After a while he began fixing things around the house while I was at work. He installed a new storm door and put a new vent hose on the dryer. He put my apple drawer pulls on my kitchen cabinets, which I'd asked him to do months before. He hauled away all the drama junk in the garage and he even planted shrubs.
Everett still came over to see him from time to time. Irene said it was more ministry than friendship. Of course, Irene still came to visit me. One day we were sitting at my kitchen counter colouring eggs for her Sunday School picnic and I looked out and saw Everett sprawled out in the Adirondack chair sipping a beer, watching James trying to fix a weed-eater.
Irene looked at them and touched my hand.
Let's see. That was April. In June the Presbyterian home kicked Sara Beth out for smoking dope. Everett and Irene took her in. I was so mad I wouldn't even speak to them. I started seeing a sports writer on the Gazette staff named Bryan. A couple of nights I even stayed at his place, mainly because I dreaded going back to that house. This apparently drove James crazy because when I came home, every light, every alarm, every radio, the TV – everything would be on full blast. I brought Bryan home with me one night and James called the police, who knocked on my door and asked me if I was being raped.
Irene wouldn't leave me alone either. She left baskets of muffins and loaves of homemade bread on my back porch when I was at work. I never touched them. They moulded and rotted.
On my birthday, (believe it or not) August 15, Irene delivered Sara Beth's baby, a 6 pound, 4 ounce girl. James was there. He cut the cord.
Everett baptised the baby because she was blue and so full of mucus she almost choked to death. They christened her Agnes Maude after Sara Beth's mother. James came to my back door with the baby all bundled up. We hadn't spoken a word in seven months.
"Do you want to see her?" he asked. His eyes were puffy and I almost gasped at how thin he was.
I shut the door in his face.
"Happy birthday," I heard him say.
Sara Beth ran off when the baby was only eight days old. James took her. I stood in the kitchen and watched him and Irene and Everett carry a bassinet, diaper pails, and so on up the steps to the apartment. Bryan called and said he was bringing over pizza and beer. I told him I had a virus.
About, oh, two weeks later I was at work and I had to do some research on an article about wisteria in the gardening section. I typed in the word on a search engine and there it was: "One topmost mordent of wisteria." It was the line from that poem I'd forgotten. I clicked on it. The poem was called "The Mad Scene" by James Merrill. He was a poet, you know. His family started Merrill Lynch. Anyway, there was that line that had sort of haunted me all these years. I have it. Do you mind if I read it to you?
The Mad Scene
Again last night I dreamed the dream called Laundry.
In it, the sheets and towels of life we were going to share,
The milk-stiff bibs, the shroud, each rag to be ever
Trampled or soiled, bled on or groped for blindly,
Came swooning out of an enormous willow hamper
Onto moon-marbly boards. We had just met. I watched
From outer darkness. I had dressed myself in clothes
Of a new fiber that never stains or wrinkles, never
Wears thin. The opera house sparkled with tiers
And tiers of eyes, like mine enlarged by belladonna,
Trained inward. There I saw the cloud-clot, gust by gust,
Form, and the lightning bite, and the roan mane unloosen.
Fingers were running in panic over the flute's nine gates.
Why did I flinch? I loved you. And in the downpour laughed
To have us wrung white, gnarled together, one
Topmost mordent of wisteria,
As the lean tree burst into grief.
~James Merrill
Well, anyway, I just got up and walked out of the newsroom. I had my keys in my blazer pocket so I didn't even get my purse. I drove home squinting back hot tears and chanting over and over, "as the lean tree burst into grief." When I got home, James was in the living room. The baby was asleep in an infant seat in front of the TV and James was folding laundry – little t-shirts and little gowns and little square flannel blankets. All my laundry was clean and folded in a willow hamper. Do you hear me, a willow hamper. I didn't even realise we owned a willow hamper.
My question is, and I'm so, so sorry it took me so long to get to my question – do you think I ought to get some new chickens?
Table of Contents
Boogie
By Heather Casey
United States
Sarah leaned against the door jam of Jonathan’s vacant room, her head against the cool wood. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, sure, if she let go she would shatter into a thousand pieces. The cocoon of silence was almost tangible, as if a blanket had been placed over his room, smothering the life.
Sighing, Sarah pushed away from the door and crossed the threshold into the room. The air was heavy; she could feel it move across her skin, like walking through a heavy fog. She surveyed the bedroom; toys scattered across the floor, in suspended animation, waiting to finish the game. A grass-stained blue and white t-ball uniform lay in a heap beside the clothes hamper. As she walked around his room, her toe bumped the half-hidden baseball bat he just had to have. She smiled as she remembered how he sweetly begged for it: “Please Mommy, can I have it?”
She walked to the dresser where model cars lined up, ready for the flag to drop. She ran her fingers across the posters, double-checking the tape, of super heroes in various acts of heroism. There were no heroes anymore.
Her gaze came to Boogie, Jonathan’s teddy bear, his most treasured possession. Boogie sat propped against the pillows, on Jonathan’s bed. His big brown eyes, shone bright as if filled with unshed tears, stared back at Sarah. Questioning, when will Jonathan return for another adventure?
Jonathan would not be returning. Not ever, Boogie, Sarah silently answering his unspoken question.
She picked up Boogie and sat on the bed, cradling him in her arms and inhaled. She could still smell Jonathan; snips and snails and puppy dog tails, smiling as she remembered the poem she would recite for him.
“I cannot do this. I cannot go about my day as if he never existed.” She cried.
“Oh Boogie, what are we going to do without him?” she asked the bear. He had no answer.
Fat tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. The only sounds were her sobs; her chest tightened with memories. Her anguish was physically painful, her breathing came in gasps, and she was suffocating with despair.
Sarah lay down upon his bed, curling into herself and holding onto Boogie. She finally fell asleep, from exhaustion, from frustration, from heartache.
Images from their life played through her mind. Like a home movie, she can fast-forward, rewind or even pause, but they bring hollow comfort. When the movie is over, reality slams home and she again is alone. Knowing this she still replays them, because it is all she has left, a glimpse of him is worth any pain she may endure.
The trip to the zoo last spring plays through Sarah’s mind. It was cool that day. Jonathan was so excited, the baby animals were beginning to make their appearances, and he would run from exhibit to exhibit hoping to see one. Jonathan stood in front of the orang-utan cage, making monkey faces, scratching his head and hopping back and forth, grunting and grinning for the camera. Sarah fast-forwards past the elephants, the rhinos and camels until she gets to the giraffes. They walked over the bridge of the exhibit, eye level with the long necked animals. Jonathan held his hand out for the giraffe to take the offered treat. He squealed when it’s long black tongue wrapped around his hand in an attempt to get every morsel. While Jonathan was trying to untangle his hand from that giraffe, another one had snuck up and was eating the rest of the treats from the cup he held in his other hand. They laughed so hard at the giraffes’ antics that their
sides hurt. Sarah fast-forwards; they are walking hand in hand on their way home when Jonathan looks up at her, “That was a great day. I love you Mommy.”
She tossed fitfully in her sleep as more images began to emerge. A postcard-perfect summer day. Large billowy clouds suspended in an azure blue sky. In her dream, Sarah watched as they walked to the park a few blocks away. She was carrying a picnic basket filled with sandwiches, fruit and a tin of chocolate-chip cookies, which they had baked the night before. Jonathan, wanting to do his part, carried the blanket.
She began to whimper, as the images grew darker. Like a child’s etch-a-sketch, her head thrashed back and forth across the pillows, as if trying to erase the images. Regardless of her efforts, she was powerless to stop the nightmare from continuing along its devastating path.
Stopped at the corner of Fifth and Atlantic Avenue, they waited for the “Walk” indicator to light up.
“No! Go back! Go back!” Sarah’s cry rang through the silence of the empty room.
But he continued, when the sign on the pole gave the all clear, across the street, oblivious to her warning
“Look out!” she heard someone scream out in warning, but it came too late. Sarah, powerless to wake from the nightmare, watched as the van, seemingly from nowhere, barrelled toward all she held dear. She watched herself turn to push Jonathan out of harm’s way. Tires squealing, metal crunching, and Jonathan’s scream echoed through her mind. She saw the blood red blanket, stark against the black of the asphalt, then only darkness and pain.
Bleep….Bleep….Bleep… Somewhere in the distance, she heard drawing her from the nightmare. She woke to find herself tangled in the blankets, soaked with sweat and crying uncontrollably. Her whole being ached. She was grateful she woke before the final vision of her baby lying on the pavement, broken.
She sat up, reached behind her feeling for Boogie. He was not there. Sarah turned to look, saw the bed was empty.
“Where is he? He was right here! I cannot lose him too!” She was in a full panic now. Boogie was all she had left, her physical connection to Jonathan. Frantically she tore the blankets and pillows from the bed.
Nothing. No bear.
Sarah dropped to her hands and knees onto the floor; she began flinging toys, socks, and muddy cleats out from under the bed, but no Boogie.
Crazed and half blinded by the tears, Sarah began searching the rest of the bedroom. Then she saw him, casually propped against the toy box with a handful of matchbox cars at his feet, as if he had been in the middle of playing when she woke.
She stood staring at him. “How did he get there? Am I losing my mind?” She thought, but it hurt her head to think about how he got there. Lately, to concentrate on anything but her memories, caused her physical pain.
She threw the blankets back on the bed before picking up Boogie. She stroked his soft brown fur as she tenderly laid him back on Jonathan’s bed. He had once been Jonathan’s most treasured possession, now he was hers.
As Sarah turned to leave to the room, she heard a whisper: “I love you Mommy.” A sharp pain in her chest, like a vice squeezing the breath from her body. Choking back the tears, she shut the door.
Sarah could not remember the last time she went to work, or even left the apartment. She was not sure if she still had a job, not that she cared much anymore. Jonathan may not be in the apartment, but he certainly was not at McVain and Dewitt, where until the accident she had been a successful architect. Time held no reality for her anymore.
Sarah stood in front of the fireplace in their darkened living room and stared at the photographs displayed across the mantle. She picked up her favourite, the one of Jonathan the day he caught his first fish. She traced her fingertip across his face, his dimples, down along the curve of his chin, down to the fish he held, the tiniest little fish. He was so proud that day, his first fish. She took a picture of him holding his pole with his catch in one hand, while flexing his muscle of the other. “A big fish needs big muscles to reel it in”, he had explained, his big blue eyes twinkling.
Sarah kept the curtains closed, shutting out the world as it went about its day wonderfully oblivious to her tragedy. The apartment was quiet, no Saturday morning cartoons, no racecars zipped down the hallway; even the phone had gone silent. Time passed in moments of awareness separated by periods of darkness. In the darkness, she felt nothing, she did not dream.
She could not remember much anymore, only her memories. Sarah no longer cared about the day-to-day things, she did not know when or what she ate last. It appeared as though she was still wearing the same clothes she had been wearing that day. “That can’t be right,” she thought, but the sharp stabbing pain pealed through her head, distracting her from that thought.
The only comfort Sarah seemed to find was in Jonathan’s room. At least there, she felt close to him, as if he was still there somehow. It was a small consolation, but small was better than none.
The need to be near him drew Sarah back to Jonathan’s door. She could not remember how much time had passed since the last time she stood here or even what she had been doing in the meantime. However, it did not matter to her; all that mattered was she felt he was near, if only in her mind.
As she stood in front of his door, for a brief moment, she thought she heard whispering from the other side. It was impossible she knew. Nevertheless, she did not care. If insanity meant she could have Jonathan, then insane she would be. Sarah carefully pushed open the door, hoping against hope she would see him playing.
The room was empty, the vacant bed, perfectly made, dominated the room.
“Did I straighten the bed?” she wondered, although she could not remember. The emptiness of the bed then registered in her mind.
“Where is Boogie?” she thought
She immediately sought out the toy box, where she had found him once, but he was not there. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of movement, startled she snapped her head around. In the corner, sitting in the rocking chair she bought for Jonathan before he was born, was Boogie. It had to be her imagination, this was a stuffed bear, but he appeared to have the same impish “I’m not doing anything” expression Jonathan wore whenever caught up past bedtime.
“How did he get there? I did not put him there. Did I?” sharp pains shoot through her mind, discouraging any further thought on the subject.
Sarah sat in the rocking chair with Boogie on her lap. She leaned over and picked up the book she had been reading before it happened. As she read aloud, she felt as though Jonathan was there on her lap, his small hand resting upon her arm, his head against her shoulder growing heavier and heavier as he fell asleep.
It was getting harder to read, the tears that flowed freely unto the pages of the book blurred the words. “I must finish the story, it was his favourite.” She willed herself. As she finished, she noticed Boogie had begun to feel heavy upon her lap, so much so that her right leg had fallen asleep, just like it did with Jonathan.
As Sarah stood up the blood rushed sending familiar pricks of pain exploding through her calf. She took a moment to allow the sensation to subside and then carefully as if Boogie was indeed asleep, placed him on the bed.
She turned to leave, “Good night Mommy.” A whisper drifted through the silence, squeezing her heart painfully.
She was sure the shrinks would have a field day with this. “Transference, I believe it is called” she thought. Sighing, she turned off the light and shut the door.
“No one comes to see me anymore.” Sarah said aloud.
She thinks, “They all know. Even my sister. Jonathan would still be here if I had been faster, more careful, or paid closer attention. I do not blame them for not coming, and I would rather be alone with my memories. No-one to tell me that time will heal or he is in a better place.”
“I do not want to hear that! How can he be in better place? He was only seven years old,” she screamed. “It was not his time. It should have been me. No! We
should be on our way to the park, or to the movies. We should be planning his prom, his graduation, his wedding, his life!” She was sobbing uncontrollably now, her entire body shaking, threatening to come apart at any moment.
She began to wander about the apartment, unable to sit; she used to complain it was so small, but now without him here it seemed so large. He filled the apartment with laughter and fun.
Sarah remembered a day in which they played hide and go seek; it had been his turn to hide. After he made her swear she would not peek, he took off to hide, giggling the whole time. She counted to 100, without peeking, and went in search of him. Calling out “I wonder where Jonathan is?” to which he would respond with a muffled giggle. After searching the hall closet, under the beds and behind the shower curtain, she stopped in front of the slightly ajar door of the linen closet. “Hmmm, I wonder if he’s disappeared” she had said in an overly loud voice. Giggles erupted from the closet. She jerked the door open and Jonathan leaped from the third shelf, where he had been scrunched behind the towels, into her arms. “You found me!” he cried. They both fell to floor laughing. He loved that game.
Whoosh….Whoosh….Whoosh... from Jonathan’s room, pulled Sarah from her memories.
A toy must have fallen over in the toy box. Most of his toys made some kind of sound. His favourite was the light sabre. “I’m gonna be a Jedi one day, Mommy”, he used to tell her, as he waved it this way and that, creating the sound every Jedi hears while he battles evil.
Even though she knew no-one was there playing, she cautiously opened the door, and peered into his room. Silence greeted her once again. The sounds had stopped, just as the whispers had the time before. She looked at the familiar objects, and felt no comfort. These toys would never be played with again. Never would there be another battle with the Force overcoming the Dark Side. No more buildings of multi-coloured blocks would be built. No damsels would be saved.
There was Boogie, just where she left him on the bed, only now he had Jonathan’s flashlight. She crossed the floor and sat on the bed. Sarah scooped up Boogie, hugged him tightly and wept.