She always had a lovely voice. A voice made for singing, something that would comfort even the most scared of children and when she sung it always demanded attention. Soft yet so full of emotion, she could hit the highest note with what seemed like incredible ease, as well as lower her voice so that it was barely above a whisper. For all her bad qualities, her singing seemed to overpower the rest.
Yet, something about her manner, the way she grew quiet, retreated to a shell of protection every time she finished a song troubled me. And I wish I knew why her eyes were so full of pain, and I wish I knew why she would stare at nothing but the floor, and I wish I knew why she refused to meet anyone’s gaze and I wish I knew so many things. Melancholy seemed to fill her every action and you could only guess at how profound her sadness was, but you could never tell how profound this sadness truly was until she closed her eyes and weaved a melody with her voice.
I watched her as her eyes closed and her rosy lips parted. A haunting melody came to life, soft and sweet, but also, hopeless.
Without a word, I reached for her hand, my finger barely squeezing her digits, but it was enough. Her song was cut short so abruptly that the room was suddenly too quiet. She met my eyes, a question encrypted in her expression.
“Is something wrong?” her eyes dropped from my gaze and her hand freed from my grasp, tucking them neatly in her lap.
“No, of course not, what would make you think that?” she said with a light smile.
And that was always the answer she would give me and she would refuse to say anything more.
And out of respect or maybe shyness, I let her have her way. I let her have her vague answers.
Even now I can’t help but think that maybe if I had insisted on an answer that day or any other day for that matter, things would be different.
***
I squinted at the paper, trying to decipher what the words imprinted on the blank sheet meant, however hard I tried the words, clearly written in plain English, seemed to jumble up together to form a whole different language. My brain moved with such slowness and that everything I read seemed to be lost merely seconds later. I couldn’t contain information; I could barely keep my eyes open!
I sighed in frustration, pushing the paper aside. I glared at the mess in my desk, for a moment I had this strong urge to just throw it all on the ground, months worth of paperwork discarded and useless. It was infuriating, everything seemed to be so much work recently, abilities or words that came naturally bubbled up slowly now, I had to urge and push them so that I could function, and I couldn’t even bring forth the tireless motivation I seemed to have had before. The day seemed to hold back, stretching the hours into years. The time couldn’t come fast enough so that I was back at home, resting in the comfort of my bed.
How I could use some sleep.
When someone knocked at my door I nearly had a heart attack, I jumped in my chair, involuntarily pushing a stack of papers that felt with a muffled ‘thump’ to the carpeted floor. I cursed beneath by breath before directing my gaze towards the wooden door.
“Come in!” I said, my voice sounding hoarse and tired.
The door swung open revealing a very flustered looking co-worker. Her eyes were wide and darting, hair stuck up around her forming a wild mane, despite having a ponytail. She panted a tad before controlling herself, running a manicured hand through her raged hair and shifting the position of her other arm, which currently seemed to be holding a menacing stack of papers. I eyed them with disdain, my frustration climbing to irritation at the prospect of more work. She moved towards my desk, setting the stack of papers down.
“More of the same,” she squealed as the only explanation, her eyes analyzing my tired expression and overall scruffiness. “Haven’t been sleeping much, eh?”
A forced a dry, humorless smile to my lips “No, the baby keeps me up at night.”
Something flashed through her eyes, maybe understanding but beneath the layers of tiredness I couldn’t be quite sure, “Ah yes, you’ll get used to not sleeping eventually. Boy or girl?”
My smile seemed more genuine now, a flash of those chubby cheeks and that little smile passing through my mind. “A girl, a chubby little girl.”
She chuckled, making a clucking sound at the back of her throat, “What’s her name?”
“Annalee.”
“Cute name,” she nodded, her hair loose, ponytail bobbing up and down as she did so “but you look like shit, really. Why not take the rest of the day off, hmm? Looks like you deserve it.”
Even before she had finished her sentence I was already shaking my head, “Naw, I’m fine, really. Just need some sleep and I’ll be up and running again, and besides, I have to finish some of this up,” I replied vaguely, waving a hand lazily to demonstrate the stack of papers. She nodded again and wobbled towards the door, turning to look one last time at me before disappearing and closing the door behind her.
I yawned loudly before turning my attention back to my work.
***
I can’t stand it anymore…
I blinked, thinking I should be crying or mourning, but nothing came. Just this feeling of detached disbelief, I found myself repeating over and over in my head: this isn’t true, this isn’t happening; it’s just a bad dream. Hoping against hoping that somehow, denying what my eyes showed me would make it all disappear. Make the truth a lie, fix it, somehow. But I knew it wouldn’t help much, yet still I just couldn’t stop myself from hoping.
It’s not you, it’s never you. Never think it is…
My gaze traveled to her face, pale and peaceful now, her eyelids closed and light makeup coloring her features, her hands neatly tucked before her, wearing her favorite dress, her wavy hair forming a halo around her face. She looked beautiful, as did she always.
You made me happy, truly happy, but there are things I tried to hide…
This time I did feel the tears come, the back of my eyes burned, but I did not welcome them, the only think about was the same question over and over again. If I did make you happy why did you do it? Why would you not speak to me? I would have tried to fix it, to make it better in any way I could. If I was making you happy why did you die? It wasn’t fair, you leave me alone, and you left me all alone and for what? If I truly did make you happy you wouldn’t have done it. You would have stayed with me, with us, with our child. You abandoned her too; you abandoned both her and me.
And I love you, I really do. But I beg you to understand…
Understand what? I wanted to scream. What was I suppose to understand?
Anger tainted my thoughts and colored my senses. I was suffering because of her cowardice, her silence. We were happy, we had a family, our daughter and everything seemed to be right when she held our daughter in her arms and softly sung a small lullaby made up of simple notes and no words.
For a minute I just held that image in my head, her arms tenderly wrapped around our child, lifting a hand to touch the baby’s cheek, a soft smile spreading across her lips. Then she seemed to have finally noticed my presence, I could see her now, lifting her eyes towards me and then…
I noticed how her smile looked fake –her eyes were sad. Infinite pools of grief, but I never asked. I never insisted, I should have pushed her for an answer and maybe then…
Maybe things would be different now.
I hope you forgive me…
Why should I forgive you?
And even if you don’t…
And I won’t and I won’t.
Is this the image she held of me?
I have just one favor to ask you…
Even when you abandon us you say this, you ask a favor. What more could I give you?
Take care of our daughter…
The thud as the coffin was closed made me lift my gaze from the letter. For a moment I just stared at it, almost as if expecting something to happen, a whisper in the wind to tell me everything would be fine. A flash of emotion to let me know if this is how she truly felt.
But nothing came except a sense of profound loss.
And with that I moved out of the way, allowing her coffin to be carried away. Outside, the wind blew softly, making the grass move in small waves. The crowd started standing up, talking in low hushed tones. Footsteps echoed in the distance. Someone sneezed, followed by a muttered “bless you.” A child complained that he felt tired and wanted to go home. Someone turned to look at me, trying to meet my gaze but eventually simply turning away with a light shake of their head. I felt someone squeeze my shoulder, mutter some words I barely understood and walked away.
My eyes traveled the white walls of the church and then down, briefly resting on the bible that rested on the large wooden table.
Then I turned around to follow the procession, a weary sigh escaping my lips.
***
The ringing of the phone was an annoying addition to my pulsing head. I was hardly in the mood to listen to these kind of loud and blaring sounds so it was to be expected that talking with anyone would prove far drearier than simply listening. So I simply vouched for ignoring its ceaseless blaring and simply turned to my own gloomy thoughts. I didn’t want to answer, I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to be comforted; I didn’t need to be comforted. I was fine all by myself.
They just keep calling…
On and on it blared until at last the answering machine picked it up.
“This is Lizzy” chimed in the voice mail message, using her voice, “And Gerry” “We’re not available right now” “But leave a message and we’ll get back to you” “As soon as possible.”
“Thanks!” chorused the recorded message.
There was silence and I found that my hands were clenched into angry fists and that I was holding my breath, expecting someone to speak, but my anxiousness was only met by more silence. After a few seconds of this I turned my head towards the sleek surface of the phone, almost expecting it to hear the clicking sound that would indicate the other person had given up and hung up. However I was mistaken in believing so.
“Gerard… I know you’re there, pick up the phone. It’s me, your brother…”
Seconds ticked by, seconds that only carried a tense moment of silence. I had been evading their calls for two weeks now, every day they called and every day I ignored. I was aware this couldn’t keep on forever but I just wanted it to stretch out for as long as it could.
But my actions spoke against my thoughts and I found myself holding the device to my ear.
“I’m here,” came my dull reply.
“Gerry?” his voice was lazed with sheer surprise “I thought you would never answer!”
A pause.
“Listen I know you’re sad and stuff but I thought we could…” he began again.
“Yes?”
“We could go do something fun, you know Sascha will take care of the baby and you could-”
“I’m not leaving her,” I interrupted; the tone I used was both bitter and annoyed.
“Pardon?”
“I’m not leaving her with a stranger.”
Another pause.
“Sascha is hardly a stranger, she has her own…” his voice faded away, my attention turned elsewhere.
And where my eyes traveled was towards the flight of stairs that lay just behind the sofa to the second door in the left. Right now she should be sleeping, it was much too late for her to be awake but I have heard stories of babies who sleep all day and cry all nigh, she used to do that at first, I could recall that. However, I never did manage to get some proper sleep but every now and then I would obtain an hour or two of nothing but silence, yet still I could barely blink. I forced myself night after night to stay awake…
“I’m not leaving her,” I stated.
“Hey, you need to relax. I understand you really miss Liz, but you have to move on.”
“I will. In time.”
“No time like the present.”
For a minute I had the strong urge to just hang up, the reasons why I had picked up the call in the first place was a complete mystery to me. So it would hardly matter if I chose to hang up and leave him talking to himself.
“Not now, Bryan. Not soon either, I have a child and I’ll take care of her.”
A sigh, “Gerry, listen you need to move on, it’s been nearly a month now….”
“It’s not that long you know?”
Silence.
“Well, O.K. buddy, I’ll drop the subject –for now. But I’ll be calling back soon.”
“Alright.”
“Good night.”
“G’night to you too.”
And with that I sunk back into the sofa, turning my eyes towards the TV in hopes to obtain some moment of peace.
***
“What’s wrong?” I asked miserably, holding my child to my chest, I felt tears and mucus dribbling down my chest. She was crying, she was crying and she wouldn’t stop, she wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do. So in my moment of desperation I had turned to ask the walls what was wrong with my child, but of course they remained grim and stark and not very helpful, not providing any clue as to what kind of horrible internal pain my child was experiencing.
So instead I leaned against the wall and began to softly rock her, it did very little to calm her or myself down but I was truly desperate, she had refused her bottle, toys, everything. I had this strong urge she was crying for no reason, but I could barely even think straight beyond the baby’s crying.
“Shhh, shh, shh, shhh,” was the only sound that came out of my throat.
I was desperate, I just wanted her to calm down, if only a little, but she just kept screaming and crying. Her face flushed and her tiny hands curled into a miniature fist.
I closed my eyes begging for some stroke of inspiration to smash into my like a freight train but nothing came, only wave after wave of concern and something hinting towards panic.
Then I remembered her serene face and her soft voice.
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself and began humming softly, trying to pick up the rhythm of her lovely voice. I wasn’t aware of how much time passed, but I guess, after a few minutes of my lullaby her crying started to calm until eventually it just turned to some light sobs and faded away to nothing. Not quite stopping to think I picked up my child, balancing her tiny body in my arms. Her lips parted and her eyes opened, blindly staring at nothing, the sight of her calmed self brought a sad smile to her lips. Hot tears traced down my cheeks, however it took me a while to indentify them and when I did they startled me.
I kept humming to the rhythm of that lullaby, tears choking up my throat and every now and then falling out of rhythm or cutting the soft singing.
I hope you forgive me… and even if you don’t, I have just one favor to ask you… take care of our child…
- - -
Yeah, jumps style a lot, I believe.
- P&U
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