Title: "Departure"
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Author: Tanya "DragonLady"
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Reader's Disclaimer: First of all, I know you' all will want me to add to this story. I know this will be disappointing, but I can't. This is written in a particular style, a series of flashbacks that are specific to one character. To add to it would mean either switching from 1st person to 2nd or 3rd person perspective, adding a different character voice (sans memory), or dropping the present format and re-writing the whole story. Now, I am willing to consider writing a completely different fic as a companion piece to this one. However, at this time, I have two other stories to finish, so that may take some time. Now, that said, I hope you enjoy this little story- and I deeply look forward to you kind reviews.
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Some things in life are true. Childhood can be bliss. Mine was fantastic; I truly rode through life in a dream. I lived in the country, played with my sister, cousins, big farm dogs. I, as they say, enjoyed every moment. However, there are many untruths in life as well. I was never kissed on my sixteenth birthday; I didn't get drunk at twenty-one; I never saw black clouds on my thirtieth. I had, till this moment, walked through life as an entity separate from the active lives around me.
.
.
.
I remember the sound of squealing tires.
.
Hours, maybe days later, somebody is leaning over me, checking my pulse, checking my eyes with a bright penlight. I squint, but my eyes don't move. I can hear them talking in a funny, muffled tone. Someone is crying.
.
.
.
As I drift out again, my mind returns to the place where I'd been happiest.
.
It is 1978, and I am ten years old. I remember feeling so old now that I had two numbers in my age. I am surrounded by nature. I leave the house in the morning, barefoot, and return at night- long after stars decorate the skies. The following year, my family will move into the city. That will be the first major move of my life. I remember my sister being so excited- she'd hated living in the country. She said it made her feel like a hillbilly. But so much has happened, we can't make it there anymore. My father had walked out on us not long before; disappeared forever from our lives. I remember crying for him late into the night. I remember how he used to call me his precious girl, and he'd spin me around in the air. I'd spread my arms out like a bird, and close my eyes and pretend I could fly.
.
.
And then he left us.
.
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The pressure of small hands on my arm pulled the memory from me. I tried to sit up, to say I was fine... but my body denied the signals I tried to send it. I drifted away again.
.
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Some time later, hours, days, I awake to the smell of fresh coffee. I open my eyes, smiling at the aroma. My husband is leaning over me with a steaming cup in his hand. He kisses me lightly as he passes the warm ceramic to me. "How's my girl?" He asks, placing a hand on my swelling stomach. I smile back. "I'm good, just a little tired." I take a small sip, wincing at the bitterness on my tongue. "Mm, any cream?" He reaches behind himself for the carton of half & half. "Thanks sweetheart." I add a liberal splash; I'm drinking for two after all. He's looking at me, rubbing his hand across the silk shrouding my belly. His eyes aren't smiling. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He looks away, his hand lifting from me. I shiver at the coldness left behind. He seems to gather himself. Then, he turns back. Whatever had been in his eyes is gone. "Nothing darlin'", he says, that smile back in his eyes, "Nothin's wrong at all." He kisses my cheek then, and stands to his feet. "I'll see you after work, k?" I give him a little wave in return. I wouldn't realize, till my son is six months old, that he's been cheating on me for over a year.
.
.
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A stab of pain worms through my head, and I grasp it like a rope. It's the first real sensation I've felt in, what seems like, a lifetime. I know I make a sound, I can feel the vibration in my throat. Then, something like a pin stabs me in the arm, and sensation fades again.
.
.
.
I'm older now, then when last I'd traversed the pathways of my past. I'm sitting on a boulder, and the mist of a nearby waterfall rains coldly on my shoulders. My son is four, and holding his father's hand. This is the first time in two years my ex-husband has used his visitation rights. My sweet boy grips his hand as he toddles over the uneven ground, stumbling a little on the rocky earth. His father lifts him a little by his fragile arm, righting him, and I half-stand, worried he'll hurt my boy. The look I receive for my concern is froth with irritation. Benjy's hand loosens as my ex folds his arms, glaring at me. At that moment, my child, my treasure, falls out of sight. My scream exists both in the past and the present- I feel it tighten my throat. Rushing to the edge of the small ravine, I look down to see my child lying at the bottom. His small, pudgy leg is bleeding, and he is shrieking in pain. I turn- and see his Daddy, standing frozen in shock. I scream at him to help, but he doesn't even move. Galvanized by the cries from my son, I slide into the ravine, skinning the palms of my hands in the process (though I don't realize I've done this until we arrive at the hospital). Landing beside him, I check him over carefully before I even pick him up. Except for the gash on his leg, he seems ok. I lift him in my arms, and with extreme care, manage to get to solid ground. I carry him all the way back to the car. My ex follows us, and never once offers to help.
.
I wouldn't have let him if he tried.
.
.
.
Something touches my lips- something cool. Someone is wiping my face with a damp cloth. I can make out a misty light through my closed lids. There is a sound like rushing water. I swear I can almost make out voices. I want to cry with relief- my hearing isn't gone after all. There is another touch, a hand on my face, before the darkness pulls me under again.
.
.
.
As memory replaces reality, I realize that light is blinding me. I squint my eyes through the glare, raising my hand to block the light. "No, no, sweetie, keep your hand down." A figure moves beyond the glare. I make out the form of a heavy-set man, wearing a faded brown jacket over a striped shirt. He adjusts the lights a bit, angling them down slightly. Then he walks up to me, and I realize I'm clutching my arms around my body- hiding my nudity. "Come on babe, I don't have time for shyness." He pulls my arms away, exposing my shame. I turn away my eyes, avoiding the expression in his, as he looks me over. "Very nice." He mutters, running his hand across my collarbone. I jerk away, and he laughs deep in his throat. "You need to make a little extra sometime?" I look up in time to catch his wink. Then, before I can respond, he's all business again. "Sam, lets get a few in black and white while we're at it!" He yells, walking back behind the light. I'm instructed to lie on my elbow, arch my back, and smile. Pushing down embarrassment with an iron will, I stare into that black lens, and try not to flinch in the blinding flash.
.
.
.
Someone is talking to me. I groan, and feel the soft cloth again. "It's ok, it's ok..." Someone murmurs softly. I am just able to turn my head towards the voice; a tremendous effort, I find, as the pain races up my spine. I realize I'm whimpering quietly as the hand reaches out again, soothing my brow. But the comfort fades as my mind pulls me under again, dragging me beneath the waves.
.
.
.
My shoulder itches, and I scratch absently as I stand next to the cop. He raises his hand, knocking on the heavy wooden door for the second time. I glance up at him, taking in the strong features, thick mustache, and mixed expression of sadness and determination. He straightens his shoulders, looking down at me as he breathes out his nose. Clenching his teeth, he gets ready to knock for the third time when there is a sound behind the door. A lock turns, and another, and another, and finally, a chain. The door opens a crack, and a brown eye peers out, regarding us nervously. The cop next to me crosses his arms. "Well?" The brown eye disappears, and the door swings open just enough to let us in.
.
I regard the man across the room from me. He is a bit taller than me, with dark curly hair, cut short. His brown eyes are currently downcast, staring at the floor. He is dressed in a tight, brown suit with a plain white shirt, buttoned up to the neck. The cop walks up to him. "You remember I called this morning, right?" The other man nods, looking up tightly. "Yes, I just... I just thought, you know, that you'd changed your mind." The cop shakes his head in frustration. "I'm not changing my mind, and I'm not about to let you lose yours." I can sense something pass between the two men, an unspoken conversation. I also can't stand still any longer. I was hired for a reason. "How are ya!" I say brightly, walking forward. "The Captain thought I could be of some help around here, so why don't I get started?" The Captain backs away as I step forward, offering my hand. I'm not surprised when the man across from me doesn't take it. "Well, we'll work on that." I say brightly, setting my purse down on the table. The reaction is immediate. "What are you doing!" Yells the man, using a towel to lift my purse by its strap. He looks around, trying to find an appropriate place to put it down. I stand back, waiting to see what he'll do. He has a look of desperation as he casts about, trying to find the perfect spot. I only react as he starts for the trash can. Grabbing the purse back, I smile. "We'll work on that too." I don't even notice as the Captain leaves. I also don't realize what it is I've agreed to. From this day forth, my life is no longer my own.
.
.
.
Sensation returns to my limbs. My hand is halfway to my forehead before I realize I can move it. Another hand interrupts the motion, catching my fingers in a soft grip.
.
"Sharona?"
.
My lids fight to open, my eyes roll in their sockets as I force myself to focus. Blurred motion, and blinding light greet me as I finally succeed. In spite of my efforts, my eyes close involuntarily. However, having managed once, I struggle again, and am able to meet the glare. Only seconds pass as my vision adjusts. The blurriness lessens, but doesn't fade completely. I see a hand pass over my face and come to rest on my cheek. I look over, and smile. He looks back at me. "Hi." I whisper with a voice like crushed gravel. "Hi." He says back, smiling through shining brown eyes. When my eyes close again, I am no longer attacked by memory. Instead, soft dreams carry me through the night. But throughout my slumber, one element remains to comfort me, to let me know I am no longer apart from the world around me. It is a hand, soft and strong, resting on my cheek, caressing the nightmares away.
.
Author: Tanya "DragonLady"
.
Reader's Disclaimer: First of all, I know you' all will want me to add to this story. I know this will be disappointing, but I can't. This is written in a particular style, a series of flashbacks that are specific to one character. To add to it would mean either switching from 1st person to 2nd or 3rd person perspective, adding a different character voice (sans memory), or dropping the present format and re-writing the whole story. Now, I am willing to consider writing a completely different fic as a companion piece to this one. However, at this time, I have two other stories to finish, so that may take some time. Now, that said, I hope you enjoy this little story- and I deeply look forward to you kind reviews.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Some things in life are true. Childhood can be bliss. Mine was fantastic; I truly rode through life in a dream. I lived in the country, played with my sister, cousins, big farm dogs. I, as they say, enjoyed every moment. However, there are many untruths in life as well. I was never kissed on my sixteenth birthday; I didn't get drunk at twenty-one; I never saw black clouds on my thirtieth. I had, till this moment, walked through life as an entity separate from the active lives around me.
.
.
.
I remember the sound of squealing tires.
.
Hours, maybe days later, somebody is leaning over me, checking my pulse, checking my eyes with a bright penlight. I squint, but my eyes don't move. I can hear them talking in a funny, muffled tone. Someone is crying.
.
.
.
As I drift out again, my mind returns to the place where I'd been happiest.
.
It is 1978, and I am ten years old. I remember feeling so old now that I had two numbers in my age. I am surrounded by nature. I leave the house in the morning, barefoot, and return at night- long after stars decorate the skies. The following year, my family will move into the city. That will be the first major move of my life. I remember my sister being so excited- she'd hated living in the country. She said it made her feel like a hillbilly. But so much has happened, we can't make it there anymore. My father had walked out on us not long before; disappeared forever from our lives. I remember crying for him late into the night. I remember how he used to call me his precious girl, and he'd spin me around in the air. I'd spread my arms out like a bird, and close my eyes and pretend I could fly.
.
.
And then he left us.
.
.
.
The pressure of small hands on my arm pulled the memory from me. I tried to sit up, to say I was fine... but my body denied the signals I tried to send it. I drifted away again.
.
.
.
Some time later, hours, days, I awake to the smell of fresh coffee. I open my eyes, smiling at the aroma. My husband is leaning over me with a steaming cup in his hand. He kisses me lightly as he passes the warm ceramic to me. "How's my girl?" He asks, placing a hand on my swelling stomach. I smile back. "I'm good, just a little tired." I take a small sip, wincing at the bitterness on my tongue. "Mm, any cream?" He reaches behind himself for the carton of half & half. "Thanks sweetheart." I add a liberal splash; I'm drinking for two after all. He's looking at me, rubbing his hand across the silk shrouding my belly. His eyes aren't smiling. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He looks away, his hand lifting from me. I shiver at the coldness left behind. He seems to gather himself. Then, he turns back. Whatever had been in his eyes is gone. "Nothing darlin'", he says, that smile back in his eyes, "Nothin's wrong at all." He kisses my cheek then, and stands to his feet. "I'll see you after work, k?" I give him a little wave in return. I wouldn't realize, till my son is six months old, that he's been cheating on me for over a year.
.
.
.
A stab of pain worms through my head, and I grasp it like a rope. It's the first real sensation I've felt in, what seems like, a lifetime. I know I make a sound, I can feel the vibration in my throat. Then, something like a pin stabs me in the arm, and sensation fades again.
.
.
.
I'm older now, then when last I'd traversed the pathways of my past. I'm sitting on a boulder, and the mist of a nearby waterfall rains coldly on my shoulders. My son is four, and holding his father's hand. This is the first time in two years my ex-husband has used his visitation rights. My sweet boy grips his hand as he toddles over the uneven ground, stumbling a little on the rocky earth. His father lifts him a little by his fragile arm, righting him, and I half-stand, worried he'll hurt my boy. The look I receive for my concern is froth with irritation. Benjy's hand loosens as my ex folds his arms, glaring at me. At that moment, my child, my treasure, falls out of sight. My scream exists both in the past and the present- I feel it tighten my throat. Rushing to the edge of the small ravine, I look down to see my child lying at the bottom. His small, pudgy leg is bleeding, and he is shrieking in pain. I turn- and see his Daddy, standing frozen in shock. I scream at him to help, but he doesn't even move. Galvanized by the cries from my son, I slide into the ravine, skinning the palms of my hands in the process (though I don't realize I've done this until we arrive at the hospital). Landing beside him, I check him over carefully before I even pick him up. Except for the gash on his leg, he seems ok. I lift him in my arms, and with extreme care, manage to get to solid ground. I carry him all the way back to the car. My ex follows us, and never once offers to help.
.
I wouldn't have let him if he tried.
.
.
.
Something touches my lips- something cool. Someone is wiping my face with a damp cloth. I can make out a misty light through my closed lids. There is a sound like rushing water. I swear I can almost make out voices. I want to cry with relief- my hearing isn't gone after all. There is another touch, a hand on my face, before the darkness pulls me under again.
.
.
.
As memory replaces reality, I realize that light is blinding me. I squint my eyes through the glare, raising my hand to block the light. "No, no, sweetie, keep your hand down." A figure moves beyond the glare. I make out the form of a heavy-set man, wearing a faded brown jacket over a striped shirt. He adjusts the lights a bit, angling them down slightly. Then he walks up to me, and I realize I'm clutching my arms around my body- hiding my nudity. "Come on babe, I don't have time for shyness." He pulls my arms away, exposing my shame. I turn away my eyes, avoiding the expression in his, as he looks me over. "Very nice." He mutters, running his hand across my collarbone. I jerk away, and he laughs deep in his throat. "You need to make a little extra sometime?" I look up in time to catch his wink. Then, before I can respond, he's all business again. "Sam, lets get a few in black and white while we're at it!" He yells, walking back behind the light. I'm instructed to lie on my elbow, arch my back, and smile. Pushing down embarrassment with an iron will, I stare into that black lens, and try not to flinch in the blinding flash.
.
.
.
Someone is talking to me. I groan, and feel the soft cloth again. "It's ok, it's ok..." Someone murmurs softly. I am just able to turn my head towards the voice; a tremendous effort, I find, as the pain races up my spine. I realize I'm whimpering quietly as the hand reaches out again, soothing my brow. But the comfort fades as my mind pulls me under again, dragging me beneath the waves.
.
.
.
My shoulder itches, and I scratch absently as I stand next to the cop. He raises his hand, knocking on the heavy wooden door for the second time. I glance up at him, taking in the strong features, thick mustache, and mixed expression of sadness and determination. He straightens his shoulders, looking down at me as he breathes out his nose. Clenching his teeth, he gets ready to knock for the third time when there is a sound behind the door. A lock turns, and another, and another, and finally, a chain. The door opens a crack, and a brown eye peers out, regarding us nervously. The cop next to me crosses his arms. "Well?" The brown eye disappears, and the door swings open just enough to let us in.
.
I regard the man across the room from me. He is a bit taller than me, with dark curly hair, cut short. His brown eyes are currently downcast, staring at the floor. He is dressed in a tight, brown suit with a plain white shirt, buttoned up to the neck. The cop walks up to him. "You remember I called this morning, right?" The other man nods, looking up tightly. "Yes, I just... I just thought, you know, that you'd changed your mind." The cop shakes his head in frustration. "I'm not changing my mind, and I'm not about to let you lose yours." I can sense something pass between the two men, an unspoken conversation. I also can't stand still any longer. I was hired for a reason. "How are ya!" I say brightly, walking forward. "The Captain thought I could be of some help around here, so why don't I get started?" The Captain backs away as I step forward, offering my hand. I'm not surprised when the man across from me doesn't take it. "Well, we'll work on that." I say brightly, setting my purse down on the table. The reaction is immediate. "What are you doing!" Yells the man, using a towel to lift my purse by its strap. He looks around, trying to find an appropriate place to put it down. I stand back, waiting to see what he'll do. He has a look of desperation as he casts about, trying to find the perfect spot. I only react as he starts for the trash can. Grabbing the purse back, I smile. "We'll work on that too." I don't even notice as the Captain leaves. I also don't realize what it is I've agreed to. From this day forth, my life is no longer my own.
.
.
.
Sensation returns to my limbs. My hand is halfway to my forehead before I realize I can move it. Another hand interrupts the motion, catching my fingers in a soft grip.
.
"Sharona?"
.
My lids fight to open, my eyes roll in their sockets as I force myself to focus. Blurred motion, and blinding light greet me as I finally succeed. In spite of my efforts, my eyes close involuntarily. However, having managed once, I struggle again, and am able to meet the glare. Only seconds pass as my vision adjusts. The blurriness lessens, but doesn't fade completely. I see a hand pass over my face and come to rest on my cheek. I look over, and smile. He looks back at me. "Hi." I whisper with a voice like crushed gravel. "Hi." He says back, smiling through shining brown eyes. When my eyes close again, I am no longer attacked by memory. Instead, soft dreams carry me through the night. But throughout my slumber, one element remains to comfort me, to let me know I am no longer apart from the world around me. It is a hand, soft and strong, resting on my cheek, caressing the nightmares away.