In The Midst Of Grief
Opening the large cardboard boxes labeled: “Mom’s Room”, the little boy caught himself drowning in the smell of memories. It what was very similar to perfumy scents from, what used to be, his mother’s closet in the previous house they had lived in. The boy sat balanced on his haunches as he looked around the new living room absorbing the fact that this would now be his new home. He shook his head, his brown moppy hair whipping back and forth, and he ducked his head into one of the boxes filled with his mother’s sweaters. Again, the perfumy smell, that reminded him of home, invaded his nostrils. At first he resisted the smell of his old home but eventually realized the need for oxygen and gave in. Memories came rushing into his mind, playing like a home video. He remembered his father holding him in the pool so he wouldn’t sink to the bottom. A memory of his mom, reading him a Little Critters book, kicked him in the head. A picture of his mom and dad cuddling on the couch, watching a movie, came suddenly into his mind and left almost as quick as it came. Big wet sobs started to occupy the silence he had found when first sticking his head into the box filled with the sweet, flowery scents of his mother. As the massive tears fell from his chin, his mother walked into the room struggling with a large box in her arms. “Ethan, how about you helping Mommy with the unpacking,” she requested dropping the box to the floor. She then looked up and saw her son’s face. “What wrong baby?” she asked with extreme worry in her voice. She knelt down beside him and pulled him into her arms, rocking him while he sobbed. Again she asked, “What are you crying about, hmm?” Ethan first opened his mouth but had to use the opportunity to gasp for air. Finally his shaky sobs slowed and he tried again. “I miss dad,” he said, quickly, through the remaining tears. “Oh Honey, I know. I miss him too,” his mother said now trembling, from the effort it took to defend her own eyes from tearing. “Why did he die?” “Well Sweetie, I don’t know quit how to answer that.” “Its all his fault. He left us. I hate him.” Ethan tried to convince himself. “No you don’t. Don’t you ever say that again. It wasn’t his fault,” She sternly objected without raising her voice. She shut her eyes for a moment and with the pressure from her eyelids, a drop of sadness seeped its way through each eye. For a moment, she sat holding her son while remembering the night William, her husband and father of her child, died. “Will! Don’t you dare go down there!” she screamed silently, into the darkness of their bedroom. “I’m not. I’m going down the hall to get Ethan. Don’t worry Carol,” Will reassured his wife. “I’m going to get him and come right back. You call the police,” he instructed her. “Stay calm. We’re all going to be okay.” Will cracked open the door leading to the hallway. “Call the police. I’ll be right back.” Carol reached for the phone and Will stepped out of the room shutting the door behind him. For a moment, Carol looked at the door, expecting her husband to return right away holding their son. She then snapped out of her staring contest with the door and picked up the phone from the receiver. No dial tone. “Damn it!” she aid out of both fear and frustration. A loud crash broke the muffled silence downstairs. This meant the vase, holding the flowers Will had gotten Carol, had fallen to the floor. Will was suddenly back in the bedroom, holding their sleeping eight-year-old son in his arms. He set him gently on the bed. “The phones are dead, William,” Carol said, looking at him with distress in her eyes and hoping he had some solution. “Thud, thud.” Boot covered footsteps were making their way up the staircase. The noise repeated one after the other, so slowly they could count their son’s breaths in between. The steps were no longer making their noises on the staircase, but now making scuffling interruptions on the rug down the hall. Carol’s eyes opened wide and her hands began to shake. She couldn’t move. William picked up his wife from her seat and guided her to the bedroom closet. He sat her down on the floor behind his winter coats. He set Ethan in her arms. Ethan’s eyes began to open. “Stay here and don’t move,” Will ordered to both his wife and son. “What are you doing? Don’t go out there. He could have a gun,” Carol said holding her hands over her, almost awakened, son. “I’m just going to get help,” he lied hoping to bring some sort of comfort to his wife. “Don’t,” She said. It was too late. William had already closed the closet and was heading out of the room. She heard him lock and close the bedroom door. “I love you,” Carol whispered to the shadow covered closet door. “Mommy? Wha… what’s going on?” Ethan asked rubbing his eyes. Carol pressed Ethan to her chest and held his ears shut. Waiting… one-one-thousand… two-one-thousand… three-one-thousand. Then she heard the struggle in the hallway. “Thud!” She heard someone smash, hard into the wall. “Owww!” Someone had been kicked in the stomach. “Ohh!” Someone was tripped and fell to the floor. For Carol, this was like being the only blind person at a football game; hearing the cheers but not knowing what side they’ re for. Then she heard it. She heard the noise that completely shattered her heart and her life into pieces, all in one split second. “Bang!” A shot had just been fired and she knew her husband wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, for he did not own a gun. Then it came. “Mommy? Mommy?” It was the voice of he own son. Carol pushed back her hair and took in the sunlight shinning in from the living room window in her New York apartment. She now remembered where she was; sitting in the living room holding her son, who was no longer crying. “Are you okay?” Ethan asked with his innocent eyebrows shifted upward. “You’re the one crying I should be asking you that, but yes I’m okay.” “Me too,” He smiled back at her. The rest of the day was filled with nothing but the sound of ripping tape off of boxes and the putting away of things. Ethan’s room was complete with a wooden dresser filled with his clothes, a closet filled with toys and more clothes, a bed covered in bedding patterned with dinosaurs, and a bookshelf filled with all sorts of good stories meant to read just before bed time. Carol’s room was half was finished with her bed completely reconstructed and a vanity, which could fit no more make up and perfumes on its surface or its legs would have collapsed. She had yet all of her clothes to unpack, the kitchen to organize, and other things like curtains and knick-knacks to put into place. “Alright kiddo. Time for bed,” Carol sighed. “Can you read me a Berensain Bear book?” Ethan pleaded. “You bet.” After Ethan’s bedtime story, it was about 9:00pm and he still wasn’t tired but when he begged his mother to read him another story she refused and told him to rest his sleepy head. He didn’t want to argue with his mother, for he saw the exhaustion in her face. He plopped his head down on his pillow and shut his eyes without further argument. Carol brushed the hairs of her son’s head and bent over to kiss him on his right cheek. They exchanged I-love-yous and she shut the door. Ethan looked around his full but empty room. Something was missing and he remembered his dad. His dad used to sit and listen to his mom read him a bedtime story and say good night. Tears, again, started to warm his eyes but he didn’t allow them to slip from his grip. Before turning out the light his dad would pat him on the shoulder and say, “Good night little buddy.” Concentrating, Ethan looked around the room and tried to find something to focus on. He wanted to count the stars, since he had no curtains yet, but clouds refused to reveal them. So he tried looking, through the extended blackness of the room, to try and read the bindings from the book that sat on the shelf parallel to his bed. Before he could finish reading the top shelf, he started to dose off and a warm sensation started to come over him. It was odd because he had never felt so relieved at the end of a day. His lids became unbearably heavy and his head sunk deeper into his pillow. He heard a creak of a floorboard next to his bedside but chose to ignore it. Then the feeling, of being in between sleep and awake, came over him. Wind rapped on his window and a weak breeze came in from under the windowpane. It was scented air. Ethan was just barely awake now as he took a deep breath. Sucking in the air through his nose, the smell of what was similar to his father’s cologne, stung the inside of his nostrils. Another creek of a floorboard climbed up to his ears. This one was closer but it didn’t bother him. Even when he had the feeling someone was standing right over him, he didn’t move, but instead fell further into his sleep. A gentle hand began to caress his forehead and Ethan moved his head so that the hand slid down to his cheek. Then just before he was completely gone into dreamland, he heard the word: “I’m still here little buddy.”
Copyright © 2005 Anna M Steiner |