Melanie's Awakening

by Michael Cross

  As we were leaving San Francisco I mentioned I would miss the city. My statement seemed to energize Sara as she proposed, “It is a wonderful place, isn’t it? The atmosphere is accepting, the weather is not hot or cold, and I will bet there would certainly be plenty of job opportunities for both engineers and psychologists.” She also suggested Sweden – she was sure I would love it there. She said Stockholm was like a cross between San Francisco and Seattle, whatever that meant. She also said that gays and lesbians can have church weddings there. My thoughts went to Nicole’s wedding and for a brief second I thought of myself with Sara getting married. I kind of marvelled at her comment – was it a stealth proposal or just a statement of fact? Was this the way Swedes did things? I also wondered if we did get married if we both would wear wedding dresses or if one of us would have to wear a tuxedo. I certainly knew that no matter what, I would be the one in a dress since Sara seemed intent on making me her little princess. I did not mind wearing girlish things, but I hoped she was not determined to force me to give up my more casual look.

  I would begin to seriously wonder if we were destined to marry. Three weeks after returning from our trip she asked me to move in with her. Of course that was just the beginning. Soon she was suggesting that I alter my diet, she kept making comments about my clothing style, and then she gave me a beginner’s book on the Swedish language. I suppose I should have been more irritated but I was willing to put up with it at the time – I even thought it was interesting that she copied off forms for a visa application to Sweden. Was it an inescapable price for being close to someone the duty to be altered in their image? Still, I was happy those few weeks – yet my joy would not be permanent as my life was about to be permanently altered by events outside my control.

  Chapter 4

  Receiving an unexpected phone call in the middle of the night can never bring any good news. This would be no exception. I was alone in my apartment, in a deep sleep, until I heard the phone ring around 2am. I struggled to wake myself up and picked up the receiver. I was not even awake enough to wonder who it was when I said hello. The voice on the other end would cause my heart to stop cold but not for the reasons one might expect. “Hello, is this Melanie Freya Johnson?” I asked who wanted to know. “This is Lieutenant Espinoza of the Portland Metropolitan Police Department. Ma’am, is this Miss Johnson?” I admitted it was. “Miss Johnson, is this Melanie Johnson, daughter of Susan Franklin of Woodlane Terrace Road?” My heart was still frozen but for different reasons as I feared where this was going.

  “Miss Johnson, I really don’t know how to put this but there has been an accident this evening. I am so sorry to tell you that your mother and her husband were killed.” I was in shock I slammed the phone down in anger and yelled, “No! This is not fair! It can’t be true!” Within moments the phone rang again. I sat up and remained frozen, staring into the void of darkness in my room, as the phone rang and rang. I finally answered and the policeman continued, “I am really sorry Miss Johnson. I know this is hard but you will have to come in and make a positive ID of the bodies.” He continued to explain what I needed to do and where the bodies were being stored. I paused for a moment and answered in a distant monotone, “I will be there tomorrow afternoon.” I then hung up the phone.

  I was not sure how I should react. I thought the normal thing would be to cry but I could not bring myself to do so. I felt a form of emptiness that I had not felt since that evening in Mark’s house when we found him. What could I do? Could it be true that my mother was dead? Was she taken from me? Why? I hoped beyond hope that the police had made a mistake, but when I called my mother’s number there was no answer. I was dazed as I stood up and headed into the kitchen. For some reason I turned on my computer and found the last mail Nicole had sent me. She knew my mother and perhaps she could give me some comfort. I figured she was in Georgia but at least I had to tell her what had happened.

  I next called Sara. She was shocked and started crying. She said she would be there for me and I told her I would appreciate it. I then asked if I could come over, and if she could come with me to Portland – I told her I really could use the support, especially when I had to identify my mother. Her response totally caught me by surprise. She apologized and said she had a seminar she could not miss in the morning. I asked if she could at least come over but she said she really needed some rest but was willing to talk on the phone for a while. I said I appreciated her offer but maybe I needed some rest as well.

  I calmly put the phone down and stared into space. I was furious that she would avoid me in this hour. Without even thinking sprung up and grabbed the little crystal rose Sara had given me and slammed it down on the floor. I was angry only in the way a lover could get when treated with contempt. I needed someone to help me make sense of this and then the phone rang. I yelled, “Great, just great!” I had broken my rose into a dozen little fragments and now Sara was probably calling back to apologize. I guess I would have to come up with some reason I had shattered her gift.

  I answered, “Hello?” but to my total astonishment the voice on the other end was Nicole’s! She immediately asked, “Melanie, I woke up early this morning for some reason and read your message. I am so sorry for you – please, how can I help?” I told her I had to go identify the bodies. She asked when and I said that I would have to leave in just a few hours. To my surprise she informed me that Daniel had lost his job in Georgia and that the father of a friend he had met in the military had offered him a job in southern California – in fact, they had just finished relocating there. She said she would call me before I left to go to Portland and urged me to hang in there. It was so nice to talk to her – I thought maybe now that she lived closer we could see each other on occasion. Yet I had to get these thoughts out of my mind and get some sleep if I was going to make the journey to Portland in just a few hours. As strange as some might think, I soon fell into a deep sleep.

  Nicole called around 9am. She asked, “How are you holding up?” I said I was managing. Actually, I felt numb, empty but still no physical manifestations of hurt – which I interpreted as lack of feeling. She was so sympathetic though and said she had talked with Daniel and had a rather awkward question to ask. I urged her to continue, “Daniel gave me permission to come and see you. I know you could use the support no matter how much you say you have it under control. It’s just that, well, we don’t have any money left after the move and all.” I certainly wanted her support, something Sara sure was not giving right then. I asked how much she needed and that I could wire the money to her once I arrived in Portland.

  I had no idea of what to do at this moment. I figured it would take a few days to do whatever one is supposed to do when these things happen. I made a checklist while driving – call my academic advisor and see how long I could take off school as well as arrange a funeral and who knows what else. I could call my aunt Debra in San Diego for some advice and lastly find out the status of the property my mother and Gerald owned.

  I stopped by my bank and took out several hundred dollars to wire to Nicole. I at least had half the money left from selling eggs to the fertility clinic. I hoped she would come up soon, yet it would not be soon enough to help me at the coroner’s. I was white hot angry at Sara for not being there for me. Her seminar had sure better be important since Nicole was willing to drive from southern California to be with me.

  It was a really weird feeling to park in the visitors’ area to face my ordeal alone. It was a typical April day in Portland – warm with sun for a few minutes and then heavy rain. As I sat there in my car it was in a raining phase, which I used as an excuse to postpone the inevitable. If I were superstitious I might have thought this was my punishment for taking part in other people’s deaths, but I dismissed that notion – besides, none of the families of the people I killed ever had to go in and identify a body.

  When the rain stopped I forced myself out of the car and made that walk through the doors of the building where I knew my mother’s
body was contained. I asked what I should do at the front desk and the woman asked me to wait, and that the coroner would see me in just a few minutes. I took a seat and waited, and waited, and then a short bald guy with a black beard came and introduced himself as the coroner. He then asked me to follow him. I had no clue what to expect – it somewhat troubled me that I was curious about what I would soon see, and how I would react. Was I running on some sort of automatic defence, so as not to feel pain? Was I truly lacking in empathy for what had happened to my mom – and only concerned about how this was going to impact upon me?

  I entered the room and could feel the slight coolness in the air. He asked if I was okay and I said I was. Then he brought out the bodies. I looked first at Gerald’s body. It was weird, he was dead but there were only a few cuts on his face. I asked exactly what had happened and the coroner said that a car had wandered into their lane – apparently the driver of the other car had fallen asleep at the wheel. The impact had killed Gerald and my mom, as well as the other driver instantly. Apparently both my mom and Gerald had died from a combination of broken necks and head injuries.

  Next I had to identify my mom. There she was... bluish white and cold – the coroner again asked if I was okay but this time I did not respond. I just stood there and stared. I had seen dead bodies before but not this long after death. My victims had been, for no better words, fresh – still warm with bright red blood covering their bodies. In contrast my mom almost appeared like a large stiff plastic doll. Like Gerald I figured the blood had been cleaned off, but unlike him her face had no outward signs of trauma. It was though she was asleep. A part of me wanted to touch her, just to see that it was not a wax replica of my mom, but I did not want to risk picking up some bacteria.

  The other thing that made this different, and really troubling for me, was that here was the woman who had given birth to me, who had held me as a child and had been there in good times and bad. I looked at her head and wondered if all those memories were gone now, if they only existed in me. I found myself hoping that there had been a spirit in her and that she still possessed her experiences, thoughts and even the love I suspected she had for me. Looking at her I knew something was different and I hoped it was that her spirit was in another place now.

  Another thing that bothered me was that the blood that pulsated through my body was the same as hers. It was almost like looking at my own self dead on that slab. Was this me someday? Was all that I was doing in life just a preparation for someone to come in and tell someone, “Yes, this is Melanie”? That really troubled me.

  The coroner snapped me out of my trance and asked, “Excuse me Miss. Johnson, is this Susan Franklin?” I turned to him and, in as angry a tone as I dared, I replied, “Yes it is!” He apologized and said I had some paperwork to fill out and that I needed to choose a mortuary to transport the bodies to as soon as possible.

  I was happy that my mother’s sister called me almost as soon as I left the coroner. She said she and her “significant other” would be flying up and would arrive early in the morning. She also would take care of all the business details. While I appreciated her help I still did not like her. One would think we would get along really well – she was as far into New Age as my mother had been conventional. However, I had several reasons to either disrespect her or even despise her. Her lifestyle seemed to serve no real purpose. She had never had children, she had experimented with practically every eastern religion, in fact, the only thing that surpassed the number of gurus and sages she had followed were the number of boyfriends she had acquired in her 55 years of life.

  I suppose the reason I truly would never, ever want a relationship with this woman was based on the conversation I overheard when I was twelve years of age. She was visiting my mom and one evening, when they thought I was asleep, she told my mother that she had made a huge mistake not having an abortion when my father had already expressed dissatisfaction with their marriage, and had grown angry over discovering she was pregnant with me. She also commented that she felt there was something strange about me, that I was not someone anyone could really like. My mom had become angry with her that evening and my aunt left the next day. I was not anxious to see this woman, but I could be tactful if it meant that she would take care of the details of the funeral.

  I drove over to the house. It felt so empty and lifeless…or maybe it was just the way I perceived it in my mind. As I entered the living room, there was an eerie quiet – I immediately turned on the TV just to have some background. That evening I called Nicole to see if she had picked up the money. It was so wonderful to hear her voice. She said, “Melanie, I will be leaving in the morning and might be able to make it up by late tomorrow!” I asked, “Please just be careful. I could not bear to have anything happen to you.”

  The next day I picked up my aunt and her boyfriend at the airport – both looked like aging groupies of some hippie rock band. The first thing they asked was if there were any vegetarian restaurants near the house and any organic grocers. Debra was not all that friendly with me but at least her spacey boyfriend provided great conversation as he told me about his recent travels to Nepal and Tibet. Debra would announce to me just after lunch that the funeral was scheduled for three days later – she would cover the costs until I could get access to my mother’s bank account.

  Later that same day my mother and Gerald’s lawyer called – he had been notified of their deaths and would sort out the financial assets they left. He agreed to meet with me if I could hurry to his office – it seemed that since Gerald had no kids I inherited everything. They had a policy to pay off the house if anything happened to either of them and my mom had a rather large life insurance policy. It seemed I owned a house and in a short time I would have the equivalent of working ten years as a psychologist in my bank account. I also received a call back from my academic advisor – he said that if I just finished up the last parts of my projects and took two tests then I would have fulfilled the requirements for the academic year, and had the option of not returning until winter term if necessary.

  I called Sara to ask if she could attend the funeral with me. When I told her the time and date she apologized and said she had a mandatory seminar that day. While we were talking on the phone I clicked on her university department’s web site. I checked her schedule and the only thing that day was a formal dinner and awards ceremony – I noticed her name on the list of people getting recognition for outstanding projects. Nowhere did the site mention anything about this being mandatory. My anger was mounting again, and when she asked when I would be back home I calmly replied, “It might be a while since I have a lot of business down here. Maybe you should just be content your trophy or whatever you’ll get at the ceremony to keep you company!” I slammed the phone down and when it started to ring again I did not answer.

  My feelings were really hurt by Sara that day – more so than her opting out of coming with me when I had to identify my mom’s body. How dare she say she wanted me in her life and then lie to me as well as choose some dinner over being there for the funeral of my mother? I refused to answer any calls on my mom’s phone, and I did not return any of her calls on my cell. I did not even bother to check my e-mails.

  I was polite to my aunt and her current companion. I guess that I still needed her help despite my low opinion of her. I let them know that a friend of mine was coming to visit me that evening – when she asked where she would be staying I said with us of course. She seemed not to be quite happy with that but I did not care – she was, after all, now a guest in my house.

  I decided to let Nicole stay in my room. I tried to get things ready for her arrival which meant taking all the items my mom had placed in my room for storage out to the garage. I was really anxious to see Nicole and I wanted her stay to be pleasant and cosy.

  At around 10:30 I saw headlights in the window – a car drove into the driveway. I sprang up and ran out the door to see Nicole. She looked really tired, in fact, she no longer looked li
ke a 22 year old but rather she had that tired look that went beyond missing a few nights of sleep. She was looking seriously old. When she got out of the car I embraced her and we just stood there holding each other tightly.

  “Well, I made it!” Nicole said with a perky, upbeat tone that I had not heard for a very long time. She continued, “I wish it was a nicer occasion.” I nodded and then suggested we take everything in. We practically ran into the house with her luggage and I introduced her to my aunt and her friend. I offered her some frozen pizza and we sat there at the dinner table just like old times.

  We only talked about my mother’s death for a short while. What was there to say? She was dead, I missed her and it would be a while for me to get used to it. Nicole mentioned her father had died a year earlier, but her mother had not had a funeral, just a private cremation. I suggested she go see her mom while here and asked how long she planned on staying. Her answer gave me reason for joy when she replied, “Daniel gave me permission to stay for two weeks!” I was too happy to wonder about her using the term “permission” as that seemed quite controlling.

  Nicole explained that Daniel had not been able to get time off so she could not see her mom – even after her father had died. That caused me to wonder why Daniel was no longer in the Air Force. When I brought up the question she shrugged her shoulders and said, Daniel decided it was not what he really wanted in life, that’s all really.” I asked, “So what about you? Are you planning on college?” She sighed and circled the rim on her glass with her finger, “I had been going to a community college until Daniel resigned from the military. I would like to go back for a nursing degree or something in the future.”