Authors: Tessa Saks
“But—”
“You, of all people
should know how cruel he is. I had no idea. I didn’t see it and now
…
now I’ve lost all the love I ever
had for him—all of it. He’s yours; you win,” Sam waved her hand in a gesture of
finality. “I won’t be a roadblock any more. You can have him. I don’t want to
have anything to do with him now.”
Ellen leaned over to
Samantha and reached for her hand. “Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t thank me,
thank him. If he weren’t such an asshole—he made it easy.”
Ellen stood, then
walked toward the door and was about to leave. She hesitated for a moment, then
turned and walked back toward Sam. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Sam studied her for
a moment, contemplating. “Go ahead.”
“What was it like
when you did it?”
“The sex?” A sly
grin appeared on Sam’s solemn face. “It was—”
“No,” Ellen interrupted.
“The abortion?”
“Oh.” Sam’s smile
evaporated. “You really want to know?” She paused for several minutes, her eyes
cast down and face drawn. “No matter what anyone says, you can never forget and
never forgive yourself. You always wonder. You relive everything they do to
you—to it
…
all the sounds
…”
Sam wiped her tears. “And
sometimes you imagine what it might have been
…”
Ellen moved closer
and touched Sam on her arm. “I’m sorry. I thought—I mean—I was told you said it
was no big deal.”
Sam shrugged. “What
else could I say? It was too late anyway. I couldn’t undo it.” She looked up at
Ellen. “Hey, sorry.” Sam shook her head, trying to force a smile. “Ignore
everything I just said. It’s not that bad, really. It’s just
…
no one prepared me for what happens
and how I’d feel afterward.” Sam covered her face with her hand for a few
minutes.
“Wow,” Sam said,
uncovering her face and shaking her head. “I’m way too sensitive now.” She
looked directly at Ellen. “You need to do it
…
if I was still in your position, still me, I mean, I would do it again.
I’d have to. There’s no other way, not with Johnny. You know, it can be as easy
as getting a tooth pulled, maybe easier. Tons of girls do it—every day. Some I
know have had five or more
…
they
never feel bad or anything. You’ll be fine, really, you will.” Sam smiled and
appeared genuine in her concern.
“It’s a tough
decision for anyone. I never in my life imagined I would be in this position.”
Ellen found the edge of the chair with her hand and sat down. “I would like to
try to help get you out of here
…
but
I’m not sure how.”
“You can’t
…
you shouldn’t.”
“I thought that was
why you wanted me to come?”
“God, no. I wanted
to see myself one last time—in case I die
…”
“You can’t die,
everyone would miss you—”
“Are you kidding? Johnny
would be happy if I died. The only one who cares at all is Brianna.”
“Brianna. How is
she?”
“Sad. She tries to
convince me to act normal and get out of here. She’s been trying to convince
Johnny that I’m better. She’s a good daughter
…
she loves you and misses you.”
Ellen looked up.
“Does she really?” She forgot herself again. “What does she say?”
“She told me she was
sorry for all the years that
we
weren’t close. She realizes now, that
everything
you
did was in her best interest and that
you
did what
you did out of love. She regrets not spending more time with
you
and is
willing to do anything to get
you
out of here, so she can prove it to
you
,
I mean me.”
Ellen felt a tug at
her heart as her eyes brimmed with tears.
Sam continued, “She’s
great. I just have trouble being her mom. I feel like she’s my sister and not
my daughter, I can’t love her the way you do.”
“I do love her,”
Ellen said aloud.
“I bet you miss
her.”
“I do.” Ellen
nodded. “More than I ever realized.”
“She also loves Beth.”
“Her roommate?”
“Her lover
…
they are so happy and good
together. You still don’t approve?”
Ellen shrugged. “It
used to frustrate me—embarrass me. I thought she would grow out of it, that it
was all for attention. But I want her to be happy. If she’s happy, I’m happy.”
“What about what
other people say?”
“I don’t care about
society anymore. That used to be important, in fact, it used to be the most
important part of my life. Every decision I made centered on what those
pretentious people thought. It cost me more than I ever realized.”
Sam smiled. “I’m
glad you came to see me. It’s great to talk about things, so I don’t die
wondering if I was actually crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,”
Ellen found herself saying. “You need to get out of here.”
Sam shook her head.
“I don’t care anymore. I’m finished.”
“But it’s not safe
here.”
“Doesn’t matter.
Bring it on. I’m so tired, I can barely move and I hurt everywhere; besides,
I’m too sick to care.” Sam leaned back. “It would be a blessing, quite
honestly.”
She sighed, almost
closing her eyes. “No. There is nothing for me. I only wanted to see you—see
me, I guess—and tell you that you win. I forgive you if it makes you feel
better and I ask for your forgiveness, for all I did to you. I had no idea how
much it hurt
…
how hard it was
to be you—no idea. I never thought for a moment what it was like to age and
lose a part of yourself, to lose love and everything that matters. I was
horrible to you; please don’t hate me.”
Ellen looked at her.
“I’m
…
I don’t know what to say
…”
Ellen spoke quietly. “I forgive
you, too.” The words spilled out of Ellen before she had time to catch them.
“You don’t mean it
yet, but I thank you just the same. I thank you—Sam or Ellen—or whoever you
want to say that you are. Hey, do you have anything you want me to say to your
children before I die? Any last words or thoughts. I haven’t any clue what to
say in my note.”
Ellen felt her chest
tighten. “My God, they will never have their mother again. They will be alone
and I won’t be able to see them again.”
“No
…
no, they hate Sam. Perhaps in time
they will get over it and—”
“You can’t die.”
“I hate living.
There’s nothing for me
…”
Her
eyes fluttered, almost closed. “I’m tired now,” Sam said, her voice fading. She
turned her head as her eyes shut.
Ellen reached over
and touched Sam’s cheek with the back of her hand. “Good night,” Ellen
whispered. It was a strange and unsettling feeling to feel sorry for
yourself—for a person that looks like you. Even stranger was to hate a person
who looks just like you. How could she actually hate Samantha?
Wasn’t Sam me,
after all?
And who really is the mother of this baby?
Her thoughts tumbled
around in a confused fog as she left the room and headed down the long corridor
in search of the TV room and Rory.
In search of the father of this
child?
The day following
the visit from the impostor or
Ellen
, as Sam now liked to call her, Sam
was filled with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was relieved to know she
was, in fact, actually herself even if
Ellen
hadn’t come right out and
admitted it. On the other hand, it was because of
Ellen’s
vengeance that
she was in this pathetic position in the first place.
What did I do to cause
all of this, anyway?
Sam regretted not asking her when she had the chance.
But
did it even matter? The ironic thing was that, yes, I had indeed, wanted to be
Mrs. Horvath. I had sold my soul in my determined effort to achieve this very
goal. It’s just that it wasn’t anything like what I had expected.
Her mind replayed
all the cruel things she said about Ellen. All the heartless things she did to
torment her. How inconsiderate she had been to so many people. Looking back on
everything, she saw how unkind and selfish she was to anyone who wasn’t young
and cool, how she looked down on those with less, and how she used people to
get what she wanted, with no guilt, oblivious to any consequences or fallout.
In short, she was a bitch. A supreme bitch. Heartless and shallow. Especially
to Rory. Why Rory? Why had she denied him so much? She realized, as a heaviness
tugged her down into honesty, that it was her desire for money. Money was the
key to success. Money was the key to fulfilling her dreams. Money was all she
wanted.
Now, she would trade
money for youth, or love or happiness. She sat thinking about all the things
that she now wanted that money couldn’t buy. She thought of all the dreams she
had that were beyond money. She had always imagined herself as a mother.
Growing old in a house with children playing and love, lots of love. But not with
Jonathan. Somehow, she had never imagined Jonathan growing old with her, but
instead, imagined him growing sick and either dying or being put into a home.
The irony! He did to
her what she would have done to him—eventually. She couldn’t undo any of that
now and she knew it. Tough to end things when there was so much still
unsettled, but would it ever be resolved? Perhaps in death she might find life
and be able to right the wrongs. She was determined to try.
***
Sam was sitting in a
wheelchair, covered with a blanket and hat, staring at the flowers in the
garden when Rory arrived.
“Hey beautiful,” he
called out.
She looked up at him
and smiled as he handed her a bag. “Thanks,” she said as she opened the bags of
goodies and inhaled the familiar scents of toasted coconut and sugary grape.
“I’m surprised to
find you outside. Are you feeling better?”
“No, not really. I
wanted to be outside, once more, in case I’m—”
“In case you’re
what?”
“I had a very good
visit with
…
her, Ellen, or Sam
as you might call her. Thank you for that, it meant a lot to me.”
“Won’t you wait to
see what she can—”
“So she can what?
Get me out of here? To do what? I’m so sick. I’m useless. I’m unhappy. Look at
me. What good am I?”
Rory took her hands.
“I love you.”
“Don’t tease me.”
“But I do.”
“Look at me,” Sam
cried. “I’m pathetic!”
“You’re not,” Rory
reached up and smoothed her bangs away from her eyes.
Sam brushed his hand
away. “Don’t say that. You have no idea, you don’t know how horrible it is to
be old. They make me wear these damn diapers because I can’t get to the
bathroom, I can’t have sex, even if I was better, because my vagina
collapsed—the entire thing just gave up and dropped like a blob of useless
putty—did you know that happens when women get old?—I sure as hell didn’t.”
“I don’t care.”
“And I hurt. Rory, I
hurt all over. Every joint feels stiff and sore, I can’t move around. And I
take a ton of different pills. Pills for my bones, for high blood pressure,
cholesterol, diabetes
…
don’t
eat this, don’t have that. God, I’m a mess, and I’m sick of all of it. There’s
nothing left.”
“There is everything
left. We can travel.”
“Travel? You dumb
fool.” Sam looked into his eyes to judge the level of his insanity. “You’re
serious? That’s sweet, but it’s too late. You don’t want this.” She pointed to
her body. “Trust me, it’s not what you think, it’s worse. You want to be my
knight in shining armor—great. Then what? Come on, I’m old. You’re hot, you
need to be with someone like you—young, able to have babies, do things. I can’t
even look at me; I can’t imagine how you could.”
“I want you.”
“You don’t. Stop
saying that. It’s like I’m a pathetic charity case.”
“You are not. Now
that I see that it’s you in there
…”
He grabbed her hand. “I love you.”
She let go, pushing
his hand away. “You do not. Besides, I don’t love you.”
“You do. You told me
the other day you loved me. You’re lying now.” His hand reached over to tickle
her.
Sam recoiled away
from him. “Am I? Am I really? Maybe I am crazy.”
“You’re not.”
“Maybe I am. Maybe
I’m a lunatic who does or says anything to get attention.” She stood, resting
on the arms of the wheelchair, the blanket falling to the ground as she tried
to get the attention of an attendant.
Rory grabbed her
around the waist and held her. She struggled to get away, her cast-encased arm
wedged between them, then he carefully moved her arm out of the way and held
her close, his hand turning her face toward him. He kissed her. She resisted.
He pulled her closer. She dissolved into his kiss.
As she drowned in
its pleasure, she found herself slipping deeper, forgetting who she was,
feeling her true self respond. She wanted more of him. She kissed his neck, his
chest, his cheeks. She wanted to tear at his shirt as he pressed his body
against hers. All her fears—escaping. All her worries—releasing. All her
longings—finding the joy of returned desire, of consensual pleasure. How long
had it been since she felt a man’s touch? How long since she felt passion?
Suddenly, in the
throes of his kisses, she became aware of her body. Her old body. Embarrassed,
she pushed him away.
“Leave me alone,”
she cried as she fell to the ground. He tried to catch her but she hit her
broken arm on the edge of the bench. She cried out. Not for the pain from her
arm as much as for what she realized she would never have again.
Rory looked around
for the attendant, who was already heading toward them. He lifted her into the
wheelchair as the attendant arrived. Rory held her hand for several minutes and
said, “You are beautiful, you need to see yourself as you really are. Forget
about who you want to be. Be happy with who you are now. It’s still you inside,
I know it is.”
“Leave
…
just go,” Sam cried.
The attendant looked
at him. “You better leave.”
Rory nodded. “I’ll
be back tomorrow, Sam. Don’t go anywhere. Promise?”
“Mrs. Horvath’s not
going anywhere,” the attendant chuckled. “Except to bed for a rest.”
Sam could only nod
as the pain in her heart expanded, dissolving whatever strength remained.
***
Ellen spent most of
the night thinking about her meeting with Sam. What a sense of relief, finally
acknowledging the situation they were both in. But she also felt agony over
what she had created. This was all of her doing, she knew it and Sam knew
it—but she couldn’t undo it, anyway. Or could she?
She tried to imagine
what would happen if they switched back. She would be in exactly the situation
that Sam is in now. Would she also be as depressed as Sam, ready to take her
own life? The question replayed in her mind. She felt sorry for Sam, and her
heart became heavy and dark as she imagined how awful it must have been for
her. Somehow, the hatred she held for Sam had softened, dissolving into
sympathy.
Yet,
Ellen
reminded herself repeatedly,
this was exactly what Sam wished upon me. She
wanted me killed. Killed! If she were here, now, in my position, she wouldn’t
be losing sleep over me.
But that thought, while comforting for a moment,
was immediately replaced with shame. Ellen stared at the truth. She couldn’t be
heartless. She had to do something to help her, at least get her out of the
mental hospital.
She lay back and
stared at the lights tracing across her ceiling, as cars rushed past in the
early hours of morning darkness. Somehow, she needed to get Sam out of the
hospital and not upset Jonathan. She tried to think how. Perhaps Rory or
Brianna might help.
There would be an
answer, she kept promising herself. As she drifted off to sleep, her mind still
replayed images of despair, and a feeling of hopelessness developed, a feeling
Ellen had long been familiar with.
***
Ellen awoke to the
jarring ring of the phone. “Hello,” she answered, her voice still groggy and
hoarse. Ellen looked over at the clock—ten-thirty!
“You planning on
coming in today?” Jonathan’s voice implied more of a demand.
“Yes, I can’t believe
I didn’t set the alarm. I’ve been so tired lately.”
“We need to talk. My
calendar is marked that today is our deadline.”
Her stomach moved
into her throat.
The deadline.
“The appointment is
Friday morning. I need to confirm that’s it’s still on. What’s your answer,
sweetie?”
Ellen pulled the
covers to her chest. “I
…
I’ll
talk about it in person.”
“Just remember, I
won’t have complications. How about six at St. Regis?”
Ellen agreed and
hung up. She lay back, aware of what she needed to do.
It would be simple.
Show up. They do what they do. Done. Walk away. A day or two of discomfort,
then it never happened. No more problems. No more worries. Such a simple
solution. You walk away from a lifetime of hassles, a lifetime of worry, a
lifetime of pain and
…
love.
Ellen couldn’t
forget about love. She thought about all the love in the early years. It was
magical. How could you truly describe it to someone who hasn’t experienced it?
The joy when you first hold your baby, the first sight of him. Holding this little
bundle of life, of love, of everything you ever hoped for in a single moment
.
The bond. The knowing.
How could words capture that powerful feeling that
envelops you, holds you in joy?
She rolled to her
side, pulling her pillow close, remembering her first year as a mother. All the
scary moments when motherhood was some unknown adventure you hadn’t prepared
for. Sure, she read Dr. Spock and whatever other books they recommended at the time;
but the sheer scope of the responsibility—this life, completely dependent on
you, on
your
doing it right. Every step a discovery. Every
accomplishment a celebration.
She tried to imagine
a life without any of this. She tried to imagine being old and never knowing
the love that you have, that you give and that you share. You give it and ask
nothing in return. It is complete love. Unselfish. Unending. But it is also
demanding.
Ellen thought about
her expectations for her children. Her standards. Had her expectations been too
high? Suddenly, she saw alternatives to her demands, as if some door opened,
presenting her with truth. Why had she never seen these before? She could have
supported them more in their needs. She certainly could have listened instead
of lectured. But she didn’t know any better. It was too late. Her children, in
spite of all the love she gave, in spite of her eternal sacrifices, didn’t
really love her.
It was something she
refused to admit before, but now, in the strangest way, it was painfully
obvious. She imagined raising her children differently. What would she do if
she could reset the clock and redo her life? She would change. She would change
everything, including her marriage. Hindsight is everything. Yet, it is also
nothing, for it can’t undo the past, can’t undo the hurt already inflicted. It
can’t take back the damaging words that are forever etched and relived in the
souls of those you wounded. She winced at some of the hurtful words she gave
and received.
To clear the slate and start anew. Could it be done?
She could with
Jonathan. Now, she has a chance to do it right.
But at what
price?
Ellen put her hand on her stomach and tried to imagine paying his
price. The solution would be better for both of them. There was no denying how
much easier it would make everything.
Does easier make it right?
I am the problem.
I want what isn’t right. I’m too scared to do what I know is right.
But what is right
and what is wrong? And who decides? Was it God?
All her life she followed
the church and its list of do’s and don’ts. All her life, she sat in judgment
of others who didn’t follow the list—her list of right and wrong. What if the
list they gave her was wrong? She pushed the thought away. Millions of others
can’t be wrong.
Ellen rolled over
and read the clock: eleven a.m. She might lose her job, her fiancé and her
future if she didn’t get her act together. She forced herself out of bed and
headed for the bathroom. She was surprised she hadn’t experienced any morning
sickness; she certainly had with Brandon and Brianna. She washed her hands
under the cool water and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
You aren’t her.
A
voice inside her head kept repeating.
You aren’t her. You shouldn’t be. You
shouldn’t be.
She touched her body.
I feel everything,
she argued
back.
If I’m not her, why do I feel like her?
But Ellen knew it was an
argument she couldn’t win. Ellen knew deep inside, she was herself.