Prairie Fire

by Djuna Shellam

  Each woman she passed by seemed to require some type of physical contact, quickly irritating Prairie. Here and there Prairie encountered someone who thought they knew her, and maybe they did. She rarely invested any interest in her conquests, at least none that lingered. Prairie was a one and done kind of girl. Luckily for her, L.A. was a big city with lots of new imports and tourists from all over the country and world every weekend, providing her with a fresh supply of paramours.

  Peanuts, its clientele predominantly lesbian, was a veritable smorgasbord for Prairie. In another time, Prairie would already have begun trolling for her next conquest on her way up to the bar, but at that moment, Prairie only felt annoyance.

  Not quite to the bar, Prairie stopped in her tracks and gazed around the establishment. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like one small, tiny aspect of the whole scene. Everything around her seemed to freeze in time as she surveyed her former stomping grounds. This is where I’d come every single weekend? How did I stand it? Who are these people? They look so stupid, and… Prairie shook her head, wondering what had happened to her that had made this place seem to be someplace she needed to be every weekend.

  Her shoulders sagged. She knew what had happened. Fiona. Bars were places she could go when she was shut down emotionally. After Fiona, Prairie didn’t dare let herself feel anything for anyone in an intimate way for fear of being hurt again. She didn’t need to get burned more than once to teach her not to play with fire. In the process of protecting her heart, Prairie shut down her emotions and became an unfeeling, promiscuous beast. Until now. Until Em.

  “Dammit,” Prairie said, resigned. She turned around and headed for the door, her car, home and Em.

  Prairie breezed past a perplexed Sable, got in her car and turned on the ignition. As she put the car in reverse, Prairie looked into the rearview mirror and stared at her reflection for a good long while. “Shit. I’m doomed.”

  She backed out of the parking space, and then headed for home, depressed, but a little excited.

  14.5—Dark House

  The entire way home Prairie fretted about her situation with Em, while also being drawn back into the past with Fiona, and back to Em again. Filled with uncertainty and a little bit of worry, Prairie was absolutely certain about one thing: she would never step foot into Peanuts or any other lesbian bar again. Well, maybe just not Peanuts. She didn’t want to over commit. Her biggest worry was about Em. How was she going to deal with these stupid feelings Prairie had for her? Fairly certain Em didn’t have similar feelings for her, it created a particularly unique situation for Prairie. She was used to women falling for her, and then having to bat them away as she never had any feelings for them. What if Em was the same as she was? What if she was used to women or men falling for her and not reciprocating?

  The closer to the house Prairie got, the more she worried. She wasn’t looking forward to the most certain grilling or even gentle ribbing she’d get from the girls once she arrived. As long as they’d known Prairie, she’d never come home the same night, or even in most cases, until early Monday morning, just in time to get ready for work. They were going to figure out tout de suite what was going on with her, and boy oh boy, were they going to have a field day with her. Prairie grimaced at the thought.

  When she pulled up to the front of the house, Gwen’s car was missing and the house appeared completely dark.

  “Hmmm…” she murmured, and wondered if they got Em to go along with them. Highly doubtful, Prairie concluded. She felt certain she knew Em well enough to know she wouldn’t likely go out with the roommates as she was still getting her bearings at the house. Upon entering the house, Prairie headed straight for their room, expecting to find Em on her bed and reading; instead, she found a dark and empty room. The entire household, sans Chip, who was probably out with his fiancé Deedee, had most probably gone to the movies.

  “Damn,” Prairie said softly and sat down on the edge of Em’s bed. Prairie looked around the room, feeling a little lonely. She stroked Em’s bedspread and closed her eyes, letting out a long and deep sigh. It was a terrible and hopeless situation. Prairie had a longing for Em that was just this side of unethical—and it was tearing her apart.

  FIFTEEN

  Dawn Breaks

  15.1—Done

  “I’m done.” Em wrested her leg free of Prairie’s grip and sat up on the physical therapy table.

  “Em…” Prairie’s voice had a hint of warning. “We still have another thirty minutes to go.”

  “No. I’m done, I said,” Em practically hissed, then with defeat added, “I’m sick of being tortured.”

  Prairie heaved a deep sigh. Another day, another tantrum. Em was her own worst enemy as far as Prairie was concerned. Prairie stood with her hands on her hips, staring at Em who had laid back down on the table in defeat.

  “Em, we go through this every goddamned day. You’re not helping yourself. You know that because I tell you that every goddamned day. Come on,” she urged. “Just let me finish, and then we’ll be done until this afternoon.” Prairie’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Em continued to ignore her.

  The urgent sound of Prairie’s tennis shoe tapping out her frustration onto the waxed linoleum did not compare to the frustration she actually felt. The two sessions they spent every day at the PT clinic almost wiped her out completely for her other patients. Something had to give.

  “Fine. I’m calling it a day with you. I’ll call Gwen and see if she can come and get you, and if she can, then I’ll see you at home.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  ~/~/~/~/~

  Back at the house, Em sat alone in the converted den she shared with Prairie. Gwen had gone back to work once she got Em into the house and settled, and everyone else was at work as well. It was the first time she’d been completely alone in the house since she first moved in. During the week she went to work with Prairie. Between her two PT sessions, she would hang out around the hospital with one or two of a handful of her acquaintances until Prairie’s shift ended. At the house, there was always someone around during the evening and weekends; but now, there was no one. In a way, it reminded her of her childhood. Though there had always been someone in the house with her, whether it was her mother or one of the staff, the mansion was so large she could go an entire day without seeing anyone. She shuddered slightly. She didn’t want to think of home or her parents.

  Em wheeled herself to the foot of Prairie’s bed and the windows along the back of the house where she could look out over the neighborhood. From up on the hill there was a fairly good view of the Los Angeles enclave of Highland Park where they lived. She grew up on the top of a hill, but in a completely different part of the city, with a completely different view. From her parents’ estate in Bel Air, high on a hill in the exclusive neighborhood in West Los Angeles reserved for the über rich, the view was expansive. In one direction you could see Santa Catalina Island with the entire city of Los Angeles; in another, the beautiful San Gabriel mountain range. In between, estates, homes, and commercial buildings in every size and shape seemingly filled every space.

  This view was different, but it pleased her. Small to large homes, on lots of various sizes, and myriad styles—Spanish Mediterranean, to Craftsman Era, to Sixties stucco—built from the early twentieth century, cluttered the landscape. Meandering streets and their sidewalks wound around small and large hills created by millions of years of earthquakes throughout the area.

  It would be so nice to take a stroll around the neighborhood, she thought longingly. If she could actually walk, that is. With all of the rolling hills, a wheelchair wasn’t the ideal mode of transportation. The reality of her situation made her stomach hurt.

  For too long she’d been content to remain in her wheelchair, angry at the circumstances that put her there; but lately, against her own stubborn will and denial, she’d found herself craving the use of her whole body again. No matter how she fought the urge, fearing hope and ultimate
failure, it still managed to creep evermore into her psyche.

  And yet, Em found herself, day after day, rebelling against Prairie and the physical therapy meant to make her as whole as possible. She felt weak and cowardly, ashamed that she wasn’t stronger and more determined to beat the injuries that kept her wheelchair bound. It was as if the accident broke more than her body, crushing her spirit along with her leg.

  Em glanced at the white gold Bulova watch her parents had given her years before and concluded she would be alone for at least another four or five hours. She wondered what she could do to fill her time. Stuck on the main floor, there were only so many options available to her. No one at the house cared for television, so they didn’t bother to have one, which Em found a little strange. Even if for breaking news or important events it seemed reasonable to have one, but they didn’t.

  There was an expansive library in the large living room, but all of the shelves but for one began just past her reach. The reachable shelf only had nicknacks on it, and no reading material. She couldn’t cook for the same reason—everything was out of her reach. The more she thought of things she might do, the more frustrated she became. Perhaps, she thought, if she could get out onto the large front porch, she could sit and watch the world go by. It wasn’t her first choice, but it was something that would get her out of the emptiness of the house.

  Slowly, Em began to wheel herself to the large and impressive front door, with the porch as her final destination. Chip had built a ramp for her to get to the street, but without assistance, she would not be able to get back up. More than that, the house was at the top of the hill. One wrong move and Em could find herself careening down the street. Keen to avoid such a scenario, Em set her sights on the porch.

  The first obstacle she encountered was getting around the boxes of Christmas decorations waiting for Chip to install on the outside of the house. Gwen, Macie and Barbie had already begun decorating on the inside. They’d been nagging at him for the last few days to do his part. The manly part, they teased. Em smiled thinking of them. Thankfully, the girls’ boxes were stacked in the dining room.

  Once at the door, Em was surprised how heavy it was. It required strength and maneuverability Em hadn’t yet mastered to open it. After what seemed an eternity of struggling with it, Em eventually managed to open it, knocking down a stack of outdoor decorations in the process. Oops. There wasn’t a screen door, making it easier for her to get onto the porch. Em rolled her chair over the threshold to within a foot from the first step and took in the view.

  The porch that ran the length of the front of the house was steel grey painted concrete with five similarly painted concrete steps down to the walkway that led to the public sidewalk. An eclectic collection of gardenia-filled flower pots lined the edge of the built-in railing. The flowers and the narrow strip of tidy and perfectly edged lawn, separated only by the walkway, gave Em an odd sense of comfort. To her right, at the edge of the lot, a narrow, steep driveway went down the side of the house to the garage and Chip’s apartment above it. In front of her, a street in line with the walkway up to the house—the one Prairie mostly took every morning on their way to work—wound down a hill to another street, then an alley of sorts that connected to a major street where the prime real estate was occupied by a sizable elementary school.

  Focused on surveying her surroundings, Em was jolted out of her quiet and contemplative observation by the sound of a gentle click behind her. She twisted her body as far as she could to see what she most feared: the front door closed on its own.

  “Oh no…” she whispered to herself, hoping against hope the door hadn’t locked itself, too. Em turned the wheelchair around and clumsily rolled up to the door.

  “Please, please, please,” she repeated to herself over and over again as she hesitantly reached for the door knob. She grabbed the weathered knob, but didn’t turn it, fearful of what she expected. “Come on…” she said under her breath. Em attempted to turn the knob but just as she imagined, the door was indeed locked. “Ugh…” Em slumped in her chair in woeful defeat.

  It was a fairly cool day—not cold, but not warm, either. Em was wearing jeans and a light sweater, but usually found herself easily chilled when sitting for long periods of time in her chair. She didn’t think to use the restroom prior to getting herself out onto the porch, which, knowing her body, could prove problematic in an hour or two—or less.

  She looked at her watch again, even though she already knew it would be hours before anyone came home. After thirty minutes, Em still hadn’t seen any activity in the neighborhood, confirming that everyone was, indeed, at work. Years prior, she might have seen young children playing on the sidewalk, or young mothers pushing strollers, but the neighborhood had been gentrified in the last several years by mostly childless couples, or as in the case of her household, working, childless, adults.

  The longer Em sat and waited, the colder she got, and the more urgent her bathroom needs became. Yet, the longer she sat stranded, the stronger her resolve grew to get back on her feet. For all these long months she’d been catered to and cared for, never having to do anything for herself. She was ashamed to admit she had become complacent as an invalid and comfortable feeling sorry for herself.

  If she were already able to walk, Em would have been back in the house within a few minutes by simply walking around the back and climbing the stairs to the service porch entrance which was never locked. It infuriated her to no end that the only reason she was not able to do that was because of her own stubbornness. Knowing that only steeled her growing resolve. Once Em knew with certainty she was trapped on the porch, completely helpless until one of her roommates came home or a neighbor happened by, she was overcome by incredible determination: This would never happen to her again. She would walk again and soon, no matter what it took.

  ~/~/~/~/~

  Prairie sprinted up the walkway. “Oh, holy shit,” Prairie muttered as she bounded up the steps to the porch to Em sitting on the porch in her wheelchair. It wasn’t Em in her chair on the porch that caused Prairie concern, but the pained look on Em’s face. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

  “I got locked out, but please… I have to pee!” Em was clenching as tightly as she could, but she was about to lose the battle.

  Prairie quickly unlocked the door and hurriedly steered Em toward the back of the house to their bathroom. “How long have you been out there, Em?”

  “Ughhhh… Hurry, Prairie… Hurry!” Don’t talk to me, Prairie Em screamed in her head, fearing she wasn’t going to make it after holding it for so many hours on the shaded and chilly porch.

  “C’mon,” Prairie said as she hoisted Em out of her chair and into the small bathroom. Em had already begun pulling down her workout pants and was just about to lose her control when Prairie plopped her onto the commode seat. Prairie leapt out of the small space, closed the door behind her and went into their bedroom. She could hear Em moaning with relief through the doors and smiled to herself as she shook her head at the circumstance. “Let me know when you’re ready!” Prairie called out.

  ~/~/~/~/~

  Back in their room, crisis averted, Prairie flopped onto her bed, happy to get off her feet, and Em parked her chair next to her own bed. Prairie knew Em well enough by now to know not to pry too hard to find out what happened. She could wait. Hands behind her head, ankles crossed, Prairie remained silent as she watched Em, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.

  Em finally looked at Prairie and declared with determination, “Okay. You win,”

  “Win what?” Prairie cocked her head to the side.

  Em sighed heavily. “I want to walk, Prairie. I’ll work hard no matter what. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a butt about the whole thing. You’ve been so cool about everything, working so hard, and…” Em spoke rapidly, trying to get everything out to Prairie that she’d worked out in her head while stranded on the porch.

  “It’s cool,” Prairie attempted to interject as she pro
pped herself up on her elbows, but Em continued.

  “No. No… I was so busy feeling sorry for myself. Angry… confused… scared,” she admitted. “I’m not trying to excuse my horrible behavior, because it’s… just… inexcusable. I took everything out on you, Prairie, and I’m really sorry. Really. And, obviously, if I could’ve walked this afternoon, I wouldn’t have been stuck on that stupid porch. Well, it’s actually a great porch, but you know what I mean.”

  Prairie smiled and nodded knowingly.

  “I could have read a book,” Em continued, “or cooked dinner for everyone, or gone for a walk or a run or… something. But I couldn’t because I’ve stuck myself in this stupid chair, and I don’t want that to ever happen to me again. I don’t know what…” her voice trailed.

  Prairie beamed. “It’s okay, Em. No worries. You can do it, just like I’ve been telling you all this time. And I’m going to help you. Hey… Whatever you need to make this happen, I’m your huckleberry.”

  Em breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Thanks, Prairie.”

  Prairie felt like a million bucks. How long had she been wishing and hoping for this moment? She wanted to jump up and give Em a giant hug, but held herself back. No sense in overdoing it. Instead, she eased herself off her bed, walked over to Em and patted her on the shoulder as a “that a girl” gesture before awkwardly going back to her bed.

  Feeling safe in asking, Prairie inquired, “So tell me, Em, what happened? How the hell did you get stranded out there in the first place?”