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Sageplace

Telling Stories

It was beautiful outside her window. When she could bring herself to look, she saw lobster boats bobbing on the ocean, seagulls gracefully moving across the sky, and faces that after only two weeks had become familiar. It seemed a good place to finish a life that had become one long and endless ache.

She lit another cigarette and switched on the black and white TV. "General Hospital" appeared on the television screen. She leaned back, pulled the pink and white afghan around herself, and smoked. Her daily routine consisted of cigarettes, warm beer, and meaningless TV. Within minutes she was asleep.

The August sun shone down on the coastal village where she had come to hide. It was a poor town populated mostly by those who fished, worked in the seafood processing plant, and those who were too young or old to do either. Villagers lived in houses that failed to hold paint for more than a season or two. A place where spring and summer held promise, and fall and winter called for prayer. Visitors struck by the village’s stark beauty, romanticized the lives of its' inhabitants. They were right - there was romance here, but there was also back breaking work, poverty and despair.

She'd come to Hamden with a savings book claiming possession of $92,000 dollars, a red Saab, a suitcase filled to the brim with wrinkled clothing, a journal, 3 novels, 8 cartons of cigarettes, 6 cases of beer, containers of seconal, codeine, and sleeping pills, and a plan to kill herself.

A dog is barking. She doesn’t want to wake. She turns over, pulls the cover over her head, and reaches for her child. She's been grasping empty air for a lifetime it seems. Her baby girl is gone. She searches for her daughter's image and finds her tiny face, her beautiful, innocent face. She begins again to whisper her name over and over, as if it were a chant. "Cara, Cara, Cara…"

The dog keeps barking. She throws her covers off and struggles to sit up. Her agony and rage rise up to choke her. She briefly considers killing the dog, but it would take far more energy than she has. She wills the tears to come instead, but they don't. She'd used them all up during the first two years that she'd grieved for her sweet little girl. She rests her head against the arm of the couch, feeling desolate and depleted - empty except for her hatred and pain. "Why wait any longer?" She wonders. Her pills, tucked safely away, lie waiting.

Her brother's birthday is only a few days away. She understands the cruelty of killing herself so close to the day her brother was born, and so she's decided to hold on just a little longer. She lies perfectly still, barely breathing. The sun finds it’s way through the darkened room and warms her face. "Soon," she whispers and closes her eyes again. Her auburn hair lays soft against her cheek, and her long, slender body is still. One hand rests on her chest. It's a pale, delicate hand that hosts a thick gold wedding band.

It’s almost four when she finally stirs. She slowly slides up and leans against the shapeless cushions. She reaches for another cigarette, takes a sip of flat and tepid beer and gazes at the television screen. A woman is yelling at her boyfriend, while a pretty talk- show host stands by. She shakes her head in disgust and smokes. It will be dark soon. She curses the night; it's far too like the darkness in her soul. She begins to unconsciously brace herself for the torment that will soon swallow her up. She walks slowly over to the refrigerator, stretches her aching muscles, reaches for another beer, and stumbles back to the couch. She hasn’t eaten in days. If only nature would accomplish the final task for her, allowing her to just fade away...

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