She placed the photo back on the shelf, while thoughts of where her brother was then rolled through the back of her mind. Most of the other photos depicted her and Richard’s lavish lifestyle – vacations in Italy, Bahamas, France, and even Japan. To any outsider, they appeared to be the happiest couple of all time, one who had it all. There were a few photos of Richard’s family. In one silver frame was a portrait of his mother and father who had died before she had met him. Richard had told her that his father had abused him and his mother when he was a child, which Anne had long since realized was likely why he had problems expressing his own anger. The difference, Richard explained to her, was that his father never felt sorrow for what he had done to them, whereas he was a better man because he did. He explained he was never taught how to properly deal with his anger and it was a natural reaction, one that he was going to fix someday. She had faith that he could and would become a better man – he succeeded at everything else. He just needed time and support and she would help him overcome this obstacle.
Realizing she was getting carried away with reminiscing the past, she did a quick dust job of the shelves. She lit a few rose scented candles to give the room a fresh floral aroma that would appeal to her husband’s tastes. She pulled the rich burgundy curtains back and pulled the blinds up to allow the natural light from outside to shine in. They really were quite lovely curtains. Far from what she ever had in any of the homes she grew up in. Richard preferred the curtains be drawn at all times though, claiming they needn’t give their neighbors any reason to gossip about how they spent their days in the house. Really, she knew it was because he feared someone might be watching when she messed up or angered him and he couldn’t control his reaction. But on special occasions like this, she knew he liked them open. It did make their home all the more welcoming. As she drew the blinds of the last window, she glanced peered through at the surrounding neighborhood.
They lived in a suburb just outside Chicago, on a cul-de-sac with other large family homes, similar to theirs. The difference was those homes were filled with families. It was only Richard and her sharing this large house. There were several bedrooms, currently being served as guest rooms as they had no children. She had always imagined having two children, a boy and a girl. She didn’t know if she were ever going to be lucky enough to have children now though, the timing had never seemed right, Richard said. He was too busy with work and thought that having children would only complicate their marriage. Anne had long ago quit taking her birth control hoping that if she surprised him with the news of her carrying it would change his mind. She didn’t think of him as a cruel enough to have her end the pregnancy and he and her would just make the best of the circumstances. After all, she wouldn’t need too much of his time being as she would focus on doing all the heavy parenting necessary, requiring only his love and support. But even that didn’t seem likely; they hadn’t had many intimate encounters that could result in pregnancy. He worked late most nights, coming to bed long after she had fallen asleep and would wake and leave for work early. Work was the most important thing in Richard’s life, and she had to constantly remind herself it was for the best, so that they could continue to live the way they did.
Anne watched as a car pulled into the driveway across the street. The Garrison’s, she thought was their name. They were one of the smaller families in the neighborhood – wife, husband, and two boys, both under the age of ten she supposed. She didn’t know them well; she didn’t know any of their neighbors very well as she kept to herself most of the time. A man got out of the car, opened the back door and leaned in, withdrawing a bouquet of what appeared to be white lilies. As he approached the front door of the home, a woman opened the door and greeted him by throwing her arms around him. Just then a dog ran out from behind the woman, with one of the boys trailing right behind him. The husband laughed and called to the boy and dog, and they all returned inside, kissing the woman on the forehead as they went in. Anne smiled. That could be her and Richard someday.
A buzz came from the kitchen to her right.
“Shit! The lobster!” Anne rushed into the kitchen and flung the oven door open.
“Thank the heavens!” The lobster was fine, almost baked to perfection. She lowered the temp on the oven to keep it warm while she finished getting ready. Glancing at that clock, she realized she only had about forty minutes left to finish up. Where had the time gone? She rushed up the stairs to their bedroom and into their closet to search for the dress Richard had requested. She found the black dinner dress and laid it upon their bed. She then quickly showered and dried her hair, pulling it all into a long braid down her back. Richard liked it like that. She sat on the white duvet filled with down that covered their bed and pulled sheer stockings up her legs. She stood and watched herself in the mirror as she stepped into the little black dress. She could see bruises on her upper arms from the other night where Richard had grabbed her too tightly. She had forgotten to change the timer on the sprinklers in their front yard to accommodate his coming home later than usual. When he had gotten home, he had just barely gotten out of the car when they went off, nearly soaking him and his briefcase.
This must have been why he had requested this specific dress. Of course she couldn’t host a dinner for her husband’s potential business partners whilst having bruises of that nature scattered along her arms. They would ask questions, and it would embarrass Richard. Zipping the dress up she sat at the vanity in their room and rummaged through her jewelry collection to find something appropriate for tonight’s occasion. She worried about whether or not she’d pick out something too flashy or too simple. She finally settled on a pair of tear-drop diamond earrings and a matching necklace, hoping her choice would please her husband. She gathered her heels and carried them downstairs with her, leaving them in the kitchen until she had to put them on.
Anne quickly set the dining room table, using their fine china and best wine glasses. She even brought the vase of roses from the living room and placed them in the center of the table, giving the setting a more formal feel. Just as she was looking through the wine rack for the Shiraz Richard had requested she heard the front door open and her husband call out her name.
“I’m in the kitchen! How was your day?” Anne called out.
Richard came into the kitchen a few moments later, loosening up his tie.
“Hey Babe. Smells good in here. Work was, well, work. You remember me telling you about that Johnson girl that we just transferred in from Milwaukee? She’s going to be the death of me, I tell ya.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a cold Diet-Coke from within, cracking it open and downing nearly half the can at once.
“Why do you say that?” Anne asked, still searching for the wine, “Hey, do you if the Shiraz is in the basement?”
“Shiraz? Didn’t you make lobster? Come on Babe, you know better. You shouldn’t serve a red wine with lobster, pick a white. Do we still have that bottle of Peter Michael chardonnay?” Richard set the soda down on the counter and peered into the oven. “And you should probably take this out before it burns. I won’t be able to impress these guys if they’re too busy wondering why they’re eating burnt lobster.”
Anne grabbed the bottle of chardonnay he mentioned, deciding it best not to mention he was the one who had requested the Shiraz when he knew she was making lobster. Just be thankful you couldn’t find the Shiraz, otherwise it might have been too late. She placed the bottle in a wine bucket and added ice from the dispenser to chill the bottle.
“Anyways, you were saying? The Johnson girl?”
“Ah, yes, Margo. Margo Johnson. I’m pretty sure she’s after my title. I’ll be damned if I let some young thing, a woman at that, come in and take my job! Who does she think she is anyways? God, the things I have to put up with at Aspen. You, my dear, have it made. You don’t have to deal with these fools who come in fresh out of college thinking they own the place. The audacity of some people…”
Anne slid her s
hoes on and began bringing the food to the table in the other room. He continued his conversation right up until their guests had arrived. The dinner went flawlessly, the food was delicious, and the house was immaculate. Yet, Anne couldn’t help but stare out the window, past those beautiful burgundy curtains, at the house across the street. The Garrison’s house. She could make out blurry forms of the family through their open curtains. They were likely getting ready for a dinner shared together where they would laugh and joke and talk about how each of their days went. Someday, that would be her and Richard, and hopefully a child or two. Then things would be perfect. And they would always leave the curtains and blinds open. The neighbors would know they were the perfect family. Someday.
______________________
PART III
No one can predict the moment of death. Throughout life, Anne had often imagined she’d die of old age. Never had she thought she’d be living in some low run hospice facility at the age of forty-three, dying of acute renal failure. Yet, here she was. She knew any day now could be her last – she would take her last labored breath, exhale, and cease to take another. Hell, she nearly embraced the thought of dying. It would put an end to her misery. She would feel no more pain. No more dehydration. No more disorientation. Just – no more.
She had been living at the Seasons Hospice and Palliative Care center for almost two years now. It was the cheapest, most poorly staffed center in the area, but it was all she could manage to afford on the miserable amount of alimony she received from Richard after their divorce seven years ago. She hadn’t lived in much better conditions prior to her diagnosis, and then even worse conditions while she began dialysis. When she began losing the ability to care for herself, she had no other choices but to move to a hospice center. At that point, she still had hope. Not much, but some. How had she gotten here? Why her? Why now?
She had been diagnosed with kidney failure four years ago after repeat visits to the doctor due to frequent kidney stone recurrences. She was only thirty-nine years old. The doctors had told her that the damage to her kidneys likely began because of the amount of physical abuse she had endured during her marriage to Richard, and had urged her to take legal action to compensate for the medical and emotional distress the abuse had since caused her. She refused, knowing Richard would fight to the end to keep his name clean and deny this part of their history together. And she knew people would believe him. No one would ever know what kind of man Richard truly was.
Anne didn’t know if Richard even knew what sort of condition she was currently in. He had cut all ties to her completely after the divorce. She had been sitting at the couch in their living room, watching some primetime network drama when Richard came home from work. He hadn’t said a word to her when she asked him how his day had been at work. It was unusual for him to be home so early, but she was hopeful it meant they could finally spend some time together. She had followed him up the stairs and found him in their walk-in closet attached to their bedroom. He pulled two suitcases off of the top shelf, walked out of the closet, placed them on the bed and opened them, and returned to the closet. Anne, confused, had asked him what was the matter, if he had a last minute business trip again or something of that nature. Those had become regular conditions of his job; he was often gone for a week or so at a time.
“No, Anne. I’m not going anywhere. It’s you who’s leaving.” She remembered how cold he sounded. He had begun throwing clothes of hers into the suitcases. She begged him to explain himself but he said no more. He called a taxi and twenty-eight minutes later she was gone, no idea what was going on.
She had used their joint account to pay for a hotel for the first few nights, but on the fifth night, the man working the front desk explained to her that none of her cards would go through. Richard had cut her off. The kind man handed her an envelope, apologetically stating that another gentleman had dropped it off earlier that day and had informed the hotel that the cards were no longer valid. She had opened the envelope right there. It contained divorce papers and a brief letter from Richard himself.
“I am so sorry things have come to this point. I realize this might come to a shock to you, but I am no longer happy with our marriage. I believe it is within both our best interests to admit that our marriage has failed and we no longer love each other. We are no longer what the other desires or needs in life if we each wish to remain happy and have prosperous lives. Neither of us needs to waste another year, we’ve wasted twelve already.”
She had sat in the hotel lobby, reading those four lines over and over until the concierge told her that unless she had another form of payment and had intentions of remaining at their establishment, she would need to leave the property. She had spent the next several weeks at a homeless shelter where a kind heavy set African American woman, Janelle, tried to help her locate Tommy, her brother. She hadn’t spoken to him in nearly three years, but she knew he wouldn’t have his only sister living on the streets if he could help it. Weeks had gone by without any progress when finally the woman had regrettably informed her that he has passed away only six months before then due to a drug overdose. Tommy had only been thirty-one years old. Anne was broken. She had no one in life. Not a single friend or family member she could call upon to help her. Because of her relationship with Richard, she had never felt comfortable having close friends, afraid that someone would someday catch on to the physical abuse and she would lose everything.
Janelle eventually helped Anne find work at a small café not too far from the shelter. It didn’t pay much, but once the alimony started coming in after the divorce was finalized, she was able to afford a tiny efficiency apartment to call her own. She picked up another job at an Italian restaurant and soon that became her life. Work, home, nap, work, home, sleep, work, home, nap… so on so forth. Since she was the oldest employee at both her jobs – besides her bosses whom rarely came in – she didn’t make any close friends. But for her, that was alright. She was struggling to keep herself out of depression or to trust anyone after what had happened with Richard. That was the way things had continued for nearly three years. Up until she was diagnosed.
Anne would lose energy quickly, becoming sleepy and lethargic and finding it difficult to sleep at night. This caused her to lose her job at the café because she could barely perform the simple tasks she was responsible for. Her boss at the Italian restaurant was a bit more understanding, but had no choice but to give her shorter shifts and fewer hours per week. When a year had passed, Anne began having hallucinations which caused disorientation and confusion on a daily basis. Her doctors started her on dialysis in hopes that it would reduce the amount of waste buildup in her blood since her kidneys could no longer work properly. She had surgery to enlarge a blood vessel in her arm so that a catheter could easily be inserted for the hemodialysis process. For three to four hours each week she would be hooked up to machine that filtered out the waste product and returned the blood via another catheter. She took handfuls of medications multiple times per day. And yet, progress was slow coming. Each treatment got harder and harder.
Anne had moved into the hospice center shortly after quitting her job at the Italian restaurant because she was not able to complete her duties, let alone take care of herself. Since moving, she had no appetite at all. The nurses would fight for her to eat, but Anne had resisted and refused – swallowing was unbearable. Because she was so weak, she rarely ever came out of bed. She slept the majority of the day and night as her metabolism slowed down and the she became prone to dehydration often. Breathing had become raggedy. There would be a loud, deep inhalation – followed by a pause that would sometimes last up to a minute – and finally a slow exhalation. On top of that, she had an increased amount of phlegm, adding even more stress to her breathing. She began to lose bladder control and had to have a catheter inserted so that she would have fewer accidents.
Occasionally, the nurses would have to move her so they could change the bedding. Th
ey would place her in a mauve chair that sat next to the only window that occupied her room. The window was quite large, covered by white blinds and a generic floral patterned curtain. Each time the nurses move her to the chair, they would try to open the curtain as to allow Anne to watch whatever activity took place outside. At first, Anne enjoyed sitting in that chair, watching the birds flock together and the squirrels play with one another in the small courtyard that was just outside her room.
But soon, the scenery only brought on further depression. Some of the other patients were well enough they could take strolls outside or have visitors who would sit and have picnics at the few tables provided. This made Anne feel lonelier than she ever had ever felt in her lifetime. She had no visitors. She had no friends. She had no family. Hell, even the nurses around the hospice center came and went, so there was never a familiar face. Anne despised the window. Almost a year had gone by since she had last allowed the nurses to open the curtains. She didn’t need a constant reminder of how horribly wrong her life had gone. She just wanted to pass a long, move on to another life. She no longer dreamt about her future and how it could be. Instead she was haunted by the past.
Thoughts from the Rock Page 4
