I knew when I saw him that night, it would be the last. I always wondered what it would be like to experience such heartbreak and sadness, but nothing would compare to the way it actually felt in reality. I sat in the mirror, primping and preening as if the makeup on my face really mattered more than what he was saying. The words that came from his mouth for some reason seemed insignificant, probably because I believed he’d be there forever. I stared into the mirror for what seemed like moments, but now seems like an eternity. Why couldn’t I have just taken a few more moments to appreciate your jests and jokes?
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I flew out into the night like an owl with no care or consideration for the next days to come. Waving vigorously as I ran towards the car, I only looked back to sign the “I love you” gesture. He never seemed to be able to do it back, but the attempts showed just how much he cared. Riding along down the dimly lit side streets, I didn’t think anything of the way he seemed sluggish and off. As I rode along, passenger to Andrew, a somewhat new boyfriend, we drove for miles until we became bored with the usual scenery; trees can only be so interesting. Eventually, we pulled into an unknown place to visit people I had barely met before - typical for a 19 year old girl who hasn’t a care in the world.
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I sat for hours with Andrew, listening to him and his friends tell the most asinine stories. One second they were talking about the various pot strands they had tried, to opium smoking, to how long they had all been playing their perspective instruments. Being they were a bit older than I, it was interesting to hear of their escapades into adulthood; a journey I had just begun to embark on. The night rolled on with insane stories of running into cow pastures at night, my new boyfriend totaling his ford taurus at high speeds when he was 18, and the lack of appreciation they had for the government, something I would come to with age. We laughed hysterically into the wee hours of the morning, and I watched them all play guitar and sing with each other as if it were an everyday occurrence. The thoughts running through my head of the excitement I would experience similarly in my own life were insurmountable.
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1 am and it was time to ride home in my pumpkin carriage. As Andrew and I strolled hand in hand through the parking lot back towards his car, the night sky was mysterious and ominous all at the same time. The February air was bitter cold. As the moon shone overhead lighting the way, I stood and began to shiver in waiting for the passenger door to unlock. The ride back to my house was a serene one; not a car in sight and my front light danced in the dark, showing me the way back home. We pulled into my driveway and retired to my bedroom, that is, after a few chilly moments of fighting with the door lock.
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5 am and the screams ripped through the foundation of the house. I jumped out of bed and ran, towards what? I wasn't sure of. I falling all over myself along the way. My mother, besides herself screamed for an ambulance, for help of any kind. I couldn’t have been more confused, I really didn’t grasp what was going on until it was too late. My mother sat silently as we sped to the hospital behind the ambulance.
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I saw my mom fall to the floor in the triage unit of Eastern Maine Medical Center. The nurse had whispered the inevitable truth into her ear and I ran to her from down the hall. I grabbed her as she wept into my arms, and I told her calmly that I would never leave her so long as I live. The tears came on like a flood – he was gone. My father had suffered a massive heart attack that morning, one that he would never recover from. We sat silently in Triage unit three, hoping and praying for a better resolution which was completely irrational. To this day, I still wait for him to walk back through the sliding glass door but with every year that passes, I succumb to acceptance. To anyone that says a death gets less painful with time, I say it only gets different.
As you know, I'm a great fan of linked vignettes and time order games, both of which are on offer here. This certainly has enough intrinsic interest to get the reader to read through a second time to figure out exactly what's going on.
ReplyDeleteSince there are two 'he's in here, for my money, you need to clarify in vignette 1 and first half of 2 that the 'he' there is your father, not Andrew--and that last 'your' in vignette 1 definitely needs to go and become consistent and read 'his.' I wouldn't have minded hearing some of that trivial conversation that in retrospect loomed so huge for you.
I like very much the description of the evening, your sense that you were learning something about being grown-up and the implicit irony that by the next day you would be dealing with the very definition of adulthood: losing a parent and becoming the successor, the new generation. You handle that with a fine, light touch. The last two vignettes are particularly good and particularly the last one, which is a corker.
To avoid as much as possible: similes like chicken with head cut off (wrong tone for a serious piece), tears like a flood (the flood actually detracts from the grief), shook to the core (allows the writer to avoid thinking about the actual moment), walking on air (only works if this was a particularly special night with Andrew), and any short cut stuff like that--when you are in your zone, you can do powerful things on the page, but those readymade comparisons weaken your strong material.
Tried to trim it up a bit, hopefully this is a little better! Sorry it took a bit, I'm trying to stay on top of it
ReplyDeleteThis is a 'cleaner' piece--more forceful because less distracting with side stuff. I'm glad to reread, but the rewrite was a self-assignment, nothing from my side of the desk!
ReplyDelete