Chapter 20
She couldn’t remember why she was afraid, only she was terribly afraid and alone. Then with time, the dark and cold that enveloped her began to disintegrate. She could hear music and feel warmth. Keeping her eyes shut, the dark continued, but the familiar music grew louder and more comforting. Bette Midler sang “Wind beneath My Wings.” Her mom loved that song. She would turn up the radio and sing every word. Mom used to say, “It isn’t about the sound of your voice, but the happiness that makes you sing.”
“Shirley, do you know where my wallet is?” Jordan called from down the hall.
“Mom, Claire, took my Pop-Tart.” Emily’s voice sounded different, so young. Claire opened her eyes. She could see a scene, like a movie, except she was there and not there. She also saw her mom, dad, and sister. Claire watched herself, but the Claire she saw was young, maybe five or six years old. Their small house was chaotic and full of affection.
She watched as her mom made Emily another Pop-Tart, scolded Claire, and gave her a loving kiss on top of her head. Dad walked into the kitchen dressed in his police uniform. She couldn’t believe how young they looked, how warm and full of love she felt watching this scene from her childhood. Dad walked behind Mom and put his arms tenderly around her. She noticed that Emily and Claire played with each other and their breakfast. They didn’t spot the devotion and adoration that Claire now saw between her parents. Mom giggled as Dad kissed her neck, and she handed him his wallet from the kitchen counter. He whispered in her ear, Claire strained to hear, “What would I ever do without you?”
“Well, you aren’t going to get the chance. I plan on sticking around forever.” They looked at one another, the two little girls at the table started to distract them with their giggling, bickering, and suddenly the glass of orange juice spilled over the table. Little Emily and little Claire both became silent, neither one would tell on the other.
Claire heard her dad’s voice, “Girls, see what happens when you mess around.” His voice wasn’t angry. He cleaned the juice with a paper towel and Mom helped with a wet cloth. “Try to be careful, you sillies.” He kissed their foreheads as he turned to leave, taking the time to hug their mom.
The scene began to fade. Claire didn’t want to leave the warm feeling as she took one last look at the sisters eating their cereal and laughing. The spilled juice is forgotten. Then darkness . . . coolness . . .
“Ms. Claire, Ms. Claire, can you hear me?” The familiar voice teemed with concern. The warmth she felt from her childhood was gone. She didn’t want to go to the voice. She wanted to go back. Claire wanted more sleep, more tranquility . . .
“Come on, Claire, the movie starts in half an hour,” Grandma’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs. Claire opened her eyes. She wondered where she was. Her grandparent’s house. She must be staying over. Now she wondered if Emily was there too.
She could see herself no longer a child but an awkward teenager. Grandma called up the stairs again, “Claire, your sister said she’d pick you and your friend up, hurry down.” Grandma’s expression reflected concern for Claire’s movie. The real Claire wondered if the teenage Claire would see Grandma’s concern.
Claire stomped down the stairs. “Fine, I’m ready. I called Amy, she can’t go now. And I don’t want to see ‘A Bug’s Life’ with Emily. John will be there. He’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Let’s call Emily, tell her Grandpa, you, and I are going to the movies.”
As she watched she prayed that her counterpart would accept Grandma’s offer. She also wondered her age, probably fourteen or fifteen. Then she remembered that Grandpa died when she was fourteen, so if he was going to the movies she had to be thirteen or fourteen. Teenage Claire made a face at her grandmother’s suggestion.
“Where are we going?” Grandpa’s green eyes shone and his voice boomed jovially as he joined them from the other room. Claire’s heart ached to see her grandparents, yet at the same time it swelled with affection.
“To the movies,” Grandma said, smiling at Grandpa. Her grandparents were having an entire conversation through their sparkling eyes and facial expressions.
Young Claire didn’t notice, too self-absorbed. Grandpa put his arm around Claire. “Great, I have been trying to get Grandma to go to the new ‘Lethal Weapon.’ You know I love me some police drama.”
Grandma smiled at him. “Oh no, that is rated R. Claire would rather see ‘Ever After.’” They were doing it, pulling Claire out of her funk. She wasn’t budging willingly, but they were doing it.
“Oh no, Grandma, I don’t want to see ‘Ever After,’ it’s a Cinderella story . . . stupid.” Grudgingly smiling at Grandpa, she said, “I want to see Mel Gibson’s butt!”
Her grandparents smiled at one another and continued the amorous charade. “I don’t think Shirley and Jordan will approve,” Grandma said as she grabbed the newspaper. “Let me look at the movie times for ‘Ever After.’”
Teenage Claire looked over her grandma’s shoulder. “Grandpa, ‘Lethal Weapon’ starts in twenty minutes. If we hurry we can make it.” Her sulking forgotten, she believed she’d just gotten her way. Claire filled with warmth as she watched herself be lovingly manipulated.
Grandma surprised Claire. “Hey, I am going too. I don’t want to miss Mel’s butt.”
Grandma winked at Grandpa. The scene began to fade away. The last thing she saw was the three of them going out the door to the movie.
Claire wondered why she hadn’t remembered this before. Then she realized that it wasn’t unusual. She’d been raised by an amazing family with unconditional love and consideration.
Somewhere along the way Claire forgot how that felt, the warmth that made everyone within its aura feel happy. The darkness returned, the quietness combined with a feeling of serenity and warmth.
Gradually the darkness intensified and the warmth melted away. In the cool darkness she could hear voices again. She waited.
“Claire, talk to us. Open your eyes.” It wasn’t a command. Tony’s desperate voice was requesting. She didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted to feel the warmth, to sleep.
“Ms. Nichols, Ms. Nichols.” The deep unfamiliar voice no longer spoke to her, but to someone else. “We will need to begin intravenous feeding if she doesn’t regain consciousness soon. The medicine to keep her unconscious should be out of her system. She is responding to some commands, but we can’t be sure of her condition until she fully wakes. Sometimes the body will do this on its own, shut itself down to heal and to avoid the pain.” There were voices and then she heard the unfamiliar one speaking again. “Her pain seems to have subsided with the medication. It should help her wake.” Claire didn’t want to listen to them anymore or know who they are talking about. She just wanted to sleep, to feel warm, and go back to her memories.
“Get up, sleepyhead. You have a room of your own.” Claire heard her own voice. It sounded happy and playful. However, she couldn’t see herself or to whom she spoke.
“But I like this room better. I like this bed better,” the other voice teased and laughed.
“Really, a twin bunk bed? That’s what you like?” They both giggled.
“As long as you’re here.” Claire could see the two of them, a big mound under the covers, laughing and playing. As the covers moved she recognized herself and Simon, Simon Johnson. She hadn’t thought of him in years. She’d made herself compartmentalize him out. Their hair disheveled, they looked too young for such activities. This was her freshman dorm room.
“Claire, I want to marry you.”
“Yeah right.” She didn’t believe him. Her plans didn’t include marriage. Young Simon, however, meant every word he said. Now as Claire watched she wondered: what if?
“No, really. We can wait until we are through school or we can run away today. I’m not busy, how about you?” He pretended to be playful, but his tone had more than a hint of sincerity.
“Give me a rain check, okay?” Claire nibbled his ear. “I think my dad might be upset if I decide to throw away a year of school to get married during spring semester.”