Shrouded In Silence

5





The aroma of pasta cooked in garlic, butter, and cheese drifted through the café while a man with an accordion walked among the tables, playing familiar Italian tunes and occasionally bursting into singing. Off in the distance, the busy sounds of the Piazza Campo dei Fiori added a touch of local color from one of Rome's most picturesque squares and markets. Craftsmen displayed their leather products in stalls next to a multitude of tiny shops selling everything from roses to eggplants. The chatter and clatter drifting in only added to the atmosphere of Der Pallaro restaurant.

Michelle set her fork down and looked around the expansive room. "Jack, I'm surprised we came here tonight. It's not inexpensive. We've never been to this café before."

"I thought you'd like a change of pace and the food has an excellent reputation. They serve some of everything they are making in any given day, and their portions are generous. I'd always heard we should drop in. Today seemed like a good time." His smile appeared tense. "I bought you that new Bisou Bisou tunic because I like the large red flowers against the black design, and you look chic in those leggings as well. When I saw them on the rack in the window, I knew I had to get it for you."

Michelle looked at the fettuccine on a plate painted with flourishes of a meandering colorful design. "Yes," she said hesitantly. "I love the new clothes and your thoughtfulness, but we don't often eat out at such expensive bistros."

"A breath of fresh air always invigorates," Jack said. "Puts more zip in your step." He chuckled. "Maybe, a little filet will strike a note of romance in your heart tonight. Hmm?" He forced a chuckle again.

Michelle thought his laugh to be a bit nervous. He hadn't bought such beautiful clothing just on a whim. Some unexplained situation was unfolding, and he clearly didn't want to tell her what it was. Not that romance wasn't in the air, but more was going on than Jack had explained. He didn't generally hide things from her, but she intuitively sensed when more was going on. He hadn't picked out this festive restaurant because perfume floated through the air.

"Look, dear," Michelle used the most thoughtful and kind voice she had, "I think we're here because something more than a full moon is out tonight." She leaned over the table. "Did you get a speeding ticket?"

"Oh, no! No. No. Nothing like that."

"Then level with me. Why are we really out on the town tonight."

Jack took a deep breath. "Well . . . I . . . I . . . just thought you might have been bothered because of the bombing in the subway system." He rubbed his chin nervously. "I was concerned because I know how upset these incidences make you."

His answer hit all of her panic buttons. It wasn't what she had expected. Suddenly, Michelle couldn't catch her breath, and her head felt extremely light. An uncontrollable urge surged up from within and her heart started to pound. His explanation completely flipped her.

"I know that fear is bumping around these streets like a runaway motorbike. Everywhere I turn, I hear people talking about the terrorist attack, and I know that has to be highly upsetting to you."

Michelle tried not to respond, but her hands had started to shake, and she immediately pulled them under the table.

"Maybe you don't want to talk about the incident," Jack said. "I only want you to know that I'm willing to listen if you're struggling with the impact."

"You certainly outflanked me," she sputtered and cleared her throat. "Yes, you certainly did."

Jack was intensely studying her face. Not a good sign.

"You're getting a little pale, dear. Are you all right?"

"Jack, just because I get nervous when bombs go off doesn't make me into a freak." Her voice raised a notch. "Sure, I was only a child when that awful event happened to my family, but I'm OK. Don't worry so much." She could feel her hands becoming wet. "Really."

"I just don't want you to get overanxious," Jack said.

Michelle could feel her knees becoming wobbly and knew she must get out of the chair quickly. "Honestly, I'm fine, Jack. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back."

"You're not OK," Jack said. "Let me call—"

"I'm fine," Michelle said more dogmatically than she intended. "I'll be right back."

Her first steps away from the table felt so uncertain than she feared she might fall, but the bathroom wasn't that far away. Michelle stared at the door and knew she had to get inside that small room before she exploded. Once inside the bathroom, she dropped the toilet lid and sat down. The room began to whirl around her.

Jack had been more than right. The subway incident had triggered terrible emotions she had to fight. In the middle of the night she had tried to pour her anxiety into a secret container she tried to store deep in her unconscious. Although she had partially succeeded, Michelle knew a confrontational stimulus could pop the cork. For reasons she couldn't grasp, that had happened tonight.

Michelle watched her fingers start to shrink and her hands change into the shape of a five-year-old child's. The wall, only feet in front of her face, was becoming a window. In the background, she could see the city of Cerignola and the road sloping up toward the rolling mountains. Her sharp-pointed shoes disappeared and shiny, black-patent leather, little-girl shoes took their place. The wall vanished and Michelle could see the back of her father's head in the front seat ahead of her.

"Thank you for a wonderful weekend," her father told her mother.

"Of course, my love," Maria said back and smiled.

Their car kept moving steadily up the incline, and little Michelle could see the mountains getting larger and beginning to loom over them. She could still almost smell the sea air as it washed in along the coast of Bari where they'd spent their vacation. The water had been warm, and she loved playing in the sand. Little red crabs always scurried along the shoreline. Michelle loved her father's trips forever.

Ahead, around the curve, a large gasoline truck barreled down the road on the wrong side of the divider. Michelle looked again. The truck appeared to be coming right at them.

"Watch out!" father screamed and pointed.

Far from slowing, the driver didn't even look at them. Michelle saw his eyes when the man finally realized his huge semi was coming straight at their car. The man's face contorted into a grimace of terror, and he jerked the wheel violently to the left just as Michelle's father yanked their vehicle in the opposite direction.

Michelle felt her side of the car rising off the pavement as the vehicle careened into the ditch next to the side of the mountain. The car kept lifting and started to tip over. The truck's cab twisted violently and the trailer behind swung toward their car. Before she had time to grab the door, the backseat, anything. Michelle felt herself turning upside down. She bounced off the top of the car just as the back end of the trailer caught their front fender and spun their car like a top. The backseat cushion broke loose and tumbled on top of her. The car turned upright again only to bounce over once more. Broken glass flew in all directions. She hit the ceiling again before the car smashed against the massive rock jutting out of the side of the mountain. Michelle tumbled onto the crumpled top of their car. Pain pushed through her body like a rampant fever, and she hurt all over. The smell of gasoline rushed through the scattered windows before an explosion sent a ball of fire straight up into the sky. Smoke and searing heat surged through the car.

"Get her out!" Michelle's mother screamed. "Jack! Michelle's in the back seat."

A strong arm locked around her waist and lifted her into the front seat before pushing her through where the front windshield had been. For the first time, Michelle realized she couldn't make her left leg move and that it hung at a strange angle. Only then did she see her father's face covered with blood running down his cheeks. A grotesque gash had been slashed across his forehead. Her mother was sitting on the ground with the side of her blouse ripped open and blood running down her arm.

A second explosion filled the air with such a deafening roar that Michelle's ears went blank and her father fell to the ground. No sounds filled her ears, but chaos roared through her mind. She grabbed her head and curled up in a ball next to her father's bloody shirt. The pain had become more than she could bear.

Slowly the picture faded and the bathroom wall took its place. The ball of fire turned into a streak of paint on the smudged dirty wall, the silence replaced by the sounds of people walking down the hall outside the bathroom door. With a trembling hand, Michelle reached up and felt the side of her face. Tears filled her eyes and sweat had started running down her cheeks. Her face felt clammy and flushed. She tried to catch her breath, but it wasn't easy to do so. Michelle hung her head and braced her body against the wall.

Ten minutes later someone beat on the bathroom door, and a woman's voice said, "Are you all right? You speak English?

"Yes, yes," Michelle mumbled. "I speak English. I'll be out in just a moment?"

"You are sick?"

"No. No. Just a moment."

Michelle forced herself to stand up and staggered to the mirror. The color had washed out of her face and she looked bedraggled. How could it have happened so quickly? Heaving in and out, her breath began to stabilize even though her knees continued to feel wobbly. How could she ever tell Jack about how deeply her problem affected her? It was the one secret she had kept from him all of these years. Fortunately, it seldom came up like it had tonight. The terrorist explosion had been so close to them that it had far more than unnerved her. Talk of the blast was everywhere and kept descending on her like an ever darkening cloud. Tonight, Jack had reintroduced the problem in a way that slid more deeply into her past than usual, and the childhood experience had erupted like a volcano. Nevertheless, he must not know about her condition. That resolve had been her pledge to herself from their beginning together. It must forever stay in her yesterdays. She would not tell him about the seriousness of her post-traumatic stress disorder.