Falling (Flicked, Olive, Hair Dryer, Parachute, Crackled)

Pushing the door open, I reached my hand in and flicked on the light. Hesitating before stepping from the thick carpet of my bedroom to the stone tile of the master bath, I saw the floor had been scrubbed as a pungent disinfectant smell wafted out to me. I made a mental note to ask Janice who had done this distasteful job. They should be thanked.

At the far end of the bathroom, the shower curtain with tan fern fronds over an olive green background was pushed back revealing the white enamel of the tub, the silver faucet and shower head. We had bought the curtain last month; one of several accessories purchased to compliment the creamy brown Bryce had painted the bathroom. “Macadamia” the paint card said. This was just the first project of many we wanted to accomplish to get our home ready to sell. Bryce had been laid off from his job and we were preparing for the likely possibility of a move. Bryce was interviewing locally without much luck, but I still hoped we would be able to stay in this community where I had finally started to put down some roots. So, I made sure the paint colors and other choices were things I actually wanted for our home, not just things a buyer would like.

The new bath rugs were gone as well as the wicker laundry hamper and matching basket in which I kept clean towels. Where they were or who removed these things, I couldn’t say. Or why. To spare my feelings, maybe? Or were they taken for the investigation?

My hair dryer was lying haphazardly in the sink, its cord snaking across the cream tile counter to the floor. The sight of this – something belonging solely to me, not Bryce, and that something being out of place – moved me to finally step into the room. Here was something I could fix, something I could “tidy up” as my mother liked to say.

Placing the dryer in the cabinet below the sink, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Slowly, I leaned in closer and saw what I already knew was there: dark circles around swollen eyes, a pale and puffy face, limp and dirty hair. There was one surprise, however. New little pouches of skin had appeared at each corner of my mouth. “Nice,” I thought. I looked and felt like I had aged 10 years in the last two weeks.

Looking at the tub again, I moved to the end of the room. Reaching up to unhook the curtain and its plastic liner from the shower rod rings, the liner crackled as it began to fall into the tub. A tear slid down my face and landed on the edge of the tub. I looked at where it had landed, surprised. I hadn’t cried in three days. I thought the tears had run out.

Suddenly, the rushing falling sensation was on me again, driving me to my knees. I had been falling for two weeks now and the bottom was no where in sight. But thankfully, over the past few days, the falling was becoming more of a floating downward, and it seemed more like a parachute was slowly bringing me down, down, down to the solid ground of reality. But moments like this, my parachute collapsed and I began plummeting. There would be no one to catch me or cushion my landing. For this, I knew with certainty, I was alone.

I closed my eyes, praying for the panic to pass. I felt like I was back in Junior High when Mary and Nikki had bullied me into riding a roller coaster at the park. As the car dove downward, I had clutched the silver bar, hair flying out behind me, mouth open in a silent scream. Then, I knew I just had to hold on for a certain amount of time. It would be over. The ride would stop. Now, I didn’t know if this nightmare ride would ever be over.

“Mom? Mom!” David’s voice came to me. “Aunt Janice says I can’t go play at Billy’s house today. I want to go! Why can’t I? Can I go, Mom? Please? Mom?”

Forcing my eyes open, I tried to focus on David’s face, the pursed lips, the furrowed brow, the tear-filled brown eyes. He stood with his stout legs apart, hands fisted on his hips, like a super hero. “Mom?” he said again, questioning with a softer voice now that he had seen my face.

David’s voice inflated my parachute again. I found myself floating, the freefall had stopped. The panic has subsided. Another thing was before me that needed to be fixed. And, as I stood to go to my boy, the thought occurred to me that David also only belonged to me now. No longer did he belong to both me and Bryce. He belongs solely to me.

~Belinda resides in North Carolina with her husband, three children, and one dog.