Life In Reverse by Beth Michele
For Sherri, Mona, Philly, & Leigh
For summers that are so much a part of who I am
And for both Lenny’s
The one I knew well, and the one I never got a chance to know.
And for Erika G.
Happy Birthday.
“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”
J.D. Salinger
TO ANYONE ELSE, this day would have looked like absolute perfection. The sun poured down from a sky that was so blue it could have been packaged by freaking Crayola. Tips of lush green trees glistened gold in the light as if they had been touched by the heavens. No denying it made for a pretty picture.
Too bad it was a fucking illusion.
All around me people were smiling, practically skipping into that place like they couldn’t wait to get inside. Like there was something wonderful waiting for them beyond that door.
What a joke.
Me, I hated coming here—but I wouldn’t stop. Yet in that moment, I wished for something—anything that could numb the nagging anxiety that crept into my vital organs. The kind that made my feet stall inches from the door. The desire to flee that… that place was overwhelming. I wouldn’t though. Not as long as she was there.
I steeled myself with a big breath that felt stale rising up my throat. My hands were clammy and I shook them out before my fingers curled around the door handle. But then I hesitated—again—like I always did. Another lungful of fresh air, and still it did nothing to push down the knot twisting like a fucking knife in my stomach.
Reaching into my pocket with desperation, my thumb found the smooth surface of the stone. Somehow when it touched my skin, a calm entered my veins. It gave me the courage to swallow down that grating of raw emotion and push open the door. Immediately, I was suffocated by the stiff scent with a vengeance.
I’d never been able to describe it accurately. It smelled like my grandmother’s house used to at our Sunday dinners. The scent of mothballs, bacteria particles and old blankets invaded the air and I winced, quickly clearing it before someone caught my expression. After all, this was their home. For some of these people, this was the last place they would see before they were buried six feet in the ground. The thought instantly made me sick to my stomach and I grabbed onto the corner of a weathered blue and white plaid sofa to steady myself.
“Hello there, Vance,” Mr. Hinkle called out, lowering his newspaper and giving me a flash of salt ‘n’ pepper hair and a grin. I wondered to myself how he could be so happy—here. I didn’t think I could do it. No. I knew for sure I couldn’t fucking do it. I’d rather have someone put a bullet to my head than be in a place like this.
I forced a smile so fake it actually hurt. “Hey, Mr. Hinkle, how’s it hanging?”
He made a rough sound in his throat. “I’m afraid, son, it’s hanging a little lower than I’d like.” A chuckle escaped his wrinkled lips and I laughed. As shitty as this place was, he was always in a good mood when I visited and it eased the dull ache in my chest. “One of the nurses just brought your mom back in from physical therapy.”
“Thanks Mr. Hinkle.”
“Anytime, son. Enjoy your visit,” he told me. Again, with that same happiness I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. It made me wonder what his drug of choice was. There had to be something. Otherwise how could he stand it?
My shoes walked the walk, heading down the hall and to my left. A path I was so familiar with I could find my way blindfolded. The entire sprint only took a minute but my feet were sluggish in their efforts and it seemed to drag on.
Before I entered Mom’s room, I felt around in my pocket for the smooth stone again, clasping it as if it were a lifeline. Prior to her illness, she used to take me to the river frequently and we’d skip stones. It was one of my favorite memories and I would hold onto it as long as I could.
With a shaky breath, I turned the handle and stepped inside, only to be blasted by bright rays of sunshine exploding into the room. The curtains were drawn and she was sitting by the window. Glare from the sunlight casted a warm glow on her wavy brown hair.
“Hey Mom,” I greeted. Her head swiveled, the lack of recognition in her gaze coupled with her stoic expression made my heart wither.
“Charles? Is that you?” The corners of her eyes crinkled as she squinted, but then a smile overtook her features. “Charles, where on earth have you been?”