Ghosts Of The Soul
By: Lizarox
The air was stagnant, saturated with an exhausted
sorrow that filled the cold room, clinging to the white walls, misting the
merciless mirror, encircling the porcelain bathtub and its occupant. Her head,
crowned by a halo of golden hair, rested somewhat stiffly on the brim of the
porcelain and her brown eyes, dull with strain, stared unflinchingly at the
intricate designs on the white ceiling. She was only half-aware of the slight
rushing sound the lukewarm waves that still retained a touch of dissipated
bubbles made as they crashed into the sides.
She blinked. And, as her eyelid fluttered open, a
tear streamed down her cheek, splashing into the water, causing a ripple in
effect. Her hand balling into a fist, she silently whispered to herself what had
become her mantra over the past few days. You must be strong. You must not cry.
In these past few days, she realized one of her greatest fears. And, she was
afraid that she would drown in her own self-pitying tears.
Drown. The impact of that one single word on,
above all things, her heart shocked her to her core. The anguish of the still
exposed wound coursed through her body, stabs of pain puncturing the sides of
her body, and a sudden coldness overwhelmed her. Shivering, she sat up, her arms
wrapping around her for much needed, however, unattainable comfort. She felt the
emptiness spreading within her, beyond her control, and she knew that she was
forever changed. She would never again feel completely whole.
******
“Gwen!” Her voice carried throughout the eerily quiet condominium as the
large wooden door banged to a shut behind her. Her brother followed softly in
her steps, carrying two full brown paper grocery bags in each arm.
“Go check on her.” His voice was subdued, but firm, and she silently
complied.
Taking the red carpeted steps one at a time, she reached the bedroom door, and
knocked lightly. Receiving no answer, she cautiously pushed the door open,
absorbing the sight of a haggard Gwen sitting on the edge of her bed. Her wet
hair, clumps of strands relaxing on her weary shoulders, framed her hollow face,
and dark circles under her eyes accented the fact.
“Gwen, Luis and I brought you some food.”
“Thanks.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, but in the silence of the
barely lit room, it thundered in Theresa’s ears. “But, I’m not hungry.”
She was sitting next to her now, pressing her palm against the older woman’s
forehead, then carefully arranging her blonde hair away from her face. “I
know, Gwen. But, you have to eat. We know you’re not eating.”
Gwen’s head hung, falling into her chest, her eyes resting on her clasped
hands. She was tired of rationalizing her actions, or rather her inaction, tired
of recounting her rollercoaster of emotions. She succumbed. “OK. I’ll be
down in a minute. I…I just need some rest.”
******
As soon as her head hit the feather pillow, its
comforting embrace enveloped her and her eyes closed in thankful submission. The
sleepless nights, with the endless pacing, had taken their toll. Sleep crashed
over her, pulling her under dark waves of oblivion. But with slumber came the
haunted dreams.
Dark, violent waves, endless in their abundance, tumbled over one another,
engulfing whatever lay in their paths. Thundering, they hit the underside of the
cliff, and the sound resonated in her ears. A sudden flash of white lightning
pierced the midnight sky, slicing the silhouette of the tree, and the airborne
sparks illuminated the shadowy figure. Approaching her, the shadow became a
recognizable face, his brown eyes achingly familiar. Her arms flew in front of
her, outstretched, and the tears began to fall, mixing with the descending rain.
The wind wailed, and she couldn’t her him call for her; it whipped her hair
across her face, and she couldn’t see him. Her hands clawed at her face to
remove them, but through the strands, she could see that he was no longer there.
“Antonio.” She said his name faintly, and it emanated from her as a choked
sob. “Antonio…Antonio…”
She woke in a cold shudder; her pillow and her face were stained with tears. Her
lower lip quivering, she was still murmuring his name. Her fingers, drained of
color, gripped her quilted bedspread, wrenching it off her. She stumbled out of
her bed, stumbled towards the drawn curtains, and clutching them in her hands,
flung the drapery open. Light flooded the darkened room. Breathing heavily, she
pressed her forehead on the cool glass of the window. Hearing footsteps behind
her, she whirled around, and saw the familiar brown.
Her eyes widened in shock, and uttered a gasped cry, “Antonio.”
“Gwen…” The man offered an apologetic response.
Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and as realization dawned, a flicker of
renewed sadness washed over her face. “It’s just that…you look so much
like him.”
******
“Where’s Luis, niña?”
“Upstairs, Mama. He went to check on Gwen.”
After placing blue and white envelopes, all of different sizes, on the white
marble counter, Pilar wrapped her arms around her daughter. Her daughter, though
she tended to tear up at the slightest implication, was not built for unhappy
thoughts. Kissing her forehead, she said, “How are you feeling?”
“It’s hard. Mostly on you and Gwen, I think. I mean, he was my brother and I
love him – loved him – but I really didn’t know him that well. I guess now
I never will.” She paused. She would regret that for the rest of her life.
Changing the subject, “More condolences?”
Pilar nodded. Releasing her daughter, she picked up the stack and,
unconsciously, began to sort them into piles. “Has she been sleeping?”
“Not much. She hasn’t been eating, either.” Theresa miserably made her way
to the refrigerator, and set various Gladware™ containers on the counter,
beside the accumulated piles. Pointing to one, and then another, and then
another, she said, “Monday’s lunch, dinner, Tuesday’s breakfast. It’s
all here, not even a morsel gone.”
They heard a door close, and footsteps descending the steps. Startled, Theresa
began hurriedly, “You have to talk to her, Mama.”
Pilar reached out to tuck a piece of Theresa’s brown hair behind her ear, and
caressed her cheek, all the while wondering what to say to the woman who would
have been her son’s fiancée.
******
“Gwen?” Pilar’s voice and heart broke when
she saw the much younger woman. She found her on the bed, wrapped in her
comforter, like a fajita, her body wracked with sobs, her hair mussed, her brown
eyes puffy from crying. In two quick steps, she was beside her, cradling her in
her arms, and she held her.
In due time, her sobs quieted, as did her breathing, and the room became still.
Gwen’s head rested in Pilar’s lap, her chest rising and falling
rhythmically, and her eyes heavy with drowsiness. It was then, in a moment of
clarity, she realized that Pilar’s hand had been clasped with hers, and she
found that reassuring.
“Pilar?”
“Yes, niña?”
She didn’t know how to broach the subject, but she drove herself to continue,
“When I was engaged to Ethan so long ago…when he told me that he was calling
off the wedding, I told him that…” She clamped her eyes shut to ward off the
coming tears. “I told him that the only way that the wedding wasn’t going to
happen was if he died.”
It came out in a rush, the words tripping over one another so that her speech
sounded slurred, and Gwen wasn’t sure if Pilar had understood her. Unsure, she
tediously opened her eyes, one after another, and sat, looking, waiting for a
response.
Pilar laughed. Placing one hand on either cheek, she lowered Gwen’s face so
that their eyes would meet. “That sounds like the Gwen I know.”
“But, Pilar…”
“Do you think that because you made such a comment so long ago that that’s
why Antonio’s plane crashed?”
“I should have stopped him from going!”
“How could you have known? How could any of us have known?”
Gwen’s mouth opened, closed, opened, and nothing came out.
“That’s right,” Pilar said softly. “We couldn’t. And now this terrible
thing has happened, but we can’t blame ourselves.”
“Then who do we blame?”
Pilar smiled. “Hijita, we don’t blame anyone. We must learn to accept it,
and move on.” She added almost uncertainly, “Antonio would want you to move
on with your life.”
Tears of frustration overwhelmed her, “Don’t you see, Pilar? I can’t move
on. Antonio was my rock.”
Again clasping her hands with Gwen’s, Pilar said, “Then we will be your
rock.”
******
A soft breeze carrying with it the scent of
blossoms and freshly mowed grass swiftly fluttered through her hair, lingering
on a couple blonde strands before disappearing. It was the first time in a long
time that Gwen had left the sanctuary of her home, and with every step she took
she was regretting her decision more and more. Instead of acknowledging the
intent glances her way, she focused on her shoes, which, she smiled, she had
bought for half the price.
Hearing a familiar voice, she cast her eyes directly in front of her. A genuine
grin replaced the ever-present sullen appearance. “Sheridan!”
“Gwen, darling! It’s nice to see you out and about again!”
“It feels good to be out with the living,” she lied.
Sheridan’s smile faltered. “This is Natalie. The Logan’s little girl? Her
parents are in Aspen.”
Greeting the girl, she again noted the troubled look that plagued the otherwise
perfect face of her best friend. “Sheridan?”
“Natalie, why don’t you go look at some dolls in the toy store, darling?”
“Sheridan, what is it?”
Sheridan looked from Natalie to Gwen; “Her parents are gone. Again. And they
won’t be back for a couple more weeks.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Muffy Logan never struck me as the mother type. Poor
girl.”
“Muffy told me that they’d be back today, and I can’t…Gwen, I can’t
look after Natalie anymore.”
“Oh, Sheridan. You can’t possibly mean…”
“Please, Gwen? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”
Gwen glanced over at the girl lightly fingering a china doll, looking just as
lost as she felt. They would, she supposed, have something in common. “All
right.”
******
The nights were the hardest, she thought. The
silence of the house accompanied by the darkness of the hours gave her too much
time to reflect on things that she frankly didn’t want to think about.
Quietly, so as not to wake a sleeping Natalie, she stepped downstairs and into
the kitchen to get a glass of milk. To her astonishment, she found Natalie, with
her suitcase, headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh. How are you going to get there?”
“I have enough money for the bus.”
“Oh, really? And what are you going to do when you get to wherever it is that
you’re going?”
“Nothing. I don’t have to do anything. My parents are rich.”
“Natalie, darling, you can’t go anywhere.”
“Gwen, dahlin,’” she mimicked, “you can’t tell me what to do! You’re
not my mother!”
Gwen captured the fleeing child, kicking and screaming, in her arms, and set her
down on the oversized sofa. Positioning a hand on either side of the girl so
that she could not run, she spoke, “I know I’m not your mother. I’m not
trying to replace her. I just…” Gwen, horrified, realized that she didn’t
know what she wanted anymore; she didn’t even know why she had even agreed to
take in someone else’s child.
“You just what?” she asked, snidely. When Natalie caught a glimpse of the
hint of sadness in the frail woman’s face, she took pity and said more kindly,
“It’s OK.”
“It will be. Everything will be OK. Your parents will be home in a week or
two.”
“And then they’ll leave again.”
Gwen sighed. “I know…what it feels like to have someone leave you. A friend
of mine recently…died in a plane crash.”
“But your friend didn’t leave you on purpose!”
“Yes, darling, but my friend isn’t coming back.”
The child, silent for a moment, cocked her head to the side. “Why are you up
so late?”
“I was getting a glass of milk. Would you like some?”
“And some cookies?”
“And some cookies. And then we’re going to tuck you in.”
******
“Do you think Pilar will like these flowers?”
“I think Pilar will love those flowers.” Gwen’s hand came down upon the
red door before rapping on it three times. In a moment, it swung open, revealing
a petite, brown-headed woman.
Enveloping Gwen in a warm embrace, she squealed her greetings, and then said,
“Mama’s been expecting you. And you, too, Natalie.” Theresa held out her
hand to the little girl, and continued, “Why don’t we go show her these
lovely flowers? And, Gwen,” she threw over her shoulder, “Luis wants to see
you.”
Inwardly groaning, she summoned up her courage and stepped into the small but
cozy home. Towering in the living room, and looking rather out-of-place but
seemingly comfortable, was Luis, and beside him, a diminutive Sheridan.
“Sheridan tells me that you’ve been taking care of a child?”
She laughed, “You get straight to the point, Luis, don’t you?”
“Gwen, do you think you’re up to this?”
Looking at Sheridan, who nodded knowingly, she beamed delightedly. “I don’t
know how I’ll ever thank you, but you can’t protect me forever. When Antonio
died, I thought that I would never be able to pick up the pieces. I didn’t
think I had anything to live for.” She bit her lower lip, then persisted,
“And now I do.”
“Natalie?”
“In part. It helped to see that someone needed me, and I needed that. But,”
she paused, “I’m having a baby. Antonio’s baby. So, even if Antonio
isn’t here, he’ll always be with me.” She raised her hand before the
congratulations could out of hand. “We can celebrate later. I have to go see
someone first.”
******
The waves broke against the shore, but unlike her
nightmares, it was a soothing, consoling sound. Standing at the edge of the
cliff, she threw one of the garlands of flowers that she and Natalie had worked
on into the sea. The wind, salty from the ocean below, carried her voice out to
sea.
“Goodbye, Antonio.”
"…And I believe that love is stronger than death."
(Robert Fulghum - Storyteller's Creed)