Week 39: Impact
It was just one step; one step that changed everything. As Carla took that fateful step, she felt nothing. She felt nothing when that almost three thousand pounds of speeding metal made impact with her body, felt nothing as she was flung into the air and soared like a bird, so tantalisingly close to freedom, and nothing when she landed with a thud on the asphalt, her body lying crumpled in the middle of the road.
"Carla!" Peter cried out as he ran towards her, horrified by the sound of squealing tyres as the driver tried in vain to stop before impact.
But Carla did not hear him, did not even know that he was there. Just as she no longer felt pain, she knew no more of consciousness. For she had found that peace she had so desperately craved ever since that night her son had been so cruelly taken from her.
That morning…
Carla stared at herself in the mirror, scrutinising every aspect of her appearance in an effort to spot the difference. But to her eyes she looked the same as before. She was as well-groomed as ever, dressed in her trademark black, although today she wore it not as a fashion statement, but as a shroud. No, there were no physical differences; none, that is, until she turned to the side and, craning her neck, studied her profile.
There it was, the only physical sign remaining of the son she had lost. She placed her hand gently on her belly. It wasn't flat, not like before. There was still that small bump, that baby fat that lingered, a clear sign that he had once been there. But now he was gone.
"Carla?" Peter spoke hesitantly from where he stood hovering nervously at the door of the bedroom. "Are you ready?"
"Ready?" she asked incredulously, turning to face him and fixing upon him eyes that were filled with a silent plea for an understanding he could never attain. "I'll never be ready."
Carla dropped Peter's arm as they reached the front entrance of the imposing grey stone church, with its soaring arched windows and towering spire, and walked into the comforting arms of Nick, who was waiting there for her, Leanne as always by his side.
"You okay?" he mumbled into her hair, her only response a shake of her head and a stifled sob as she buried her face in his chest.
"Shall we go in, love?" Peter asked her gently as he placed his hand gently on her arm.
"No!" Carla snapped, pulling away from Nick and reverting to type by taking control of the situation. "I want to wait for him here."
"That's fine, whatever you want."
Peter backed away from the grieving parents, his hands in the air, anxious to cause no offence, not today.
"You go in," Carla urged him, more of a command than a suggestion. "You and Leanne go in. Me and Nick, we'll wait for him."
"Are you sure–?"
"Please, Peter," Carla pleaded with him, her tone wavering towards acerbity. "We're his mum and dad, we need to do this together."
"Of course. Lea?" Peter looked to his estranged wife, his eyebrow raised in an unspoken question.
"Yeah," Leanne nodded, glancing hesitantly at Carla, unsure if she should speak now or bite her tongue. Missing completely the subtle shake of Nick's head, she decided to speak. "Listen, Carla, I'm really sorry about–"
"I know." Carla abruptly cut her off and, turning her back on the other woman, instead chose to face the street, watching and waiting for her son to arrive.
"Lea, come on," Peter said. "Let's go inside."
"But–"
"For once in your life," Peter hissed at her, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the door. "Do as you're told."
"I'm sorry," Nick apologised to Carla as Peter and Leanne disappeared inside the church. "About Leanne."
"It's okay," Carla shook her head. "I know she means well, I just… I can't right now."
"I know," Nick nodded.
"You'll explain to her?"
"Don't even worry about it."
"Thanks."
The pair fell into a sympathetic silence as they shared their vigil together, on the lookout for the hearse that was carrying the body of their little boy to appear. Instinctively, they clung to each other, more united in death than they ever had been in life.
"Oh god," Nick muttered as he caught sight of the anticipated and yet dreaded hearse as it turned the corner into the final approach to the church.
Carla was temporarily robbed of her ability to speak as the vehicle slowly approached them, able to offer no comfort to Nick except to grip his hand tightly and lean in a little closer to him.
As she watched, she caught sight of the flowers first. White lilies, a floral symbol of purity and innocence, or so the funeral director had explained to her. All she knew was that they were beautiful, just like Jesse. And then, as the spectacle of the flowers wore off, she saw that impossibly small box that lay underneath them, that tiny white coffin that held the body of her son.
At the sight of Jesse's eternal resting place and with a pathetic sob escaping her lips, her legs gave way from underneath her, Nick's grasp on her the only thing that stopped her from falling to the floor.
"It's okay," Nick whispered to her, his arms wrapped around her body, holding her up. "It's gonna be okay."
"It's not," Carla sobbed. "It'll never be okay."
"If you want to go home," he suggested. "You don't have to do this."
"I need to," Carla insisted, determined to stay strong, to see this day through to the end. "I need to do this, for him. For Jesse."
Carla didn't remember much of the service itself, it was all a blur to her, as they sang hymns and the vicar gave such words of comfort as could be possible under such circumstances. Carla had refused to speak publicly at the service; she did not trust herself to maintain any semblance of control if she were to open her mouth and speak what was in her heart. Brief snippets of Nick's words managed to enter her consciousness as he stood at the front of the church, his face ashen as he looked on that coffin that, tiny as it was, would not be denied attention. But little else affected her.
And then, before she knew it, she was standing on the front steps of the church again, blankly thanking her fellow mourners who offered their condolences as best they could, but who knew not what to say in the face of such a tragedy. There were no 'he lived a good life' assurances as might have been given for the bereavement of the elderly, nor any trite mumbled platitudes on those precious memories they could hold in their hearts forever.
There were simply not enough memories for Carla to hold onto.
One week was not enough time to gather memories that should have stretched across a lifetime. There hadn't been enough time to know him as a person, not enough time for his individual characteristics to embed themselves onto Carla's eternal memory. Already, she was beginning to forget the exact curves of his face, the way he would gaze up at her as she fed him, the sound of his cry, each cry with its own unique quality; the cry if he wanted to be changed, the cry if he wanted to be fed, or the cry if he just wanted her to hold him. Each of those precious memories were slowly slipping from her mind with every moment that passed. And she was powerless to stop them from leaving her alone with that gaping nothingness that threatened to consume her.
Carla peered into the vestibule of the church, searching for Peter's familiar figure. "Come on, Peter," she muttered impatiently under her breath, scanning the dimness within. "There you are."
Having spotted Peter deep in conversation with the vicar, Carla strode into the church, ignoring the looks of pity being cast her way by the stragglers in the congregation. She no longer cared about being nice or saving face, all she wanted was to leave.
"Peter," she spoke his name as she approached him, interrupting him without regret. "Can we go?"
"I won't be a minute, love."
"Peter, I want to go now."
"Why don't you have a seat," Peter suggested. "Have a rest while I–"
"For god's sake, stop fussing!" Carla snapped. "I don't want to sit down, I don't want to rest, I want to go home."
"Alright, love, if you'll give me –"
"Oh, do what you want, I'll be outside."
"I'm sorry," Peter apologised to the vicar. "She's very upset. Obviously."
"Please," the vicar waved away Peter's apology. "There's no need. To have suffered what she has suffered is unimaginable for most people. What is needed, what she needs right now, is your love, not your apologies."
"I don't know what to say to her," Peter confessed. "How can anything I say make it better?"
"What did I just tell you?"
"She needs my love?" Peter shrugged.
"Not your words."
"Just my love."
"So," the vicar said, motioning towards the door. "Why don't you go and give that to her?"
Carla stormed out of the church once more and, anxious to get completely away from the church, away from the place where her son was buried, made a beeline for the front gate and out onto the footpath that was bounded on one side by the church fence and on the other by the road.
And there she waited in near silence, the only sound a droning hum in Carla's ears from the cars speeding past, their drivers paying no heed to the woman in black who was stood there, completely still as if frozen, a living statue.
The thought entered Carla's mind, wholly unbidden and unexpected but, once it was there, it refused to leave. Not until it had whispered to her sweet promises to reunite her with Jesse, not before it had teased her with the seemingly unattainable chance to be with her son once more.
For Carla, it was not a conscious decision. It was only natural, was it not, that she would want to see Jesse again? And so, she did the only thing that, in that moment, made any sense. She stepped off the kerb and into oncoming traffic.
Darkness surrounded Carla; more than the darkness of her bedroom at night, more than the darkness on the street after all the lamps had been extinguished. This was a darkness that permeated every corner of her existence, a darkness that allowed no spark of light. No light and no life.
But even the darkest of nights eventually has a dawn. And so it was for Carla that she was called out of the darkness and into the light. And she was glad of it, because the darkness she had travelled into had held no comfort for her, there was no joyful reunion with her son. There was nothing, only darkness.
As her eyelids flickered, the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital room was at first blinding, overwhelming her senses, and searing her eyes so that she screwed them shut tight. These few movements from Carla were enough to rouse Peter from the almost trance-like state he had entered into as he had sat by her bedside, watching over her, praying for her to awaken.
"Carla?" he whispered softly to her. "Carla, can you hear me?"
"Eurghhhh…" Carla moaned, unable as yet to form complete words.
"Oh, god," Peter gasped, the relief in his voice palpable. "Thank god you're awake. I was… I don't know what I would've done if you…"
Carla tilted her head so that her cheek was resting against the soft squishiness of the pillow and her face was directed towards Peter. She looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes at the thought of losing her.
"I'm… sorry," she croaked in a barely audible voice.
"Don't," he shook his head. "Do you… do you remember? What happened?"
Carla nodded. It was the smallest of movements, but it was all the acknowledgement Peter needed to see. "Am I…?"
"You've had an operation," he explained to her. "There was some internal bleeding, but they managed to stop that. You've got a few broken ribs, a fair bit of bruising. I'd say you were very lucky."
"Yeah," she nodded, dropping her eyes to avoid his inquisitive gaze.
"Carla?" He spoke her name in a hoarse whisper. "I need to ask you something."
Carla slowly raised her eyes to meet his gaze, unable to utter a word, her look the only encouragement she had the power to give him.
"Was it, umm…?" Peter stumbled over his words, not wanting to ask the question, fearful of the answer. But he needed to know. "Was it an accident?"
It seemed to the both of them that time stood still, the moment dragging out into what felt an eternity, until Carla found the courage to reply. That pause was enough for Peter, he knew the answer before Carla's lips formed the word that revealed to him the brutal truth.
"No."
"Right," Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh; he needed some time for Carla's revelation to sink in. "Do you still feel the same?"
"Depends," Carla shrugged. "The way I feel, it changes from one moment to the next. I don't…"
"What?"
"I don't want to… you know."
"Then don't," Peter pleaded with her. "I'll help you. I won't leave you, not for one second."
"Oh, Peter," Carla sighed. "Do you really think it's that easy? That if you just watch me 24/7 you'll stop me from doing something stupid? Again."
"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Carla, what you're feeling, it's temporary. You won't always feel so… hopeless."
"Won't I? It doesn't feel temporary. I can't see a way through."
"Look, I'm not saying you'll forget about him, or that you'll ever get over losing him. I know you won't, not completely. But, I have to believe that things will get better. You just need to believe it too. And, once you get through this part, this dark part… When you get through it, you'll be glad you're alive."
"I don't think I can do it, Peter. I'm not strong enough."
"You don't have to be. I can be strong for you. When you want to cry, cry on my shoulder. When you want to scream at the world, scream at me, take it out on me, I can take it. I can get you through this, I will get you through this. What do you say? Hmm?"
