of her.

“She’ll be busy for a while.” There goes that smile again. 
What was I thinking coming here in the first place?