Broken Heart (Broken Heart #1) (4 page)

“I’m here, Jen. I’m so sorry. When Vivian told me, I didn’t know what to do. What can I do, Jen?” his sympathetic eyes watered as he tried to console me.

“Nothing…there’s nothing we can do.” I leaned my head on his shoulder as I wiped my tears with my sleeve. Danny grabbed the remote and turned on the television to try to keep me occupied. He propped two pillows for me, then we leaned against the headboard. Danny handed me the remote.

“Here, watch television. It’ll keep your mind occupied,” he said yawning.

As I flipped through the channels, the news of my parent’s death quickly hit every station in Pennsylvania. Danny fell asleep lying next to me with his mouth open, breathing hard and grunting like a bear, his hands over a pillow planted firmly on his chest. I managed to squint through my

swollen eyes and get a good look at the crash site. I saw the utility pole they hit keeled over onto the main road with the light busted into a million pieces. The car was smashed like an accordion,

no room for her to move, no room for her to try to get out. He must have been going a hundred miles per hour.

They didn’t stand a chance. 

I got up slowly from the bed, so I wouldn’t wake Danny. I started to panic again, and my heart began to race, but this time I felt as if I had gotten hit by a freight train; the pain was unbearable. I could hardly move. I slowly and silently tiptoed across the room towards my desk and sat on top

of it. I stared out of the window as I adjusted the string on my sweat pants. I needed to loosen them up. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t move. I just sat there in a daze wondering what

the hell had just happened and what was going to happen next. I didn’t know if I was going crazy or not, but I thought I saw my mother waving at me downstairs from the campus grounds. My

whole life had ended. My world had turned upside down. My stomach began to twist in knots, and I started to sweat and feel faint. The uncontrollable urge to vomit again rose from the pit of my

belly to my throat. I leaped off of the desk and placed my head in the garbage can, over and over again. Puking was better than feeling the devastating pain of my mother’s death. 

“Jen, Jen, oh my God! Are you okay?” Vivian asked as she walked through the door leaning over me.

“Yeah, I’m…better,” I said as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Vivian grabbed me by the waist to help me up and sat me on the edge of the bed.

“Wake your ass up!” she yelled at Danny as she snatched the pillow resting on his chest. “You’re supposed to be watching her! Why are you sleeping?” she shouted as she smacked him on the side of his head.

“I fell asleep. She was okay when I fell asleep…Jesus, and you don’t have to hit me.” Danny sat up before feeling Vivian’s wrath again. Her eyes were squinting at him to get up and get out. 

“Just go Danny. Please.”

“I’m going…I’m going. Jen, I’m sorry about your parents. See you tomorrow?” he said as he looked at me apologetically, then at Vivian.

“I doubt it. Good night,” she said firmly as she motioned with her hand for him to leave.

“Jen, everyone was at the hospital. You’re Uncle Pete came and took care of everything. He identified your parents. You don’t have to do anything except make the funeral arrangements.” 

“Funeral arrangements? I can’t do that…” 

“You have to…only you know what your parents wanted. Right?”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know if I can handle it.” My insides constricted at the thought.

“I’ll help you…just let me know what I have to do. Right now, you need to get some sleep. Come on, lay down. I’ll sleep right next to you.” Vivian shut the television off and climbed into bed with me. She held my hand tightly and covered me with the blankets. I grabbed my throw blanket and

tried to inhale the scent, trying to find the bits and pieces left of my mother. I cried myself to sleep as she held me in her arms. I clenched the pillow as I buried my face in it. My uncontrollable sobs

saturated my pillow with infinite tears. I wish I could press harder against the pillow so I could stop breathing and end the nightmare that was my life.

***

The following couple of days would leave me no room to search for monsters in my closet or underneath my bed, because this time, the monsters were real. They came to get my parents, instead

of me. We lived in a small town in rural Pennsylvania, and I had to face family I hadn’t seen in years and friends that never kept in touch with my parents; all of the hypocrites, hiding behind the

façade of their worrisome stares and pouting lips; shaking their heads pretending to feel sorry for me. “Poor girl,” I could hear them saying. “What will she do?” 

As I walked into the church, a newspaper lay on the pew, front page news

“Car Crashes into utility pole on 209 North; small-town couple killed-Driver was intoxicated.” 

As I walked towards the altar I saw the white orchids that lay across the closed mahogany-colored caskets, and I could hear the whispers in the crowd of how my father could do this to my mother. I kneeled in front of the caskets, lowering my head and whispering the Our Father into my hands

that gripped my gold rosary. I clenched the rosary tightly as I continued to pray, and at the same time I asked God, why he did this? Why did he take them away from me? I felt a hand on my

shoulder, turned my head, and looked up to see who it was. It was my Aunt Stephanie. My three cousins were standing behind her crying and staring at me as they held each other’s hands.

“Aunt Stephanie?” I stood up to give her a hug. She held me closely, then looked at my face and tilted her head to the side, admiring every part of my face. She kissed my forehead and grabbed my hand to get down from the altar. She was dressed in all black and wore a black kerchief tightly

around her head. Her eyes were dark, and the bags that lay beneath her eyes showed that she had been crying for hours or maybe even days. Her face was filled with sorrow because her sister was

dead, and I could see that she wanted nothing more than to comfort me, and she did so without falling apart.

“Jenesis.” The tears flowed from her eyes as she inhaled deeply trying to get enough air to continue to talk. “I’m so sorry. I just…just can’t believe…she’s dead.” She stroked my face gently with the back of her hand.

“Did you see her?” I asked, looking for any sign in her eyes that would bring me peace…closure. 

“Yes. She’s resting. She’s at peace. So is your father.” Her lips quivered as she held both of my hands in hers. She was shaking and you could see she was ready to breakdown. She always hated my father, Always. I held her by her neck then slid down her body grabbing on to her legs. I felt

the wind being knocked out of me as I wept uncontrollably. She’s resting…she’s at peace. It totally sent me over the edge. I loved my mother so much…it just couldn’t be true…it couldn’t.

Aunt Stephanie and my cousins quickly tried to lift me up and place me in the first row of the pews, but they couldn’t. I was limp and crying hysterically, and as they were dragging me they were asking for help from some men that were sitting in the second row. They picked me up, lifted

me gently, and sat me upright on the pew. The rosary was still clenched in my hands, and I couldn’t sit up. My body was wilted and weak. My cousins sat on either side of me to embrace me so that

I wouldn’t fall. My heart bled for my mother, and I wanted to miss my father so much, but the only thing I felt when I looked at his casket was complete and total anger. He took away the only friend

I ever had, trusted, cherished…my mother. I was dying…that’s how I felt…I was dying of the pain…the loneliness…the fact…that he killed her. He. Killed. Her.

***

My parents’ death was too much to endure and returning to the home that we all once shared was even more heart wrenching. As I drove up to the house after the burial, the dried up cornhusks greeted me at the front steps.

I slowly passed them and gently brushed my hands over their dried edges. I remembered how we placed them there together, and my heart stopped for a moment.

As I entered the house, I could feel the coldness that lingered within the walls. There was never a feeling of warmth in the living room. That’s where he slept and the feeling of nostalgia only

brought back disheartening memories that I always wanted to elude. I held my stomach as I walked through the living room, my heart fluttering quickly, and my breathing erratic, trying to catch up.

I stared at my mother’s shoes lying seamlessly near the couch, as they had always been, and the open bottle of whiskey that rested sideways, empty, on the table in the middle of the room near a

fresh batch of white orchids that were huddled tightly in a crystal vase. I glanced at the fireplace where my mother had placed photos of us as a family; she only ever wished we were. I picked up

the frame that said “Family” and gently kissed my mother’s face as I stared at the photo of my mother, father, and me. I was just born and my father seemed so happy as he held me in his arms.

The tears slid down my cheeks that were already coarse from crying so much the night before, and I suddenly felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. I wept hysterically, an open mouth cry that ended

in screams and gags. The memories of sitting on the couch there together once laughing, but mostly crying, as my father slept in his drunken stupor and snored flooded me. I curled up on the couch

with my knees folded into my stomach. I placed my head against a pillow my mother had crocheted for my father one year for Valentine’s Day. I drifted into a calm but alarming sleep. A sleep that

made you feel like you were falling through the mattress into eternity. I couldn’t stay awake. The exhaustion was upon me and I could no longer fight it. 

I awoke the next morning with the “Family” frame still in my hands, the glass stained with my dried up tears. I knew in my heart I wouldn’t be able to live in the house for long, but I didn’t know

when I would be ready to leave. I awoke to a text message from Mike Sacaza, a family friend and our attorney. He had bailed my father out every time he was arrested for disorderly conduct at the

bars and had represented him in court while he acted like a smart ass in front of the judge. Uncle Mike, as I called him, was coming over this morning to discuss the will. I could barely move, let

alone discuss the final particulars of my mother’s life…her will. The doorbell rang, and my stomach flinched. I fixed my clothes and worked desperately to do something with my hair, finally

settling on a ponytail. I glanced in the mirror and resigned myself to realizing there wasn’t much I could do to fix it right now. 

“Uncle Mike.” I placed my hand over my mouth. 

“Jenesis, how are you?” He smiled.

“Come on in, let me brush my teeth. Give me a sec.” He sat on the couch in the living room as I walked over to the bathroom. I trembled as I brushed my teeth, finally just finishing with my finger. I looked over at her hairbrush, released my ponytail, and brushed my hair, closing my eyes,

remembering how she brushed my hair when I was a little girl. My cell phone vibrated in my back pocket. It was Vivian.

Today 11:35 AM

Hey…how are you holding up?

Vivian

I sent her a text back.

I’m hanging in there. Can I call you later?

Jenesis

Sure…love you.

Vivian

Ditto.              

Jenesis

“Jenesis, are you okay?” I heard Uncle Mike on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Yeah…I’ll be right out.” I placed my hair back up in a ponytail and walked out of the bathroom. Uncle Mike was standing in front of the door.

“Let’s sit at the kitchen table.” I motioned for him to follow me to the kitchen. “Please sit.”

“Your mother was a wonderful woman,” he said softly, staring at me with grief stricken eyes.

“Thank you. I never thought I would be sitting here with you at this age,” I gasped as my tears began to flow without recognition. My unexpected burst of tears caught me off guard, and I used my sleeve to wipe my eyes.

“Death is an unexpected thing, Jenesis. We just don’t know when we’re going to go.” He scrambled through his briefcase and placed some papers on the table. “Your mother was my friend

since the 3rd grade. I always knew Bobby was wrong for her, since the day they met.” His facial structure changed. You could see the tension in his face and the discomfort in his eyes. 

“Why?” 

“He was a drunk back then.”              

“In the third grade?”

“No, in high school. Your mother fell so head over heels in love with him; it was like…he had some sort of magic spell over her. She couldn’t pry herself away from him. As many times as he hit her, she ran back into his arms.”

Hit her? You mean, he hit her back then, too? I thought to myself as I sat up straight in my chair glued to the words that rolled off of his tongue.