Transitions
Tom Soukup

 

Bradley turned the shower off and winced at the sharp squealing sound that vibrated the pipes as he twisted the knob. He always tried to be as quiet as possible in the early morning, making every effort not to awaken Marsha or the kids this early. He'd laid out his clothes the night before as he did every time he worked the early shift, and he dressed in the dark, leaving the silence unbroken. The drapes at the front window were not completely drawn and he could see the first glow of the morning on the eastern horizon, his signal that he'd be late if he didn't keep moving. There was just enough light for him to see Marsha curled on the bed with her face buried in a stack of pillows and a blanket pulled up to her chin as if it was January instead of August. He smiled.

Bradley slowly closed the bedroom door behind him as he blew a kiss to his sleeping wife. He'd call her at lunchtime if he could break away and catch up on her day to that point. He called her every day, and that brief midday exchange seemed to brighten the day for both of them. It had become a sort of ritual over their nine years of marriage.

The kids' rooms were at the end of the hallway, and Bradley never went a step past them without a quick check inside. Jason was seven and would be starting the second grade next week. He was a bright child, full of the inquisitive nature that you'd expect with the age and bristling with energy that usually drove Marsha crazy by the end of the day. He'd just started playing soccer. Bradley figured that his son's gangly arms and legs, products of the latest growth spurt, would eventually settle down, and coordination would once again dominate the youngster. Right now he just seemed to spiral around the soccer field like a summertime dust devil and if the ball did perchance come anywhere near him, he'd send it rocketing off at some obtuse angle that may or may not have any relevance to the game.

"Nice pass," Bradley would shout and although the other parents looked at him a little funny, Jason was Bradley's son and he'd support his boy in all of his efforts.

Jason was sound asleep as Bradley expected him to be at this early hour. The little boy slept on his back with his arms straight out from his sides, rigid as a board. His pillow was on the floor next to the bed and his light blanket was in a jumble at his feet. He always slept this way and the only clue that rigor mortis hadn't set in was the slight wheezing of his allergy laden breaths. Bradley resisted the urge to awaken his son with a big hug and he silently closed the door.

Natalie's room was next to Jason's and the door was open about half way. She was afraid of the dark and the slightly open door gave her enough comfort that she'd eventually fall asleep. They tried keeping a dim nightlight on in her room but it proved too bright, defeating the purpose and furthering the problem of sleeplessness. The open door seemed to do the trick. Bradley pushed it back a bit more and looked inside the room.

Natalie would be two years old tomorrow but it was clear that she was well advanced for her age. She'd been practicing the terrible-two's for a couple of months now and that usually had Marsha at wit's end by the time Bradley got home from work. She was into anything that was behind your back, and discipline was generally met with an outturned lip followed by a burst of tantrum-driven tears that sent the dog scurrying under the bed for cover.

"See you later, Princess," Bradley whispered. In spite of the daytime handful that she was, she was angelic as she lay asleep in her tiny bed. She had stopped sucking her thumb some months ago, but her little fist was inches from her face now with the tip of her thumb just touching her lips. She had her mother's golden hair, and it spread in miniature ringlets and curls across her chubby cheeks. Natalie was Bradley's pride and joy, and he loved as much as he loved Jason and their mother.

Bradley backed his car out of the driveway and into the deserted street. The sky was a slightly brighter blue now, the morning coming in leaps and bounds toward the day. He unconsciously looked up at his home nestled among the other houses on the street and decided that all was good.

Bradley's drive to work usually took about half an hour and the light traffic at this time of day didn't seem to indicate that today would be any different. He'd go across town through the back streets until he met the freeway where he'd blend in with the flow of other husbands and wives, moms and dads, all doing the same thing. There was only one short part of the drive that made him a little nervous.

A small part of town, just off the freeway, had fallen into hard times over the years and was filled with abandoned and boarded-up buildings. Hate-filled graffiti was painted in bright colors on the walls, and small groups of men in tattered clothes gathered together in the alleys smoking cigarettes and kicking at the ground. Bradley didn't tend to be frightened by this neighborhood, maybe because he kept his car doors locked tightly and maybe because there were always other cars around him. He wasn't frightened but he certainly exerted nervous caution.

Today seemed no different than any other. Bradley sat patiently at the red traffic light, the second car in line at the quiet intersection. He drummed his fingers calmly on the steering wheel. The light changed to green and the car in front of Bradley began to move slowly forward. He released pressure on the brake pedal and felt his car begin to move as well. That's when it happened.

Bradley heard the high pitch wail of a woman's scream as his car abruptly stopped. He was immediately surrounded by dark figures, so many of them that he was unable to see out of the car windows. He could feel their weight against the body of the car and they seemed to be mumbling in low tones. He grasped the steering wheel and trembled.

"What are you doing?" he said, but he realized that he couldn't hear his own words let alone have any hope that these hooligans might have heard him. His mind was ravaged with terror and he shouted again, louder this time, much louder, hoping without hope that he'd get an answer.

The figures held fast against the car, tightly against the doors to hold them closed as if Bradley would even think about getting out of the vehicle in some sort of fruitless confrontation. He couldn't see their faces and that probably bothered him the most. Who were these people? Who were his tormentors? Why had they chosen him as the object of their attack? The questions were endless and the answers obscure.

It seemed like hours that they held him captive in his car although it was most likely mere minutes. The engine was still running and the radio announcer was giving the morning traffic update. The voice was so calm and it was oddly out of place with the desperate situation that was unfolding on this street corner.

Why isn't someone helping me? Bradley wanted to know. Surely the other drivers must see the situation and recognize the danger that was building by the moment.

Bradley's car was bumped from one side and he thought that perhaps some help had arrived. But when he turned he saw nothing more than the writhing mass of dark shapes pressed against the glass.

"I'll just press the accelerator pedal and push them out of my way so I can escape," he said aloud but he found that he couldn't. A moral twinge paralyzed his leg muscles and wouldn't allow him to force the mass of a two-ton vehicle through this sea of flesh. He'd injure some, perhaps kill one in the attempt, and he found with no small amount of dismay that he just didn't have it in him.

But what were they going to do to him? Didn't the Bible say "an eye for and eye"? Wouldn't that just be rationalization though?

He began to sweat, confused and near panic over what to do next. But it turned out not to be his choice.

Suddenly the driver's side door was torn open and, before he could make any sort of defensive move, large hands grabbed his shoulders while others tied a blindfold tightly around his face. He was roughly pulled from the car as someone placed a large piece of tape across his mouth, cutting off his shouts before they could ever be heard. The villains had little regard for his feelings, dragging him around like a rag doll, tossing him about and not caring if he tripped or fell. Their mumbling continued and Bradley was unable to make out any of the odd sounding words. His arms were pinned to his sides by a vice-like grip.

Why are they doing this to me? he wondered. Why don't they just take my money, take my car, and leave me here on the side of the road? His eyes darted from side to side even though he couldn't see. Who are they and what do they want of me?

Will I ever see Marsha and the kids again?

Bradley could sense that he was being placed in some sort of small room, probably in one of the abandoned buildings nearby. Someone must have seen them take me here, he thought in misplaced comfort. Someone will be here to rescue me before very long. There were plenty of witnesses to this, and they'll be calling the police to come and get me out of here. They won't be able to get away with this crime in broad daylight.

But no one came and the time passed very slowly. The walls felt very close to Bradley and he could feel the rough texture of them against the skin on his cheek. It was quiet and he couldn't even hear the low mumbles any more. He was frightened now, more frightened than he had ever been in his entire life. Hopelessness hug heavy on his shoulders and he began to doubt that he'd ever see his family again. The minutes bled into hours.

If only I had woke Marsha up before I left for work. His mind was beginning to play macabre games with him. If only I had kissed her goodbye and told her how much I loved her. And the kids. Jason was probably wondering where his daddy was by now. It must be late and he'd be standing at the curb waiting for my car to come around the corner. Why didn't I defy the routine and give him that hug that he deserved? Bradley began to tremble. Will I ever be able to hug him again?

Beads of sweat formed on his brow and saturated the blindfold making his eyes sting. The room seemed to be getting hotter by the minute. He blinked the salty moisture away but realized that his tears were a part of it. The mumbling started again.

And I can't miss Natalie's birthday party. God, how she loves to blow the candles out on her birthday cake. They always had to hold her back from blowing out the candles on other kid's cakes and tomorrow it would be her turn to do it legitimately.

Happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday dear Natalie . . .

The room got warmer. Bradley breathed heavily, the rhythm caught by the tape across his lips. His nostrils flared widely as they were forced to the burden of the task. It was stuffy in the room and the air became denser as the heat rose still higher. What sort of torture is this? Why don't they just get it over with?

I'll never be home again, Bradley knew. He closed his eyes and sunk back against the wall. It scorched at the skin on his back but he'd sealed himself from the pain by his misery over his family lost. And they lost him as well. It can't go one way without the other. He began to pray quietly under his breath, not for himself as much as for those he'd left behind that morning when he so silently left his home. His fight was drained.

And the room got hotter.

As consciousness was about to lose its last grip, Bradley felt cool air sweep over him and it seemed like icy snowflakes in its contrast. He caught his breath as the same large hands picked him up and dragged him out of the tight quarters into a larger space. He sensed that it was light here and he thought he could feel the sun against his face. He heard the mumbling sounds again and strained the last of his mental abilities to try to make out some intelligible words. But alas the sound remained distant and distorted leaving nothing in the way of a clue as to his immediate destiny.

But at least I'm free of the heat, he thought. There's hope in that, isn't there? He began to feel a little brighter. Maybe they've had their fun. Maybe they're through with me now and they'll let my regain my life, my future, everything that seems so lost. Maybe.

He felt himself being hoisted far into the air, propped there by the giant hands. He wanted to struggle, perhaps free himself and be able to run off in some wild direction, anywhere but here. But he had no idea where he was, no idea how high he was being held, and a struggle would surely send him to the floor where he might still lie in their grasp but as a broken figure, limp and shattered. He lay still, breathing softly and waiting for their next move.

When it came it was a shock, sudden and without a hint of warning. Bradley felt himself falling, tumbling head over heals not to the floor but to somewhere even farther below. The fall seemed endless as if he'd been thrown off the edge of the earth and he was somersaulting through the emptiness of space.

It stopped when he hit the water. He heard the splash even before he felt the cool liquid envelop him. The force of the water tore the blindfold from his eyes and the moisture loosened the tape that had gagged him for all this time. The brilliant sky scorched his eyes as he bobbed on the surface of the turbulent sea.

"Help me," he shouted but his words were weak and the surf pounded mightily around him. He flailed his arms in futile attempt to keep himself afloat. His head was drawn under the water but he managed a kick that brought him choking to the surface again.

"I can't swim," he shouted again but his words were empty as they were swallowed by the next wave, rolling him over backward and sending him under once more.

When he surfaced he saw a sleek white boat steaming for the horizon. Away from him. Abandoning him. Bradley's arms were tiring from endless flapping to keep himself above the watery grave that tugged at his heals. "I can't . . . can't swim," he said but he knew that the boat was too far away for him to be heard. The crew would be unlikely to turn around anyway, he figured, since it was they who sent him here to die alone.

Bradley's last thoughts were about his family. Jason and Natalie would grow up never really knowing the father who could have given them so much more love had he only had the chance. Had he only taken the chance. And Marsha would have to be both parents to the children for she'd be alone as well.

Bradley kicked hard with his final strength and shouted her name as the waves claimed him for the last time.

It was so very cold.

* * *

Grieving is the greatest horror of death because grief claims a second victim. The souls of lovers are joined as one. When death's scythe cleaves that bond, the remaining soul must carry the burden of death much longer than the other.

Marsha sat heavily in the chair, her legs unable to support her any longer. The gentle fingers of a light breeze caressed her forehead and brushed back the long strands of her golden hair. The sun was very bright. She squinted even though she was wearing dark glasses. The glasses were as much for the sun as they were to cover her swollen eyes, still reddened from the last few days of tears, stinging now from new ones.

How could so much have happened so fast? Wasn't it just three days ago that her loving husband had tiptoed out of the bedroom off to work like he had done so many times before? She remembered feeling the motion of the bed as he arose that morning and the soft sound of the shower as he prepared for the day. It always sounded like a gentle summer rain, she thought now, soothing and calm, enough to lull her back to sleep before he quietly slipped out of the house. Why didn't I get up with him that day? she thought, the sorrow clouding her mind and washing away the sharpness of her lingering images of the man she loved. I can't get that time back. It'll never be back.

"Jason, don't run," she said to her son. She tried to sound stern but too much of her had been lost since she got the news. "And keep an eye on Natalie, please." The children stopped in their track and looked solemnly at their mother. While they didn't fully understand what was taking place, they sensed rightly that something was terribly wrong. They could see it in their mother's eyes, feel it from her closed body language. The mother/child bond transcended the need for more expressive words.

That morning had started out like any other yet fate had decided to work from an alternate script that day. The car seemed to come from nowhere, careening down the cross street at high speed, and witnesses said they heard the woman scream as she smashed into the side of Bradley's driver's door. It was one of those blink-of-an-eye things, wrong time wrong place, and the force was so great that the doctors said Bradley must have been killed on impact. That was supposed to offer some level of comfort, Marsha decided, and she guessed that it probably did. "At least he didn't suffer," someone said in the aftermath, but that left little consolation for the family left behind.

Life changes in a split second yet the transition plays in slow motion for the loved ones.

And now they were here, going through the motions but fulfilling Bradley's last wishes. She remembered the time a few years ago when they sat together in their comfortable living room filling in the details of their last will and testament. They felt a little foolish doing it, a morbid thing for such a vibrant young couple with everything ahead of them and the thoughts of death nothing more than a distant shadow among the trees. Bradley made his wishes clear and, while Marsha thought them a little strange at first, he was able to sell her on the romantic aspect of it. It saddened her now that it was done.

A tear found its way across her cheek as she thought about the funeral ceremony the day before. Friends and family, a small group, gathered in the front pews of the chapel and mumbled soft prayers to gently break the silence. Bradley might have hoped for a larger gathering of mourners, Marsha certainly did, but at least those that were there were sincere in their expression of grief.

Marsha was startled when the cremation actually began. She thought she was prepared for it but her body shook noticeably when the low sound suddenly began. She thought that she might lose consciousness but in a strange sort of way it began to sound like the rush of a gentle waterfall. She became lost in the sound and remembered their trip to the Appellations when they stumbled upon a meandering creek that gurgled its way along until it dropped fifteen feet to a lovely collecting pool below. They had sat there for hours and the time seemed to go on forever.

"We'll be coming into port soon, Mrs. Canon," the captain said, and Marsha was pulled out of her dream back to reality. She straightened her dress and stood at the railing as the shoreline came into view. The sleek white boat cut the water effortlessly leaving nothing more than a low rumble in its wake.

But it did leave something more, Marsha realized. Bradley's last wishes were that his ashes be cast into the sea, a place that he loved dearly even though he'd never been close to it in life. It was the hardest thing that Marsha had to do. A cool breeze was blowing when they found just the right spot several miles off shore. Marsha stood with the children at her side and opened the urn to let the wind capture the ashes and carry them off on gentle hands into the blue-green waters of the sea.

"I love you, Bradley," she whispered through her tears.

She thought she heard her name on the wind as the last of the ashes were captured by the waves.




 

 

Copyright © 2003 Tom Soukup
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"