~~ The world is dark and cold, chilling and numbing at the same time. The dark rain clouds cover the sun.
Everything is grey.
My mouth is dry. I blink, unable to comprehend the words spoken, unable to understand or to accept the inevitable.
“I’m sorry,” someone says, fidgeting nervously. They turn and climb back into their SUV. The sound of the car on the rough gravel fades away, as does the sight of the car. The waves lap dully against the rocks below, with little, if not any sound.
Numb.
I have no feeling. I’m stiff, soundless, motionless, emotionless, helpless. The ocean once beautiful, is dull and grey in my eyes.
Why?
The question of the century, still unanswered, even after all this time. The question which rolls around at the tip of my self-conscious, as I try to grasp the unthinkable.
Time.
Something I have never had, something which stops this very moment. There is no such thing as time now. Just empty space; an empty space left in my frozen heart.
Emptiness.
I look up to the sky. Dark, grey and empty, just like everything inside of me.
Scream.
I yell with grief and a wave of passion, my lunges bursting, my body burning. Feeling returns.
The sky is filled with the setting sun; burning bright, painting the heavens blood red.
Warmth returns to my heart, searing like a hot iron. My body tingles with energy.
Body aching, heart wrenching pain.
The water churns and the waves crash against the rocks. I taste salt water, but whether it is the sea spray or the hot tears which corse down my face, I do not know.
Another shout bubbles up from my stomach, from my heart, from my soul. It reaches the surface and my cracked lips part to release it.
The scream wrings me out from the inside, squeezing me. Anger threatens to boil over in my insides and I scream with all my strength, with all my will and with all my heart.
It leaves me hollow and sore.
The world burns with a bright furocity. Red and blue, orange and white, searing my eyes and my heart.
Everything is too bright, too sharp, too colorful, too painful. My life is suddenly too empty...
Chapter One.
“Is this all?” asks the cashier, merely glancing at the items on the desk.
I nod, looking inside my wallet, it’s not the biggest, but I have no need for a very large, or deep one. Even if I had more money, or cards to put inside of a larger wallet, I wouldn’t ever consider trading out His for a new one.
The cashier, a good friend of mine, looks up at me. The expression on her face is apparent: pity. I used to despise that look, but now it’s become useless to me. It takes too much energy and emotions to react anymore to such things. The numbness of emotions has become essential for me, for both my nerves and the people around me.
“Are you alright?” she asks, leaning in closer to me, her eyes concerned.
I shrug, and shake my head slowly. “Yeah.”
“Meriel-”
I look down and then look back up, my nose flaring. Anger starts to creep up on me, the one feeling I’ve kept at bay for so long, trying to cage it up as best I can.
“Theresa, I’m fine. Really.” I blink as I feel my throat thicken and I look back down at my wallet again.
I hear Theresa sigh sadly, “Fine.” She scans my two items and mutters the amount, as if afraid that if spoken to directly, I might burst into flames or--even worse-- tears.
I pay and then grab my plastic bag, which crinkles and makes a horrid noise. The sound of plastic bags have always grated on me, apparently no one has realized this yet.
Though I have lived outside of the small town of Southport, Maine, for four years now, the people still have an excited interest in me. I’m the gossip of the whole Boothbay Harbor, and it’s no wonder. My entrance to the Southport area was very dramatic and romanticized.
The memory makes me shrink back into my shell.
“Thank you,” I mutter and walk off.
The automatic doors slide open, sending a painful memory surfacing, as it does everytime.
Thunk!
“Ow!”
“You goof.”
Laughter.
“I swear I didn’t see that.”
“Yeah, it slides open over on this side.”
“Ha, ha, ha, that actually did hurt.”
“I’m surprised you admit it.”
“What? Men are suppose to be invincible?”
“Of course.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“You had me fooled.”
“For superman?”
“Who else?”
Laughter.
“Mwhaha, my evil plot has worked. I have successfully captured supermans best weapon.”
“Weapon?”
“What else could a sexy lady like you be? You’re certainly not a decoration.”
“If you’re the villain, then it is I, who have captured you. No?”
“Hmm...”
Smiling.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you are so true. You’ve captured me, body and soul.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve been defeated.”
“By a sliding glass door?”
Laughter.
“By you.”
I gasp, tears stinging my cheeks as I sit in the silent car, gripping the steering wheel so hard I’ve lost feeling in my hands. I’ve lost feeling everywhere, except my heart, which keeps throbbing.
“Did you get the flour?” asks my mother in law, Rachel, who goes through the plastic bag.
I cover my ears, gritting my teeth at the noise of the crinkling plastic. Like nails on a chalkboard. “Ugh, please, Rachel.”
Rachel purses her lips, and pulls out Flour and Sugar. “You forgot the butter.”
I wince as she crumples the bag into a ball and throws it in the trashcan, “I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“I need it tonight, Meri.”
I wave my hand in the air dismissively, “You can use olive oil.”
“We don’t have olive oil.”
I run a hand through my thick dark brown hair. It’s bushy, instead of curly today. Air Drying it after a shower does that. “You take care of it. I’m tired.”
Rachel scowls at me, and I can feel her eyes follow me as I drink a glass of water and then go into the small living-room. “What happened?”
Today's return of feelings has begun to take it's toll. A weight in my chest threatens to flatten me. I shake my head, and then rest it back onto the couch with a shaky sigh. “Nothing.”
She comes and sits in the rocking chair opposite me. Looking at me... looking in me. She’s not Theresa. Rachel doesn’t skirt around me and my emotions, she digs in mercilessly; she brings out the problems and analyses each part with a sickening fascination which has alway disturbed me. The only thing is, she takes me apart and then can’t apply synthesis. All the parts of me are scattered here and there, left to drown in my tears. I’ve been torn into pieces, deserted-- like a toy, picked up and then forgotten--unable to fix myself, to mend those ripped apart pieces of my heart.
Her eyes bore into me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It moves me to speak, “Everything... just... I can’t... I can’t look straight ahead without seeing something that reminds me of him.” I lick my lips and blink away tears, “It’s no longer that I see his face in the crowd, but I see him... I see our memories...in everything,” my voice fades to a whisper.
Rachel stands and then sits beside me on the couch, “Who mentioned him?”
I bite my lip, “Darla. Like always.”
Rachel sighs, rubbing my knee affectionately. She looks deep into my face, “What did she say?”
“She said,” I shake my head, tears bursting out from the corners of my eyes and dropping unto my jeans. “She said that, ‘even though you’re man gave you everything, it doesn’t mean... doesn’t mean everyone else will’.” I stop and let out a pent up sob. Exhaustion falls unto my shoulders. I feel hollow. I feel as if the rain which had started to heal me is drained out again with my tears. I’m so tired. I’m so empty.
“Well that truly is an awful thing to say,” she says pertly, “I won’t argue though, that he did give you everything.”
“He did not!” I shout louder than intended.
Rachel calmly stands up, “He did, whether you like it or not...” she’s silent for a moment, looking down at me thoughtfully, “I never understood why. Or what he saw in you, for that matter.”
I blink away tears and then stand up. “I’m going to go pick up Lincoln.”
“Pick up butter while you’re out.”
I stomp right back out of the house, still stinging from my mother-in-laws sharp words. I feel the pieces of my heart just drift even further,the pieces Rachel took apart are being taken apart. Soon, there will be nothing left.
I slap the new bought tub of butter unto the kitchen counter and glare at Rachel. The trip has truly exhausted me. I feel myself struggling to stand up straight, leaning against the counter.
“Happy?” I ask sharply.
Rachel gives me a very sarcastic smile, “Thank you.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. The exchange just makes me more weak. “I’m going to go lay down.”
“Lincoln,” Rachel calls.
The sweet, innocent faced, pink cheeked little four year old comes in, a paper airplane in one delicate hand and a bright red fire hydrant stuck to the index of the other hand.
“Yes?” he asks in his sweet voice, a light brown curl hanging over his left eye. “Yes, Nana?”
Rachel smiles, a true and merry smile. “Can you help me?”
Lincoln nods, climbing with his spindly legs and arms up the tall kitchen stool.
I smile weakly as I take the sticker of the fire hydrant off his finger, “Did you get this at school?”
Lincoln nods with a seriousness only four years olds express, “We learned about fire fighters. They go into building on fire to save people, and they drive fire trucks.”
“Wow,” I blink sleepily, “That sounds awesome. Okay, Mommy’s going to take a nap, are you okay working with Nana?”
Lincoln nods seriously, reaching forward with curious hands to grab a spatula. “Yes.”
Rachel looks at me, the look of affection she once had directed on Lincoln turns to a stern loathing on me. “You go, we’ll be fine.”
I nod, kiss Lincoln’s forehead and then turn for bed.
Sleep envelopes me, and the dreams start to invade once more, like they always do during the day. The dreams of him sinking, of my screaming, of rain falling, fill me with terror and I wake yet again exhausted. The hours I slept have no effect, and I feel as if I haven’t slept in days.
I rub my eyes and then Lincoln appears at my bedside. The room is dim, and the red light behind the bedroom curtains tell that it is much later than when I fell asleep.
“Mommy,” Lincoln says softly, cupping my face and chin with his clammy little hand, “Are you alright?”
I smile, keeping back the touched tears, and kiss his forehead, “Of course. I’m fine. Thank you sweety.”
He climbs into bed with me, making me wrapping my arms around his wiggly, soft and warm body. Leaning his head into my chest he scratches at a stain on my shirt, “Me and Nana made cookies.”
I smile, breathing in his little boy scent. Musky dirt and the hint of yesterdays bath soap linger in his overgrown curly hair. “Oh? What kind of cookies?”
“Chocolate chip,” he says, all his attention in taking off the stain.
“Ooh, my favorite,” I say softly, enjoying the comfort of his small body in mine. I hug him closer and kiss his forehead yet again.
He wiggles in my tight grip, “Have you met a firefighter, Mommy?”
I smile and run my fingers through his hair, they get caught in a few of his tangles, making him squirm a little more. “Yep.”
He moves from the stain to my ring on my finger, the sight of him fingering it makes my stomach turn inside out and memories fill me. “You were in a fire?”
“No,” I try to chuckle, but I just breath heavily, “Actually, it was the first time I went to vote, and... and it was at the fire station.”
“What does ‘vote’ mean?” Lincoln asks, twisting the ring back and forth, up and down.
“Well...” I think for a moment, lost for words, “Um...It would be like... if you wanted to play Shoots and Ladders, and your friend... Smith wanted to play CandyLand. Then you had your other friends vote for which one they wanted. See? Does that make sense?”
Lincoln shrugs, “Yep. Why do you have two rings?”
I gulp, my throat thickening. I squeeze him for support, and take a deep breathe of his sweet, musky aroma. “Well the one with the shinny crystal is my engagement ring and the other is my wedding ring.”
“What is in engagement?”
I shut my eyes, trying to fight away the memory of his proposal. But it surfaces anyways.
“Well...”
Nervous Laughter.
“Well?”
“Well I guess there is just one more thing to do.”
“Tell our parents?”
“Well that and-”
“Pray?”
“No!”
“Find help?”
“No, just... stop!”
“What?”
“Stop interrupting me.”
“You weren’t talking.”
“I was, I was about say-”
“But you finished.”
“Shut up!”
“But you were!”
“I...”
Kneeling.
“What are you doing?”
“The only thing left to do is marry you... if you’ll have me.”
Gasping.
Crying.
Laughing.
Kissing.
“Of course.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you.”
“Engagement is...” I clear my throat, “Is when a man and woman love each other very much and the man... or the woman asks if the other will marry them.”
“Oh... did Daddy, engage you?”
The question asked would have made me laugh, if it weren’t for how hollow and sad I feel. “Yes... he proposed.”
“Why?”
“Because he loved me, and I loved him.”
“Do we have to engage?”
I do chuckle at this, and shake my head, “No darling. Not like that.”
“Oh good... because you’re my mom.”
I smile, “Yeah that would be weird.”
Lincoln giggles, and I tickle him gently just to hear his musical laugh. He wriggles and squirms, squealing and laughing. He jumps out of the bed and runs out of the room giggling.
I smile and lay back on my pillow, still feeling weak.
Rachel knocks on the door right as I start to doze off. “Meri?”
“Come in,” I say struggling to keep my eyes open.
Rachel comes in holding a plate of cookies in one hand, and a glass of milk in the other. “These are yours.” She plops the plate down unceremoniously onto the nightstand, placing the glass of milk down a little more gently beside the cookies.
“Thanks,” I mumble, turning unto my side and pulling the covers higher to cover my shoulders.
Rachel nods, starting to turn around, but she looks back at me. “Do you want me to give Lincoln a bath?”
I shrug sleepily, “Sure.”
“Meriel.”
“What?” I ask, confused at her reprimanding tone.
“Are you going to sleep all your evenings away? You only have a child for a short time, you should be enjoying him, while you still can.” Tears well in her eyes, making me remember that she was His mother.
I don’t get up, but feel miserable and guilty for the rest of the night, until morning, when I finally go to sleep again.
