Sighing softly to herself, Alice walks down the hall, stepping onto the matted runner. She looks to her left where frames of family portraits are kept. The first is of Alice and her husband Charles, on their wedding day. She would never forget that day that Charles asked her to marry him. It was on the beach, one of her favorite spots to walk. They were walking across with the moon reflecting off the water, and he stops and says, “Alice.” Already she knew he was going to “pop the question,” so she started to hold her breathe in anticipation. He gets down on one knee in the sand, takes her hand and repeats her name, “Alice.” He reaches into his inside coat pocket, and then a seagull crashes the party with their signature move, all over his coat. Alice had never laughed so much in her life.
The next has a picture of Marie just when she was a year old. Charles and herself, were posing with her in Alice’s arms. Alice touches the picture tenderly, and remembering that Marie is downstairs she quickens her pace. Next, down the line of photos are more pictures of Marie during her school years: her kindergarten birthday party outside in the backyard, then more pictures from school, Marie’s prom and ball pictures, and lastly her graduation picture complete with cap and gown. A small tear squeezes from Alice’s eye, but she quickly brushes it away. Reminiscently she sighs to herself thinking of the ways things used to be, before everything became complicated. Alice reaches the staircase and grabs the banister on her way down. She can hear her daughter’s frustration in the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you!” Marie turns accusingly to the kitchen door. Alice startled, stops as if a dagger was thrust into her heart. Marie returns to the cutting board angrily preparing vegetables to be made for the spaghetti, each phrase emphasized by a loud chop of vegetables. “All you do is say how… how I can do better. Or what would your father think! But you didn’t have to chase him out the door!” Marie takes a quick pause to gather herself, and to stop her hand from shaking with anger, especially as she is holding a knife.
“Whenever he came over, it was like a battleground! It is always you and him, shouting bullets at each other. At least he has the sense to stop when he gets riled up. No, not you, you keep going. You are the one that screeches like some crazy banshee. You are never worried about anything, like your damn blood pressure, just that I was wrong and that YOU were right! Why can’t you understand that he makes me happy? Why couldn’t you listen to me? Why couldn’t you stop? Why couldn’t you relax?” The tears are streaming down her face now, splashing across her hands melding with the water from the freshly washed vegetables.
Chop, Chop, Chop
Then without warning, Marie collapses on the ground. Pounding the linoleum with her fist with frusteration and hurt. Alice makes an attempt to comfort her daughter, reaching out to her with her hand. Marie releases a scream of anguish like some wounded animal. “He makes me happy. Do you even know what happiness is? Could you? Could you?! No! You never cared! Every fucking time he came over, every single fucking time… Damnit! I love him, and he loves me… And together we are going to have a baby. YOUR grandchild!” Marie glares at the ceiling with hatred. “The grandchild, you can’t even see…” Alice is stunned in silence. Her face turns to mourning as she watches her beautiful daughter tearing herself up on the kitchen floor, convulsing with sobs. Her breaths quicken, and she feels her own tears flow on her face.
Grabbing onto herself with her hands in efforts to comfort herself, she turns around to walk slowly back up the stairs to her bedroom. Sounds of the knife scratching across the cutting board announces that Marie has gotten off the floor and resumed preparations for dinner with steady chopping noise intermingling with inconsistent sniffling , feels like lead nails piercing Alice’s lungs. She finally reaches her bed, in exhaustion, dropping her robe back onto its chair and climbing back into bed. Alice turns to her nightstand where two frames are displayed. One has a picture of herself and Charles. The other is a handwritten note scrawled across a paper napkin, “je suis ici pour vous toujours.” (I’m here for you always) Gingerly she brushes the frame with the back of her fingers. Sighing deeply she settles back into bed, moving her covers up, and hugging them in her cold hands, the tears dripping onto her pillowcase freely.
Marie finishes with the spaghetti preparations and throws everything into a pot and brings it to a boil. She brushes herself off, and looks down at her belly. Smiling, she rubs her starting to emerge belly bump. “One day, when you come out, you can help me make dinner.” Marie walks to the cabinet to grab the plates and utensils to set the table. A loud thud sounds above her. “Mom?
“Mom?!” Marie drops the plates and utensils on the floor as she breaks into a dead run. “Momma!” She screams scrambling around the railing, taking the stairs two at a time. She bursts through the door looking around wildly. The life support machine was toppled over on its side. Marie rushes to the machine, pushing it back to its side making sure it was still working. Then she looks over to her mother. Alice lay in bed, in her worn tattered nightgown, clutching the covers. “Oh Mom, please… please just wake up. We all miss you! You’ll be a grandmother. I know you don’t like him but please just wake up so you can see your grandchild… please… please Mom…” Marie throws herself across her mother and silently cries, clutching her hands.
Alice looks down upon herself and her daughter’s mad embrace of her body. Her tired wrinkled face cracks into a glowing smile. She leans down as if she is kissing Marie on the cheek. “Can I touch her?” Alice asks. “No, you cannot.” A solemn voice speaks. “Alice it is not your time yet. Stay, your body doesn’t want you to leave yet. I will return when the moment is right.”
“Thank you.” Alice looks at Marie before she settles back into her body. ”Je suis ici pour vous toujours Marie...”
Alice Kensington leans up out of her bed. She pushes the covers over to the side and sits on the edge using her feet to find her pale rose slippers she received on Christmas about five years ago. The slippers came with the nightgown she is now wearing, same paleness, same worn tattered look. Scratching her head, in attempts to make her hair seem like it doesn’t have a life on its own, Alice finally gets up out of bed. She walks over to the small vanity table and chair, where her silk bathrobe is draped waiting for her. Taking the robe and twirling it around her, she walks over to her bedroom door, opens it and proceeds to walk downstairs. She can hear her daughter massacring something in the kitchen.
Sighing softly to herself, Alice walks down the hall, stepping onto the matted runner. She looks to her left where frames of family portraits are kept. The first is of Alice and her husband Charles, on their wedding day. She would never forget that day that Charles asked her to marry him. It was on the beach, one of her favorite spots to walk. They were walking across with the moon reflecting off the water, and he stops and says, “Alice.” Already she knew he was going to “pop” the question, so she started to hold her breathe in anticipation. He gets down on one knee in the sand, takes her hand and repeats her name, “Alice.” He reaches into his inside coat pocket, and then a seagull crashes the party with their signature move, all over his coat. Alice had never laughed so much in her life.
The next has a picture of Marie just when she was a year old. Charles and herself, were posing with her in Alice’s arms. Alice touches the picture tenderly, remembering that Marie is downstairs, she quickens her pace. Next, down the line of photos are more pictures of Marie during her school years: her kindergarten birthday party at Chuck E Cheese, then more pictures from school, Marie’s prom and ball pictures, and lastly her graduation picture complete with cap and gown. A small tear squeezes from Alice’s eye, but she quickly brushes it away. Alice reaches the staircase and grabs the banister on her way down. She can hear her daughter’s frustration in the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you!” Marie turns accusingly to the kitchen door. Alice stops like a dagger was thrust into her heart. Marie goes back to the cutting board preparing vegetables for the spaghetti. “All you do is say how… how I can do better. Or what would your father think! But you didn’t have to chase him out the door!” Marie takes a quick pause to gather herself and to stop her hand from shaking with anger, especially as she is holding a knife.
“Whenever he came over, it was like a battleground! Why can’t you understand that he makes me happy?” The tears are streaming down her face now, splashing across her hands melding with the water from the freshly washed vegetables.
Chop, Chop, Chop
Then without warning, Marie collapses on the ground. Pounding the linoleum with her fist. Alice makes an attempt to move to comfort her daughter, reaching out with her right hand. Marie then releases a scream of anguish. “He makes me happy. I love him, and he loves me… And together we are going to have a baby. YOUR grandchild!” Marie glares at the ceiling with hatred. “The grandchild, you don’t want to see…”
Alice is stunned in silence. Her face turns to mourning as she watches her beautiful daughter tearing herself up on the kitchen floor. Her breaths quicken, and she feels the tears flow on her own face. Grabbing onto herself with her hands, she turns around to walk slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. A sound of the knife scratching across the cutting board announces that Marie has gotten up off the floor and resumed the preparations for dinner. A steady chopping sound intermingling with inconsistent sniffling feels like lead nails piercing Alice’s lungs. She finally reaches her bed, in exhaustion, flinging her robe back onto its chair and climbing back into bed. She moves her covers up, and hugs them in her cold hands, the tears dripping onto her pillowcase freely.
Marie finishes with the spaghetti preparations and throws everything into a pot and brings it to a boil. She brushes herself off, and looks down at her belly. Smiling, she rubs her starting to emerge belly bump. “One day, when you come out, you can help me make dinner.” Marie walks to the cabinet to grab the plates and utensils to set the table. A loud thud sounds above her. “Mom?
“Mom?!” Marie drops the plates and utensils on the floor as she breaks into a dead run. “Mother!” She screams scrambling around the railing, taking the stairs two at a time. She bursts through the door looking around wildly. The life support machine was toppled over on its side. Marie rushes to the machine, pushing it back to its side making sure it was still working. Then she looks over to her mother. Alice lay in bed in her worn tattered nightgown, clutching the covers. “Oh Mom, please… please just wake up. We all miss you! You’ll be a grandmother. I know you don’t like him but please just wake up so you can see your grandchild… please… please Mom…” Marie throws herself across her mother and silently cries, clutching her hands.
One tear slips down Alice’s face as she joins her daughter. “I know honey, I know. Though I can’t move, I’ll always be by your side, in spirit. I love you.”
Feel free to subscribe to http://willischinn.blogspot.com
No comments:
Post a Comment