Vivid

by Jessica Wilde

  It's my own fault. I never engaged him in conversation, and anytime he may have come close to even looking at me, I usually turned away.

  "He's in a wheelchair right now. Fractured his femur and lower leg. Went through a lot of surgeries. He was burned pretty badly, too." Mom watched the house carefully, searching for movement. "You know how your dad is when he's sick, imagine a once perfectly able bodied man now incapable of getting around by himself."

  I moved my gaze back to the Thatcher home and watched the front window. "I've seen plenty of injuries where the patient can still be independent, Mom."

  "He's blind."

  I certainly wasn't expecting that. "What?"

  Mom turned and acknowledged my shocked stare with a nod. "I think it was shrapnel that hit his face. It took his sight. He can't do anything on his own right now."

  "Oh my God. That's awful," I whispered.

  She nodded again and opened her door, not saying anything else about it until we had dragged my two suitcases into the house. The rest of my stuff would arrive within the week since we left in such a hurry. It was all going to storage, but Dad had hired a moving company to do all the work for me. Just one more thing I still felt entirely too guilty to accept. Not that Dad even listened to my arguments.

  "I can hear them every so often," Mom continued. "Emma tries to take care of him and help him adjust, but he keeps fighting her every step of the way. Refusing to take his pain medication, refusing to leave the house, except for the occasional doctor's appointment. And even those come with difficulty."

  "He's angry, Mom. Like you said, it's hard for a man who can't get around by himself. Think of all he's lost."

  She pulled a couple bottles of water out of the fridge and handed one to me. "You're right, Grace. I'm just upset for Emma."

  Someone should be upset for Merrick, I thought to myself.

  "Alright, you stay here and unpack. I'm going into town to get us a pizza from Deb's. Anything specific that you want?"

  "No, whatever you get will be fine, Mom."

  "Okay, dear. Be back soon."

  I dragged my suitcases to my old bedroom located at the front corner of the house. This part of the house had definitely changed since I moved away. Mom and Dad turned it into a guestroom. It was boring with its white walls and neutral colors. The bed was new and bigger than the twin I'd slept in for years. The carpet was new as well.

  I looked out the side window that was facing the Thatcher's home. Merrick had always been closer to me than he ever knew. That's if he even considered it in the first place. Our bedrooms were directly across from each other. In this neighborhood, the houses were built close together with the empty space between our rooms measuring only eight feet. It was easy to see his opened closet through the blinds.

  I wondered if I would catch a glimpse of him one day. Maybe see the extent of his injuries while I silently hoped he would get better.

  Hope is a funny thing. No one really pays attention to their ability to hope until it's all they have. And even then, it's not a guarantee for anything.

  I dropped down on the bed and shut my eyes.

  This last year had taken its toll on me, but I was determined to come out on top. Mom made a good point when she finally came to drag me back home.

  "Your baby girl wouldn't want her mother to lose herself. She may not have seen you, Grace, but she heard you every day. Make sure you're still the woman you were when you carried her inside you."

  I was going to become a better person for my daughter, and she was going to look down on me and see that I loved her more than anything on this earth. That the few minutes I held her still body in my arms, she was loved with every breath in me. She still is.

  If she would have lived, would she have known unconditional love? From me, yes. From Jason? I have no idea. He didn't love me unconditionally, but a child is different. A child is a part of you. The fact that he left me just hours after I lost her, however, showed his true colors. A child shouldn't grow up in a family like that; with parents who didn't complete each other.

  I would have done it on my own, but that wasn't in the cards for me either.

  I was going to work hard, earn a living for myself, and move forward. I was going to make my baby girl proud of me from wherever she was watching.

  I started to drift, thinking of all the things I would need to do before starting a new job. Homecare wouldn't be so bad. I was a good nurse, and caring for patients in their home made everything a little more personal. I was good with personal. I'd done it before and stayed busy. It's exactly what I needed. I didn't have to take the suffering home, but I could connect with someone and help them through it.

  My thoughts strayed to Merrick Thatcher, and I wondered if anyone could make a connection with him. Mom said that Emma was certainly trying. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to see war and devastation. To watch your friends suffer along with you and have it all stripped away when you were injured so badly. Everything Merrick worked for, since he graduated from high school, was now over. He served his purpose, and my respect goes to any man who makes such sacrifices for his country. How many of them come back shells of their former self? How many of them have families waiting for them?

  How many never make it home?

  I drifted further, not realizing I had fallen asleep until I woke thirty minutes later. I didn't plan on napping and ,for a moment, was happy for whatever it was that woke me. Then, I heard the shouts.

  "Son, you have got to stop this. I can't take care of you if you don't cooperate."

  "I don't need you to take care of me. I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

  Several thumps sounded before the voices came clearer and louder. I kept myself still, knowing that my window was wide open. If I moved, they would see me from his room. Well, Emma would.

  "Merrick, you haven't been outside in weeks, you haven't showered in days, and I can't sit here and watch you waste away. You need to eat, you need to sleep, and you need to do your therapy."

  Emma sounded desperate and on the verge of tears. I couldn't imagine how hard it was for a mother to watch her son return from war so broken.

  "I don't need you wiping my ass all the time, Mom."

  "Well when you can wipe your own ass, I'll stop doing it!"

  "Jesus, just leave! Stop treating me like I'm some pathetic animal that needs healing."

  "I don't. I am trying to do what I have to do so you can live your life."

  "I don't want to live my life!"

  I gasped and covered my mouth. Tears burned the back of my eyes, and it took everything I had not to sit up and look out that window. I heard the soft sound of Emma crying and another thump against a wall.

  "Merrick," I heard her say softly, "let me help you."

  "I can do it myself! If I run into something, who gives a fuck?"

  They continued to shout at each other. Emma kept begging her son to let her help him, to listen to the doctors, and to stop pushing everyone away. Merrick kept telling her to leave.

  I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want to shut my window and make it obvious that I had been listening this whole time, so I did the next possible thing to try to drown them out.

  I sang to myself and hoped they would carry on with no notice of me.

  "Wherever you are,

  Well know that I adore you,

  No matter how far

  Well I can go before you."

  I don't know why I chose the song I did. I had always loved Damien Rice, but it was the first song, out of all the hundreds I had memorized, that felt appropriate for the moment. Maybe that was because it was how I saw myself from another's eyes. Or maybe it was because I knew it would be how a true friend would see Merrick.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, stretching out on the bed and drowning out the anger just feet away from me.

  "And if ever you need someone

  Well, not that you need helping,

  But if ever you want someone />
  I know that I am willing

  Oh and I don't want to change you,

  I don't want to change you,

  I don't want to change your mind.

  I just came across a manger

  Out among the danger

  Somewhere in a stranger's eye."

  Maybe my focus was somewhere else, but the sound of their fighting was gone. All I could hear was the music in my mind as I continued to sing. I wasn't singing for anyone else but me. There was no way they could hear me. It was just enough to drown out everything else.

  "Wherever you go,

  Well I can always follow

  I can feed this real slow

  If it's a lot to swallow

  And if you just want to be alone

  Well, I can wait without waiting

  If you want me to let this go

  Well, I am more than willing."

  I finally sat up and lifted my suitcase onto my bed. There was only silence coming from next door. I figured they had moved to another part of the house, or they were finally working things out a little less dramatically. I didn't dare look. I just started to unpack, singing through the rest of the song.

  "And I don't want to change you

  I don't want to change you,

  I don't want to change your mind.

  I just came across a manger

  Where there is no danger

  Where love has eyes and is not blind."

  I stopped what I was doing as I sang the last line. I still don't know why I chose the song, and now it just seemed inappropriate. The slam of a window was the first clue of my mistake. They'd heard me loud and clear, and with my luck, that last line of the song was the very line they heard the clearest.

  I turned and finally looked out of my window, only to see Merrick struggling to close the blinds with one hand while the other was in a cast and sling. I could only see one side of his face, a profile that looked even more handsome than it did all those years ago. His jaw looked strong, although unkempt, with a scraggly beard covering it. His hair was too long and hung in his eyes, and his shirt tightened around a muscular torso as he moved. He could barely reach the handle from his sitting position in what I assumed was a wheelchair.

  I almost said something. What? I don't know. 'Hi', maybe. That just seemed superficial. I saw Emma standing in his open doorway, staring at me with wide, teary eyes. Looking like someone had just broken her heart.

  I left my room quickly after that and stayed away from it for the rest of the night. It wasn't my place to interfere with Merrick. Not my place to do anything but lend a quiet support.

  Mom returned with a pizza and other groceries, which I helped her put away. We sat in silence as we ate, and I refrained from asking any more questions about Merrick Thatcher or what happened to him. The man who used to be larger than life, was now withdrawn and cold.

  If his own mother couldn't get through to him, who could?

  Chapter Two

  Merrick

  "Merrick."

  I hated the sound of my mother's tears. What I hated even more, was the fact that I caused them. I didn't realize she was still in my room, but Emma Thatcher was never one to back down from a fight. Especially if she hadn't won, yet.

  I was in the middle of telling her to go to hell, like the bastard I was, when I heard it. I didn't realize I stopped screaming at her until halfway through the song. That voice. Bluesy with a feminine rasp. One that sent warm vibrations across my chest. For a moment, I thought I accidently turned on my stereo and was listening to the radio, but I quickly realized that the singing was coming from next door.

  I knew my window was only feet away from the neighbor's. However, I didn't realize that someone other than Alaina and Jeff was living there. That voice certainly wasn't Alaina Samuelson. I had heard the woman sing before. She couldn't carry a tune to save her life; something pointed out on more than one occasion.

  It couldn't be their daughter, could it? What was her name again? God, I could barely remember what I wore yesterday let alone high school.

  I didn't know her name, but I knew the song. It infuriated me and calmed me at the same time. She was singing that specific song for a very specific reason, but whether it was for me or her, I had no clue.

  While I sat in my chair, I listened to her sing and move around the room, trying to picture her face or anything that would prompt her name. I got nothing. Once she sang the last line, I didn't care anymore.

  Slamming the window shut was painful. The burns were healed enough, but they still hurt when I moved too thoughtlessly, and my leg throbbed every time I breathed. I struggled with the blinds, appropriately named in this case. I was blind and couldn't find the damn handle to close them up tight. I must have looked like a fool, fumbling my way up the window. Mom would usually come to my rescue, but after the horrible things I said to her, I wouldn't have been surprised if she kicked me out of the house and left me on the street.

  I didn't deserve to be taken care of. The pain reminded me of that every day.

  So, I sat there, pointlessly staring at God knows what, while I listened to my mother's heavy breaths. She was hanging on by a thread because of me.

  "Merrick..."

  "Please, Mom. Just go before I say something stupid."

  I heard the step she took into my room, and I tensed, every muscle in my body going stiff as a board. I didn't want her to touch me. I didn't want to feel her motherly tenderness. I just wanted to be angry and damage everything I could get my hands on.

  My insides shook as the tight hold on my control started to weaken.

  "Sweetheart, I know this is hard for you, but you can't shut down. You have so much to live for and that's all we want. For you to live."

  I didn't respond. I just sat there like I always did, in my pathetic wheelchair, with my pathetic broken body that was unable to do anything on its own. For the love of God, I'm thirty years old and my mother has to wipe my ass for me.

  I was done. If I couldn't take care of myself, what was the point?

  "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some sleep and call if you need anything. You have your cell?"

  I lifted the small black phone up for her to see, then tucked it back into my pocket. If I lost this, who knows what would happen? I had used it a couple of times already and hated myself for it. It was when I'd been trying to go to the bathroom and slipped out of the chair before I could position myself correctly. I ended up on the floor with pain shooting through every nerve in my body. The phone was in my pocket, and I had to call the only number that was programmed into it.

  Mom.

  She brought Dad along with her that night. I never felt more humiliated in my life. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel the pity and the sorrow. The last thing I wanted my dad to see was one of his sons getting hurt because he couldn't get himself on the toilet. I knew he loved me. I even knew he was proud of me, but in my mind, the pride melted away in that one moment of weakness.

  I shook my head and forced the images out of my mind. They only made me emotional; that was unacceptable. Anger was the only thing I wanted to feel anymore. I could handle anger. I knew its weaknesses and its strengths. Plus, it welcomed me more than sadness ever did.

  "I love you, Merrick."

  Again, I stayed silent, and I wanted to strangle myself for it. Mom was only trying to help, but for the life of me, I just couldn't let her.

  This was my penance. The consequence I had to suffer through to somehow make up for losing my friends. It would never make up for it completely, but it certainly was a start.

  I listened to Mom making her way through the house, switching off lights that she turned on earlier in the night. It was a task I wasn't grateful to lose.

  Who the hell misses turning lights on and off?

  I do.

  God, I missed it. I missed light. Seeing one flicker of light would bring me joy, but it would be short lived. Lights always turn off. The sun eventually hides away. So, why not embr
ace the darkness?

  Because I have always hated the dark, that's why.

  Who the fuck likes darkness? There couldn't possibly be a soul out there that would be happy with darkness every minute of every day. It was depressing and lonely and ... cold.

  I listened to my mother shut and lock the door before hearing her car back out of the driveway. She wouldn't be coming back tonight; that's how our fight started in the first place. I was tired of needing a babysitter and I was fine at night. There was no need for her to wake up whenever I did, which was a lot these days.

  I didn't move my chair. Hardly moved at all. I stayed right there, listening to the sounds of the house. The sound of my own breathing gave me a headache, but it was all I could do these days, and I heard everything. They didn't mention that my hearing would improve as well as my sense of touch. Of course, I'm sure they assumed I would already know that, but when you find out you're blind and there is nothing anyone can do, you don't think about the positives. You think about all the shit you went through before, and you think about all the things you'll never see again. And everything ... everything gets blurry until it is consumed and forgotten.

  I knew it was late by the time I finally moved from my spot by the window. The new clock Mom picked up for me, announced the time every hour. All I had to do was push a button to hear the exact time. It was annoying as hell, but helpful. Funny thing is, I don't remember ever thanking her for it.

  "That's because you're an asshole," I said to myself, grumbling every word.

  I was exhausted and wanted to slip into the oblivion that was sleep. An oblivion that could somehow turn into a nightmare when my subconscious decided to hate me. Every sound woke me, no matter how small. The creak of the house sent a spike in my blood pressure, making me wonder if someone was breaking in. The screech of tires from a car made me sweat bullets. The slam of a car door. The clanging sound of a train passing through town.