(no subject)
I sat back down in my chair, took a blank CD out of a case in my bag, and put it into the computer. I transferred all of my files, and I put it back in the bag. I gently placed the folder of all my work into the bag, then I got up. I took the stack of work papers, grabbed my bag, and walked to the office door. I looked around, remembering countless hours in the tiny room. I wouldn’t miss it.
I didn’t want to forget it, though, so I grabbed my placard and tossed it into my bag. I strode down the hallway, a sort of swagger in my step, and rapped my knuckles on Hannerty’s office door. He opened it roughly, seeming surprised that I came to him, for once. Usually I spent my day trying to avoid him.
“What?” he asked, gruffly. I shoved the stack of papers at him.
“Here. I’m done.” Surprise, again. I didn’t usually finish things ahead of time.
“Well, this could be good for you, if you keep it up.” He said, almost spitefully.
“I won’t.” I said, turning around. “I’m not coming back, Rick.”
This surprise eclipsed the rest, and he said nothing. I just walked away, laughing, and I flipped him the bird over my shoulder. I felt great.
I took the elevator down to the parking lot, and I was sitting in the car in no time at all. Just as I sat down, my cell phone rang. I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Hogan!” It was Amy.
“Hey, Dad!” I heard Graham shout in the background. I grinned. I loved it when he did that.
“I got Graham off of school till after Thanksgiving!” Amy continued.
“How?” Had anyone else told me that, I wouldn’t have believed them, but Amy had a way of manipulating the system.
“I can’t tell you, then it won’t seem so amazing anymore,” She taunted, “but how about you? Did you get a few days off?”
“Nope.” I said, trying hard to keep the smile out of my voice.
“No? Why not?” She sounded disappointed.
I couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Because I’m done, Amy. I’m leaving this place and never coming back.”
“Good job,” she said, “you made the right choice.”
“Yeah, I know.” I couldn’t help but smile. “So, when are we leaving?”
I pulled into the driveway, thumping out an imaginary beat on the wheel, ecstatic. Amy’s car was there, and it was nice not to feel alone. I almost jumped out of the car, hurrying into the house. I felt so free; I couldn’t wait to just leave, to just take off and remember what it was like to really be alive.
I hated the fact that I was so happy with Dana gone, but maybe I’d hadn’t had enough time to really start missing her, or maybe exultation is just a stronger emotion than guilt, or maybe I was just riding a rise on my emotional roller-coaster. I didn’t know one way or the other, but I’d learned enough to know that questioning it would just be throwing away what I had. There’d be time for questions later.
I strode up to the door, having to jiggle the handle a little bit- it swelled up in the cold- and walked in. I practically tripped on a small stack of suitcases. I wasn’t the only one in a hurry. “Graham? Amy?” I called out, inquisitively.
“In here.” Amy’s voice drifted out from the kitchen.
I walked in, and there was food everywhere. Bread all over the counters, deli meats on some slices and not others, mayo jar open, saran wrap squares laid out, and Graham diligently at work doing, well, something. “What’s going on?”
“We’re making sandwiches!” Graham said loudly, excited, “for our trip!”
“Ah.” At least they were thinking ahead. I don’t know how we all knew from the get go how this trip was going to go, that we weren’t going to be taking the easy way, going by plane, but we did. It was going to be a road trip from the start, and we never even talked about it. “I’m assuming you guys want to leave soon, then?” I directed the question more towards Amy. “How’s tomorrow sound?”
“How does as soon as you get your bag packed sound?” Amy’s head spun round to face me, her hair, now tied in a pony-tail, swinging against he shoulder. I wanted to hesitate, to give some reason why we should wait at least a little while, but that devilish smile cut me off, and it was contagious. I smiled back.
“That sounds pretty good, actually.”
“Good.” They both replied. I nodded and left the room. I walked into my room and quickly changed out of my work clothes, throwing them into the laundry. I opened the closet, looking for my suitcase. We hadn’t gone on a trip for almost a year, and the last place we’d visited was Georgia, to see Dana’s parents, and that doesn’t count as much of a vacation.
Then I noticed that all of Dana’s clothes were still hanging in the closest. I wanted to take them down, so I wouldn’t have that painful, stabbing, reminder every time I looked in, but I didn’t want to change anything, because I was afraid that that would be admitting defeat. I wasn’t in denial, I knew she was gone, but I hadn’t quite admitted to the fact, and I certainly hadn’t accepted it. If it had been left up to me, I don’t know if I could have ever moved anything out of Cody’s old room.
I found the suitcase, under a pile of shoes, and I pulled out the old thing. I packed six days worth of clothes and hoped that that would be enough to make it to California, where a friendly washing machine awaited.
I reached under the bed, looking for my other bag, and I pulled out one of Dana’s red high heels. I stared at it for a moment, remembering the last time she’d worn it, at one of her friends fancy cocktail parties, and I remembered how she always laughed at my jokes, how she’d hold me lightly whenever she stood close, and I missed her.
I swallowed and put the shoe down. I found the bag, opened it, and laid it out of my bed. I tossed in my toothbrush, my razor, shaving cream, deodorant, and a half-empty tube of toothpaste. I grabbed the little clock off of my bedside table- because you never know- and threw in a book I hadn’t opened since Dana died.
I looked at her dresser, and I saw one of the few pictures of the four of us, our family, all together. I walked over to it, slowly, and I picked it up. I ran my fingers over the smooth glass of the frame, stroking the images of our past. My past.
I opened the frame and took out the picture, sticking it in my pocket. I tapped my fingers on the hard wood, a glum face staring back at me from her mirror. I grabbed my bags and headed downstairs. I added them to the growing pile and paced into the kitchen, my now shoe-less feet almost-but-not-quite slipping on the slick floor.
There were four or five sandwiches wrapped now, but Amy and Graham were still working, and I reached into the closet and pulled out our icebox. There was a still a little sand in it from the last time we went to the beach. I shook it out of the trash, and I put the finished sandwiches in. I grabbed the chocolate chip cookies and put them in, too. There wasn’t much left to do, so I just poured myself a glass of milk and sat down to watch.
Amy was struggling with the mayonnaise, and Graham was eating more ham than he was putting on the sandwiches. Whenever Amy would look the other way, he’d sneak in a piece, and whenever she’d look back at him, he’d put some on some bread, and she’d smile encouragingly. I stared at him, and he noticed as he tried to eat a piece. This time, he froze mid-motion, half a slice of ham hanging out of the side of his mouth. He probably expected me to scold him, but I wasn’t much for scolding.
I simply motioned him over, making sure to make it clear that I just wanted a piece too. He smiled and ran one over, and I accepted it graciously. As I ate it, I realized how hungry I was. The hollow pain in my stomach wasn’t only the grief and guilt building, it was also because I hadn’t eaten all day again. Graham placed a finished turkey sandwich down next to ]
“let me know when you guys are ready, huh?” I said, leaving the room. I laid down on the couch, sinking into the old cushions, and I closed my eyes. Without the sights of the world to distract my mind, worry set in. I’d just quit my job. Sure, I had an almost done graphic novel, and I was supremely confident in my own abilities, but what did that really mean for me? Maybe I was just too confident. What was I going to do with the thing? How would I get published? What then?
I rubbed my eyes roughly, trying to push the depressing thoughts out, and I stood up with a groan. I made a quick loop of the house, making sure all the lights and extraneous electronics were turned off.
I walked down the hallway and through the rooms, the sun was already starting to set, and it was only four o’clock, the sun’s crimson-orange rays shining through floating motes of dust. I paced the upper floor of the house, the orange tint of the coming night filling my mind with old images, old memories, and new thoughts.
I remembered Cody and Graham playing hide n’ seek for hours on end, refusing to let us turn on the lights, because it was more fun with them off. I took another step, and I remembered walking downstairs late, in the middle of the night, going to get a drink, and seeing Graham and Cody asleep on the couch through eyes clouded with sleep, the TV murmuring in the darkness. They’d snuck out to watch TV and fallen asleep in the act. It was cute, until I strained my back carrying them both upstairs to their room. I was in bed for a week.
I ran my hand over my lower back, absent-mindedly, rubbing it lightly. I slid my hand into my pockets idly, and walked back down the stairs. A red light blinked in the corner of my eye. It was the answering machine. Seventeen messages. Once it gains momentum, bad news travels fast. I stared at the little red light, not focusing, not really looking at it, but rather what it entailed.
I wanted to listen, I wanted to hear that people cared, but I didn’t have the strength . I didn’t have the strength to hear seventeen different people remind me that my wife was dead, and I certainly didn’t have the strength to call any of them back.
I felt bad, though, I felt obligated to at least hear what they had to say. I pressed play, and our outgoing message came out of the little, tinny speakers. “You’ve reached,” Dana said, Graham, Hogan, and Dana. Leave a message after the beep, and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.” A little illogical surge of happiness rose in my chest, I just loved to hear her voice, and it made me feel good. The feeling quickly turned sour, however, as soon as I realized I’d never hear her say anything else again. Never.
I turned the answering machine off, and I shook my head slightly, feeling bad to leave all those people hanging, but I just didn’t have it in me, not yet.
I peeked into the kitchen. They were washing their hands, now. “I’m gonna take the bags out to the car, okay?”
“Sure,” Amy called back. I picked up a few bags in each hand, flipped the outside light on with my elbow, and edged the door open with my foot. I put the bags in my right hand down on the cold pavement, jiggled the hatchback open, and then piled them in. They formed a rough pig-pile, a stark contrast to the usual neat one that Dana would make. I looked at it and felt kind of guilty, so I took them out and then stacked them all nice and neat. I’m not sure if it helped or not, but at least I didn’t feel guilty anymore.
I walked back to the house, dragging my feet a little. It was getting darker. The door opened, creaking a little, and my cool fingers felt strikingly colder in the house’s warmth. I stared at the couch, spacing out again, and I thought of something. I walked into the kitchen, addressing Amy, “Hey, what about all your stuff? Weren’t Gene and Gary gonna help you move tomorrow?”
Graham wasn’t in the room, he must have ran upstairs to get something. She was holding the ice chest, getting ready to lug it out to the car. “Oh, don’t worry about it, they said they’d hold onto all of it at their place until we get back.” Nice guys, I thought.
She reminded me of Dana again, just like everything seemed to, because she’d always take care of everything. I wasn’t too good at planning or making sure things went alright, I’d forget minor details, little things that didn’t seem to matter, and before long they’d blow up in my face.
Now would be a good time to say why were perfect for each other, how her strengths complimented my weaknesses and vice versa. I would, too, because she really was my better half, but I’m not sure what I gave back. Maybe that’s just my shrunken ego talking, the ego that Dana usually boosted, but now that she’s gone, I don’t think I’ll ever know if I made a difference, and that hurt.
Not that it was anyone’s fault, and she always did her best to let me know that I did help, but I just wasn’t sure. Maybe that makes me weak, maybe it makes me dependant upon others, but that’s who I am, and even if I hated it, I didn’t know what I could do. It just kept gnawing at me, like it always did.
I shrugged. There was nothing I could do except my best, I suppose. “You want me to take that?” I offered, motioning to the ice chest.
“Nah, I got it.” She was independent, I knew that, she didn’t want people to help her too much, but it still bothered me. Even a little thing like that, someone just wanted to carry their own stuff, someone thinking they’re doing me a favor, is enough to make me uncertain. More than anything, I hated doing nothing.
Graham came down the stairs, dragging his backpack, and it thumped down each step. “Whaddaya got there, Graham?” He didn’t say anything, he was too focused on the task at hand. On of the handles slid out of his hand, and a few books fell out of the bag. “Jesus, Graham, is that all books?” He shrugged.
“No. It’s not all books.” His hand shot deep into the depths of the bag, and he produced his Gameboy Advance and a yo-yo. I chuckled. He replaced them, then carefully retrieved the fallen books.
“How many do you have in there?” He stared at the bag thoughtfully, and I could tell he was listing titles in his head.
“Only like twelve or thirteen. Hardcovers.” He said casually, as if that was a conservative number of books to bring on a two week trip.
“Want some help with that?” I repeated myself, friendly on the outside, begging on the inside.
“No, I can do it, Dad.” I was kind of disappointed. He was nine years old, he wasn’t supposed to want independence for a few more years yet. He struggled down another step, dragging the book with one hand, trying to make it look easy. I didn’t have much of a choice but to stand there and watch him, and by the time he was two more steps down, his face was red with exertion.
I remembered two years ago in early spring, when we were airing out the house and had most of the windows open, Graham was reading in the kitchen, and a big old bee came in and stung him on the back of his neck. In no time at all, he was totally red and puffed up, having one of the worst allergic reactions I’ve ever seen. I mean, I haven’t really seen any other ones, but it still looked bad.
I shouted to Dana, and before the 911 operator answered the phone, she was popping antihistamines into his mouth. There wasn’t much we could do after that, except wait and pray. Dana and I held him in our arms, crying and telling him to hold on, and we didn’t let go until the piercing whine of the siren and the flashing red and white lights were on our doorstep.
Dana rode in the ambulance, and I drove behind it, chasing it like a maniac, never getting more than 10 feet away from it. I was gripping the wheel so hard that my fingernails left deep gashes, deep gashes that I felt every time I drove, deep gashes that never failed to remind me how close we’d come to losing him, too. I choked back a sob, watching him try to move the bag, but he didn’t hear me.
We had rushed into the hospital, and I watched the doctors do their work, I watched them save him, but I couldn’t do anything to help but grab Dana and struggle not to shake. He turned out fine, thank god, but he’s needed to carry an Epi-Pen ever since, and I practically freak out every time I even hear the word bee.
He looked at me, his body language pleading for help, but he couldn’t say the words. I rushed over to him, and I hoisted up books. It was nice to provide a strong image for him, a powerful idol instead of the weak man he so often saw. His face lit up. “I got this.” I said.
“Thanks,” he replied, slightly out of breath.
I got to the bottom of the steps and then looked back. “Do you have your Epi-Pen?” I was stunned how close I’d come to not making sure he had it.
He nodded and pointed to the bag, “Yeah, it’s in there.” I was proud of him, proud that he was more on top of things that I was. Maybe a little independence wasn’t all bad.
“Anything else you need? Toothbrush? PJ’s?” He nodded again. “Good job, kid.” He grinned widely, but then it wavered, and he shrugged.
“It wasn’t all me. Aunt Amy helped me out.” The kid was like George Washington Jr. or something. I half-expected him to tell me that he’d just cut down one of our trees with his little hatchet.
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