Are You Sitting Down?, Page 5

  From under the stall wall, I could see Chelsea down on her knees. Standing there holding her bag, I wanted to go home and knew the car keys were in her purse. I couldn’t just leave her here though. Friends didn’t do that to each other. I wouldn’t do that to Chelsea, and I wished I could say she wouldn’t have left me either.

  I honestly didn’t know.

  When they finished in the stall, the man wanted to take Chelsea outside. He offered to drive both of us to another bar just down the street or back to his place. I didn’t want to go, but was too frail to speak my own mind. I knew by now that she would go with or without me, and so I went too. But I knew that no matter what happened, I couldn’t save Chelsea. I didn’t even think I could manage to save myself. Outside in the parking lot, the man conveniently ran into a friend of his who decided to accompany us.

  “Chelsea, we should go,” I said to no avail.

  She just laughed while the man whispered empty compliments into her ear.

  “Chill out, Clare,” Chelsea said.

  “Yeah, Clare. Chill,” the man said with a wink.

  In the front seat, she squeezed the man’s bald head now buried between her breasts. Soft moans bounced off the windows as she pushed his head downward. I didn’t want to, but I let the man’s friend play with my hair and nibble my ear. I closed my eyes and envisioned a better place. I tried to envision a better man too, but I’d never met one.

  A callused hand pinched my face, clasping my mouth shut and pinning me down in the seat. There was no breath to scream as he pushed my face into the seat and pinned my arms behind my back. From the corner of my eye, through tussled hair I saw fists flying in the front seat as the man wrestled with Chelsea. Panties ripped and private parts were exposed.

  “Don’t fight bitch. I ain’t gonna kill ya,” the man in the front seat yelled.

  I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t fight back. The weight of the man on top of me was too suffocating. The invasion between my legs was excruciating.

  You’ll get used to it. Chelsea’s words echoed in my head.

  The man never hit me. It was the pavement that bruised my face and scuffed my elbows when I was thrown from the back seat. Chelsea was not as fortunate, with two black eyes and a missing tooth. Bite marks bled on my neck from some wicked vampire, but this was somehow much worse. We were just lucky to still be living. Funny, because I’d never had much luck at all.

  I managed to help her to the car. I wanted to take both of us to the nearest hospital, but she refused. She just wanted to go home. With Chelsea soaking in a hot bath, I sat outside the bathroom with my back to the door and my knees pulled up to my chest. I cried the tears of a lonely insane person locked in a padded cell somewhere in a straight jacket, unaware of if or when daylight would come.

  The only difference was that I could get up and walk away. I wanted to bust through the bathroom door and yell at her, “I told you so!” But no one had told me, so who was I to blame? Who’s to say I would have even listened? Instead, I walked out the door and got in my car. I cried for a long time with my head on the steering wheel, and then I started the car and went home.

  Two months passed and the phone rang in my apartment. I did not want to answer it when I saw Chelsea’s name on the caller I.D. I still wasn’t sleeping soundly and the sleeping pills weren’t curing the nightmares that woke me. I let the phone ring several times and then go to voicemail. The recording told me I still had things in common with her. She was pregnant too, and wanted me to go with her to an abortion clinic across the state line.

  There I was in the living room of some two story house that had been transformed into a clinic. There was a warm fire burning in the fireplace. Magazines and crossword puzzles were spread out on the coffee table. Soap operas played on a black and white television hanging on the wall, and fresh coffee was brewing in the corner. One nervous man, pacing back and forth, took the blame from every woman in the room who just looked at him through squinted eyes. Two women chatted in the corner, obviously there just to support a friend because all of the other women in the room were quiet and looked apprehensive.

  The sucking sounds coming from upstairs would haunt me for months to come. They reminded me of the vacuum the dentist used to extract excess spit from my mouth when I was a little girl, not a living human thing growing inside of me now. A nurse called me upstairs and told me to bring Chelsea’s purse. She had to give them more money because she had lied about how far along she was.

  “Your turn,” she said lying on a sofa in the recovery room.

  “I can’t do it,” I mumbled.

  “What? You can’t keep that baby.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Clare, it will be a constant reminder of what happened.”

  “My baby will remind me I can change all this. Life doesn’t have to be this way.”

  I walked out and left her lying there. I never saw her again. Outside, a pro-life picketer tried to pull my hair.

  “I didn’t do it,” I said.

  “God bless you, child. Your baby will be blessed,” they said letting me pass by.

  Eight months later, Jake was born.

  * * * *

  There was a tapping at the bathroom door. I opened the door to find Mom standing there holding Jake.

  “Is everything okay in here?” Mom asked.

  “Everything’s just fine,” I said, taking Jake from her.

  “Come downstairs and visit with us then.”

  “I need to get everyone’s gifts out of my car.”

  “Want us to help?”

  “No. No, I can do it,” I said stuttering. I was still trying to clear the events of the morning from my head.

  “Are you okay sweetie?” Mom said putting a hand to my forehead as if checking for a fever.

  “I’ll be fine. Just need some coffee.”

  “I’ve got a pot brewing downstairs. I’ll go make you a cup. Cream and sugar?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I followed her down the stairs and watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. I hurried back outside and got in the car. I almost felt like I wanted to drive away and disappear. I had not wanted to arrive like this. I always panicked when life handed me the unexpected. Before, I would have shrugged it off as bad luck and thought I deserved whatever happened to me. But now, I took it personal. I still blamed myself, but now it was because I worried so much about Jake and whether or not I was a good mother. I had been a disappointment to my mother too much growing up; I didn’t want to be that way with Jake.

  I popped the trunk in case they were watching me from the window. I checked the ignition for my keys. They weren’t there. I checked the floorboard and the seat. My purse was still upstairs in the bathroom, but I knew I had not put the keys in there. I opened the door and looked on the ground in case they’d fallen out.

  “Looking for these?” Travis said, dangling the keys in front of me.

  “Shit! You scared me,” I said.

  I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. I swiped the keys from his hand and got out of the car, and he followed me back to the trunk. I started loading his arms with gift-wrapped boxes. Travis remained quiet, just looking at me.

  “What?” I asked him, like someone mistrustful of the person looking at them.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You’re thinking it,” I snipped, rolling my eyes. It was a typical sibling reply. “I’ve been here five minutes and we are already arguing. Just like old times.”

  “I’m not arguing,” Travis retorted.

  “Then what do you want to say?”

  “I’m just going to say I saw what’s in the glove box.”

  I didn’t look at him. I didn’t say anything.

  “You aren’t going to find happiness in those little plastic bottles, Clare.”

  “I’m not looking for happiness. Just some nice substitutes.”

  With the trunk empty, I slammed it shut and hurried into the house. Trav
is stood there for a minute, lost and looking as if unaware I’d ended the conversation, and then he followed me into the house.

  Lorraine

  Frank was my first boyfriend, and the only man I’d ever been with. It was a bit odd to have taken interest in someone else now. Calvin was a retired farmer who’d lost his wife about three years ago. All the kids had met him, except Travis, so I was very excited about Travis being here for Christmas this year. There was some resentment among the kids concerning their mother seeing another man now, but I think they understood that even I deserved not to be alone the rest of my days.

  “He makes me happy,” I told Ellen.

  “As long as he’s good to you,” Ellen said.

  “He is,” I said, feeling like she probably did when I questioned her about Mark back when they were dating.

  “Have you guys had sex?” Clare asked with a giggle.

  I blushed and laughed, and kindly told her it was none of her business. The truth was Calvin and I were both beyond the need for physical pleasure in life. These days an arm around the shoulder while watching a movie and sharing a bowl of microwave popcorn, or a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night was just as satisfying. The comfort of a man in the house or just someone to talk to instead of these walls was enough for me.

  Frank and Calvin were totally different in demeanor and looks, so I have no idea why I was attracted to Calvin. As we get older, I guess our tastes change in lots of things. For instance, when I was young, scrambled eggs were a daily staple in my parents’ house. My Mom raised chickens in a coop in the backyard, so eggs were plentiful. I hated them now probably because I ate them everyday for breakfast, and sometimes for dinner, when I was a little girl.

  Frank was tall and lean. The man could eat two hamburgers in one setting, and I don’t think he’d ever gained a pound since the day we married. His hair was thinning and he looked very studious. But he was a teacher and accustomed to wearing thin white shirts with bold neck ties, and heavy green or brown pants with freshly shined shoes. Over the years, the heavy wrinkles around his mouth and across his forehead became deeper and much more precise. When he smiled he almost resembled a comedy mask hanging above a high school drama stage.

  Calvin was plump with thick bone white hair that stood up on end with each hair looking like a perfect blade of grass. From years of spiking his hair with heavy pomade, it now stood permanently at attention. His skin was dark and spotted from years of working outside beneath the hot summer sun. He always wore blue jean overalls over a crisp tan or blue buttoned shirt. Bags beneath his eyes held stories of a farm boy who was up before dawn every morning to plow the fields. The wheat and the corn were his only friends until he came in at dusk when it was too dark to see to get any more work done. He has the same weighty wrinkles on his face as Frank did, even in the exact places. They reminded me of Frank which is why I think I liked Calvin so much, except his age lines were there from different reasons.

  He’d started coming to our church on Sunday nights because he’d grown tired of being a hermit after his wife died. Sometimes when our heart empties out we want to be alone, but sooner or later it too yearns to be around other people. At first, he sat in the back next to Mr. Manny Black, who had also started back to church around the same time.

  Calvin soon learned that good quality conversation with Mr. Black was almost nonexistent, or that Mr. Black was a bit crazy. Mr. Black always stopped me at the end of service to ask how Travis was doing. I remained cordial with him because I was sad about the loss of his own son, and I knew how much Justin had meant to Travis.

  The sight of Mr. Black himself was pitiful. He'd gained so much weight. I don't know how he balanced himself sitting in the church pew, and seeing him stand up from it was quite a feat. His hair was usually greasy, and so was his skin. His old glasses looked spotted with paint and were held together with balls of Scotch tape. He smelled like he had not bathed in days.

  Calvin was a fresh glimmer of hope when I saw him that first day sitting there next to Mr. Black. Mr. Black introduced me to him, and I thought maybe Calvin was a friend he had invited. I remember he'd winked at me, and I think it'd made me blush a bit. The usual church trustees had already pounced on him, inviting him to the morning senior service or to Sunday school, feeling him out to see if his soul was in need of being saved. Calvin politely shook their hands, but showed no interest in the activities they were eager to initiate him in.

  A few Sundays later Calvin had moved from the back pew up to the middle where I sat. I had arrived early in the sanctuary and took the pew in front of him. I turned around to greet him and ask how he was doing. I'd made a sincere effort to remember his name. He remembered mine. He invited me to lunch after service, and with no hesitation, I went. Over chicken salad sandwiches at a darling little downtown cafe I'd never been to before, Calvin and I swapped life stories. The sandwiches became a usual Sunday afternoon routine for us, even after we caught ourselves repeating our stories.

  He eventually asked to sit next to me at church. It sent the little blue haired ladies gossiping, but after all, they needed something to pray for forgiveness about. Nothing was ever said out loud to me because they knew I wouldn't participate in the quarterly women's bake sale if they did, and my lemon ice box pie was always a best seller.

  Lunch with Calvin became dinner after the evening service, which soon became movie night at my house with a bowl of popcorn, a new weekly ritual of ours like the chicken salad sandwiches. That was four months ago, and my time with Calvin had been quite rejuvenating, some of the best moments I'd had since long before Frank died. I was happy that Calvin would be spending Christmas with us this year.

  As I stepped out of the old barn's foundation to head back up to the house, I smiled over the whole birdseed episode from two days ago. It all seemed trite, but it was necessary sometimes to step back and take a look at ourselves as if we were a different person. We shake our heads in amazement at the things we do or obsess over. No matter how unimportant it was, the whole charade with the dead orioles choking on cheap birdseed would have to stick out in my mind as something much more important because there had been some discomforting news that day which was much worse.

  After buying the birdseed, I had a doctor's appointment. It was to be a usual check up for heart rate, blood pressure, and all the other things to be concerned with at my age; but I was also going there to get the results of some tests the doctor had run a few weeks prior.

  It was official.

  I had abdominal cancer, some rare cancer no one else ever had in my family that I knew of. It's a cancer that eats at your digestive system attacking the intestines and eventually the stomach. Radiation or chemotherapy was not an option, but I'm not sure they were options I'd contemplate anyway at this point in my life.

  The doctor said I had eight months, maybe a bit longer. Eight months was plenty. I'd go right at the beginning of autumn like Frank did. That was always our favorite time of year because we enjoyed watching the leaves change. It's funny how fall foliage is the most obvious change each year we can always count on happening, but actually everything else is changing around us in life as well. Just sometimes we fail to take notice, or we don't want to.

  At least this year would be a good Christmas. So, I chose not to tell them. I had not even told Calvin. I wanted the kids and grandkids to be able to look back and have fond memories of the last Christmas they spent with me. I had no plans for them all to be bedside this time next year watching me sleep, with hoses and monitors hooked up to me. Holidays should be special. I wouldn't have it any other way.

  Back in the house, I reheated the oven and checked the foil covered pots under the burner. Homemade cookies and pies are the only thing that kept me up late last night. Thanks to the new mega supermarket with the huge deli section that just opened in town about a year ago, I bought everything else pre-made. Yams, green beans, corn, cornbread, baked beans, deviled eggs, potato salad, and even a fruit tray were all bought
at the deli. And Mr. Greer is smoking the ham for me.

  I just brought all the plastic tubs of food home and poured them into my own pots and pans to keep warm. It is more of a luxury to not have to cook for five children and four grandchildren. I still make the desserts they've been accustomed to for years, but if I could teach the bakery how to make my lemon ice box pie or chocolate almond cookies I certainly wouldn't hesitate to buy those either.

  As I stepped into the den to plug up the Christmas tree and light some cinnamon scented candles, I heard a car pull up in the driveway. Travis. I rushed to the door to greet him and to go help him unload his car. He was the first of the kids to arrive today; he always was punctual. I had not seen him in a few months so hugging his neck now took all the pain of a distant child away.

  I didn't blame him for moving away to the city. There never would be anything in this small town for him except a factory job and his family, but a young maturing man like himself needed unridiculed love, whatever kind his own heart desired. Although Justin grew up here too, he and Travis might not have ever met for a small Southern town like ours holds much prejudice. At least in a larger city filled with open minds, they were free to be who they wanted to be. But Travis had no qualms about coming back home to this town to visit us. Here in Dogwood, we were probably all that mattered to him. And for that and his arrival home, my holiday had officially started.

  Ellen

  “So long, see you tomorrow,” Mark said standing at the kitchen door. He’d already put his suitcase in the car.

  “Did you kiss Robbie and Rachel good-bye?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you wish them Merry Christmas?”