Alone (2 page)

"It has been awhile. How have you been?"

"I am okay I guess. As good as I've ever been anyway. What about you?"

"I am good, old, but well."

“
Would you mind telling me the story of how you came to live here in the church? I know you've told me before, more than once, but I do love that story and I was thinking on the way here that I may be forgetting parts of it.”

“
Of course I don't mind telling you the story again. Let's see, where do we start? Thirty-five years ago on Valentine's Day, I was fixing my husband his favorite breakfast, pancakes and sausage. It was more than just the greeting card holiday that made me want to do something special for him; it was also our 40
^th
wedding anniversary. When the coffee was finished brewing, I went into our bedroom to wake my husband. I sang our song to try and get him to wake up, but he didn't budge. I felt my heart sink, I knew their was something very wrong. I tried shaking him, but he just laid there. I quickly dialed 911 and when the paramedics arrived, they administered CPR as they loaded him into the ambulance. It was the scariest thing that's happened in all my life. Despite the efforts of the paramedics and doctors on staff that morning, Mr. Schneider passed away. The doctors told me that it was a heart attack and there was nothing they could do.

“
He was my only family, so when he passed, I had no idea how to move on. I had never worked outside the home and Mr. Schneider's social security was the only money we had to live on. That check was enough to provide for our bare necessities and my medication for diabetes. When the checks stopped coming, I was evicted from our apartment with no place to go. I told the congregation of this church that I had gone to since I was a child that I was going to California to live with a great-niece. I was too embarrassed to tell the truth about my situation.” The tears in Mrs. Schneider's eyes were beginning to spill over but she continued her story.

“
I packed a small bag with some clothing and took a bus to the next town over. I knew I first needed to find a place to stay, but I had no money. There was a small, run down building that had been abandoned for years where I set up my blankets.

“
There was someone else who was staying in the building also. A young girl who had run away from home because her mother beat her when she found out her daughter was pregnant. She helped me find food and provided the company that I craved. The young girl taught me the basics of living on the street until she was eventually taken in by her abusive boyfriend. Then, I was left to fend for myself and I did quite well for a while. A little over a year after being alone on the streets and being unable to pay for insulin for my diabetes, I became completely blind.

“
One winter evening, I became overwhelmed with depression and I decided to return to New Jollie and come back to this church to ask God for help. With the little cash I had panhandled during the day, I had barely enough money to take the bus ride back to New Jollie. Luckily, the bus driver was sympathetic to my situation and because I was the only passenger on the late night bus, he decided that he would drop me off in front of the church. Shortly after midnight, the bus came to a stop in front of St. Mary's and I said thank you to the driver before stepping off the bus with my bag.

“
As I made my way blindly up the steps to the entrance, I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my face. I sat in the back pew and began praying. I prayed for protection, for help and most of all, for peace. When I was finished, I opened my eyes and could clearly see the organ. The tall brass pipes towered along the wall and seemed to shine as they had when they were once new. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I hadn't been able to clearly see anything in several months, yet the organ was as clear as day, and it seemed to be calling to me. I stood up and walked to the organ slowly, unsure of each step. As I sat on this long oak bench, I felt warmth I hadn't felt since sleeping safely in my husband's arms.

“
I laid my fingers on the keys and I could feel that everything was going to be okay, though I had no idea how. I had never played the instrument before, but the notes flowed with ease. I played throughout the night until Father Salmon arrived for morning services. He approached me and asked me to play for the morning services. I respectfully declined saying that I had nothing to wear. Father Salmon neglected to see my torn clothes and disheveled look. He said that there was a bathroom downstairs where I could take a hot shower and he could give me some clothing that's been donated to the church. When I turned to thank him, it was then that he recognized me.

“
I reluctantly told Father Salmon that I never went to California and that I had been living on the streets for well over a year. I told him that I had only returned to New Jollie to pray for help in the church that I cherished. I had no intentions of staying, or being seen. Accepting Father Salmon's offer of a hot shower, I played for morning services that day. With my back to the congregation, no one realized that it was me playing the organ. With my permission, Father Salmon told the congregation my pathetic story and the people listening closely to his words began to cry.

“
St. Mary's managed to raise enough money to transform a section of the basement in this church into a small apartment for me. The only rent I had to pay was the promise to play the organ for services on Sunday. I've been here ever since,” Mrs. Schneider ended her story wiping her tears away.

“
Do you realize how much the kids look up to you around here? It's not just the talent, or gift you have, that has made you a legend here,” I said. “The adults see you as an icon of femininity and morality, and when teenagers can't talk to their parents, they turn to you and you always know just what to say to make everything okay,” I added to the end of her story.

“
Oh I don't know about all that,” she said embarrassed. “I guess it is true that kids open up to me for some reason even I don't completely understand. I don't know if that would make me a legend dear.”

“
I would, after all, that was how I met you. When my art teacher noticed that I was becoming more withdrawn from my friends, she suggested that I visit you here at the church. I never would have come, but I became truly desperate to save my own life. That fight with my mother when she said, 'You are nothing and you will always be nothing,' that's what made me break down and come here.” Repeating the words my mother said to make me truly hate her sent a chill through my body. “I went to you Mrs. Schneider at a time in my life when I was contemplating suicide for the first time. You helped me believe that it didn't matter what anyone thought about what I was doing, even if it was my mother.”

Mrs. Schneider must have sensed how my mood had changed talking about that time in my life. She changed the subject asking me about my day so I told her about the girl I saw. I couldn't stop thinking about how scared the girl looked. I wished that I could just talk to her. I talked about the building that took my attention away from the girl and said I thought about going inside.

"So she ran around the corner and she was just gone? Do you think she went inside the building?" Mrs. Schneider asked.

"I don't know. I didn't even think about that. The beauty of that old building caught me off guard and that was what my attention focused on. Why didn't I just go in? I could have helped her."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I don't know, but I wish I had the chance to at least try. She was all bruised and she was crying. She just looked so scared. Yet, she was so beautiful," I said trailing off into my own thoughts.

I realized that I let the word
beautiful
slip from my mouth. It was quite obvious that it wasn't used in the same context as if I were to say that Mrs. Schneider was beautiful. However, even I wasn't exactly sure how I meant it. I remember when I was a teenager and all the girls were having boyfriends and crushes, I just didn't have any desire to do any of that. No guys appealed to me in the slightest way and I felt like there was something wrong with me. After I chopped my hair off, there was a rumor that I was a lesbian. When I was seventeen and I still hadn't had any interest in dating, I started thinking the rumors were true. However, I had never had a crush on a girl either. I guess I had seen my mother in and out of so many relationships, that I didn't want any part of it.

“
She's beautiful? How do you mean?” Mrs. Schneider asked interrupting my thoughts.

“
Well, she has these eyes that I could see from twenty feet away they were so blue. She just looked so innocent, and even though she was all beaten, I could somehow see the happiness hidden inside.”

"What about the building? Do you think you're going to go in?"

"Maybe. I mean, I think I want to. I'm curious to see what's inside. I love old architecture. I know that it's not going to be in the same condition as it was when it was first built, I just want to see the way the rooms are laid out. Do you think I should go in?"

"I think that if you feel that drawn to it, I think you have no choice but to go in. Just be careful, you may not be ready to see what's inside."

"I know. Street kids have probably taken it over but I think I'd be alright. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

By the expression on Mrs. Schneider's face, it was obvious that I didn't fully grasp what she was saying. I could tell that she was considering elaborating but for some reason decided not to.

"In those few minutes you saw a building that was falling apart and a girl that was beaten and afraid, yet both were still beautiful in your eyes. Willow, I think in those few minutes, you saw yourself."

I thought about those words on the walk home. In a way I had seen myself, only reversed. I mean, the building was falling apart on the outside, I was falling apart from within. No one could see through the confidence wall that I displayed to others. No one that is, except for Mrs. Schneider. I had always put on a happy face in front of people. I put my best foot forward and never let anyone see the scary truth.

As I turned down my road, I watched some children playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. Seeing how happy they were at that moment made me feel so content inside. They were only about five or six years old and they had yet to discover the harsh reality of life. They had not seen the injustice of humanity or the cruelty of their peers. They were the billboards of innocence. People should really look more at children as an icon of society. They were the true heroes. They are fearless, ready to take on any obstacle that stands in their way. They are curious, always asking questions trying to understand things beyond their realm. They are imaginative, always telling stories in such an exciting tone. Best of all, they don't know hate. It doesn't matter if you're black, white, gay or straight, as long as you're willing to play in their world, you are accepted.

As I approached the door to my apartment building, I turned to look at the children one more time. Without realizing it, I was smiling, thinking about how lucky these children truly were at this moment in their life. I stepped into my building, the heavy door slamming behind me. I laid my journal on the kitchen counter and saw the red light of my answering machine flashing. Because of the gallery and food delivery places, the telephone was the one piece of technology I hadn't banned from my life. I stared at the blinking light debating whether or not to push the button. It couldn't possibly be the gallery, they called before I left for the woods. That only left one possibility. I closed my eyes and pushed.

"Willow! Are you there Willow? Geez, you'd think you could find ten minutes to call your mother. Damn it Willow, put down that stupid paintbrush and answer your phone." Then there was a few seconds of silence and barely over a whisper, "Stupid bitch, she'll always be nothing." Then a click as my mother hung up the phone.

I hoped that my ears were playing tricks on me. I played the message three more times before accepting the fact that my ears had not deceived me. My mother had actually called me ‘stupid, bitch and nothing’ in less than five seconds. I could feel the rage overwhelm my body. I picked up the answering machine and screamed furiously as I threw it and watched as it smashed against the wall and fell to the floor. I could feel my face become scarlet red with anger as my blood pressure rose.

I walked through the living room, past the bathroom, to the back closet. I grabbed the box and went out into the living room where I sat on my brown suede couch and set the box on my lap. The anger still burning inside of me, I opened the wooden box and looked inside. Sitting on top of years of tangible memories, was my knife. I removed it from its sheath and looked at the blade through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

Without a second thought, I pressed the blade into my forearm and took a deep breath in. I cut a line about four inches long and waited to feel something. I didn't cut deep enough, I couldn't feel it. I cut along the same line, this time pressing harder as I gouged deeper into my flesh. Finally I could feel it, the pain that let me know that I was alive and I did exist. I watched as the anger, pain and the sadness released itself in the form of warm red liquid. Finally, relaxed and at ease, I let go of the knife and as it fell on the floor, I smiled. No more pain, no more anger, just numb. I fell asleep as I thought about how lucky I was that an inanimate object could bring such peace into my life, even if it was only for a moment.

CHAPTER 2: THE WALL

I woke up early the next morning when the light coming through the window shattered my peaceful sleep. I twisted uncomfortably not quite sure of my surroundings. When I sat up, my head rushed and I realized I never made it to my bed. I stretched with my eyes still closed and as I got up to go to the bathroom, I tripped over the box. Oh no. I felt panic building,
no, no, no
. I rushed to the bathroom refusing to look at my arm. If I didn't see it, it didn't happen. I most certainly did not tear apart my arm, again. All because of what? My mom, again? I turned on the shower, my eyes avoiding my arm. If I didn't look, it didn't exist, I reminded myself again. I stepped into the shower and the hot water hit my back with a shock. I quickly lathered my body with the soap and then I started to wash my hair. When I opened my eyes again, I saw a trickle of pink water going down my body and I knew I couldn't ignore the cut while it healed over the next couple days. It had to be taken care of. Damn it.