Love Lift Me
©2013 Synthia St. Claire
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, or events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, alive or dead, is completely coincidental.
***
One
I opened my eyes and tried to turn my head, but an awful, gripping pain in my neck stopped me. Everything was dark.
My mind lurched slowly back into reality. What happened? Where the hell am I?
I tried to move, to get away, but something heavy was pinning me in place. Flaking rust crumbled beneath my fingers as I brushed them along the object, which pressed cruelly into the soft flesh of my thigh and across my chest. I sent one hand through a narrow, cramped space between myself and it and touched my leg. The right side of my jeans had somehow been torn open and there was a slick, cool dampness there that seemed to crawl down my skin and soak through the shredded denim.
A shallow surge of fear rushed into my gut and I took in a shuddering, weak gasp of air. I sampled the damp scent of rust and water in that breath along with the suffocating, acrid hollow of burning rubber and gasoline.
I’m dying, I thought with an absurd, sudden burst of clarity, and tried to remember what I was about to say to the man sitting next to me on the bus. Somehow, that was important. He’d been so kind, and what he asked deserved an answer…but now…I was all alone.
Alone again.
Among the loud rattles of things settling in the darkness and the distant warbling echoes of sirens racing towards me, I heard a man call out my name.
“Kat! Hold on!”
I could tell he was shouting, but the words fell on my ears like a muffled, far away whisper. With a grunt of effort, I tried to push away the metal pinning me. Almost instantly, the sharp clarity that I’d gained and whatever remaining strength I had left drained away. There was only a dizzying sense of lightheaded weakness to take its place.
“H…help me,” I struggled to speak, barely hearing my own broken voice over the din.
Then, my world became silent and numb. Everything was gone, taken from me, except the blurring shadows and the solid blackness which steadily began to fill my sight. I felt my heart thump lazily and I wondered again how I’d wound up in such a way. Was this what it felt like to die?
I closed my eyes.
Time was lost to me then. Hours may have passed for all I knew. When shaky reality came back to me, everything was different. A flickering orange glow and rapidly moving shapes seemed to fill my vision instead of the cold, impenetrable black of before. The air, thick with smoke now, was like stinging fire in my lungs and throat. I writhed wildly in place under the object resting on top of me, my desperation renewed. Blind panic overtook my senses until my trembling, sapped muscles could fight no more.
Hopeless. I’m…I can’t…
Just as I ended my struggle and gave in to fate, I felt the crushing metallic weight suddenly shift off me. Strong fingers encircled my ankles and began to pull. A warm hand caught around my waist and lifted. My shirt caught on something, resisting the movement only briefly, and then it ripped apart down one side and gave way. The stinging air and the metal that ensnared me were being left behind. I could only manage to open my mouth and groan out.
There was one final tugging sensation and I was free.
“I’ve got you,” the man’s voice said reassuringly. He gingerly supported my head, which felt like it was on a loose swivel. “Come on, Kat…stay with me.”
The sleepy feeling was coming on again. I fought against it, lifting my eyelids and trying to see past the haze which had formed around me like a cloud. There, above me, was the face of the kind, handsome man I remembered from earlier. His concerned eyes looked down into mine. Had it really been less than twelve hours since we’d met or was this just some sort of dream?
“Shane?”
He smiled weakly at me. “Thank God. Everything is gonna be fine, Kat. We had an accident…the bus…s-someone already called for help. I can see the ambulance coming.”
“Why did…oh.” The world spun around at once.
“Don’t try to talk. Just hold on,” Shane pleaded. “Hold on.”
It was then I realized that I’d been clutching something hard and round in my fist. I held my hand up to see what it was, and there, between my wavering, outstretched fingers, was the silver chain and locket that my grandmother had given me so long ago. There were several bloody fingerprints on the outer shell and the clasp was broken.
“Let them know what happened, Shane. Take it…” I whispered and opened my hand to him. When I did, the last remaining bit of strength poured out of me and a feeling of coldness took its place. “Tell my family.”
Two
In the overcast parking lot, I fumbled through my purse and retrieved the beaten-up phone that always managed to creep past everything else and find its way to the bottom. I thumbed through the cracked touchscreen on the thing, which I’d managed to drop so many times it was a wonder it even worked anymore, found the name I was searching for, and dialed. It would be the sixth time I’d done it in the last three hours.
As I waited for the call to connect, I watched the beaten-up taxi that had brought me to the bus station pull away and bounce out onto the empty asphalt road, exhaust steaming from both tailpipes and grinding its suspension the whole way. I looked up into the gray sky and took a breath.
The rain would be here soon.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered faintly into the receiver. “Answer, damn you.”
There was a brief moment of hope when the line picked up and then my heart sank. It was just Hale’s recording again, emotionlessly telling me to leave a message. The deep, soothing voice that used to make me tremble with delight was starting to make me feel sick. There was an distinct clicking noise at the end and then came the familiar beep, but I decided against leaving yet another message.
“Not available. What a surprise,” I mumbled and shoved the phone back in my purse.
I peered towards the glass windows at the front of the building, hoping for a look inside. All that appeared was my own distorted, approaching reflection; a quiet girl with her arms crossed over her chest, twirling locks of loose, reddish-brown hair as it danced around her head carried by the gusting wind. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a loose-fitting pink t-shirt which had been a favorite since high school. There was a frown, but it was hidden to most, buried deeper and behind years of practiced smiles.
That was me, alright. As I watched myself stroll slowly across the lot I sighed, but not at the foul weather which had begun to settle in or the casual outfit I’d hastily tossed on less than an hour ago. Instead, my mind was plagued with the question of which excuse that so-called boyfriend of mine might give me this time.
Predictably, Hale would come up with something to convince me that his absence wasn’t his fault, just like he always did. “Sorry Kat, the truck broke down on me,” was one of his favorites, despite how much time or money he spent on the damn thing. Funnily, or maybe not, I’d never actually seen it out of commission. I couldn’t forget his old standby either, “The alarm clock didn’t go off baby,” but I knew better now. He was a liar. At that moment, I was sure that Hale was sleeping off yet another hangover on his couch after a long night spent doing God knows what with God knows who.
I blew out in frustration and kicked a little stone free from a crack in the asphalt parking lot and watched it skitter away towards the curb. Why did I always give that boy more chances than he deserved? Long-distance relationships were supposed to be a challenge, I knew that, but you were supposed to be able to rely on your significant other in times of need. There had to be give and take. Trust,
for God’s sake. Over the last year, Hale and I shared none of those things anymore. And now, thanks to him, it looked like I was on my own again.
I was used to that, though.
Almost four years of nursing school had taught me a thing or two. Sink or swim, girlie. If I screwed up, I knew there wouldn’t be another shot. There was no money for a second chance, and it was not easy to do it without the comfort of my family, but damn it, I did it anyway.
Only a few short months remained until I was due to graduate. Clinical course study and hands-on time was over. I’d started so many IVs that I could nearly do it blindfolded. Exams and last minute studying were all that remained. I could almost see the full auditorium and feel the diploma in my hand. The long nights and the countless hours on my feet as an unpaid intern were finally going to be over. Somehow, knowing how close I was made all the distance and loneliness worth it.
All those plans from before I started school were going to become reality. I’d send out resumes, like anyone else would. Maybe get a position working in a small clinic or doctor’s office. A hospital would pay more, but the amount of work at one of those for a nurse was maddening, to say the least. I’d done my time in one already, anyway. I needed something quieter; a place where I didn’t have to treat people like numbers and my work didn’t tag along in my head when I went home…wherever home would be, that is.
I told myself it would only be a matter of time no matter what path I decided on – my chosen profession was in high demand and I’d gathered up a handful of glowing recommendations along the way. Everything had started happening so fast once the finish line was in sight. There would be money, and just maybe, a better life to go along with it. I’d just finished putting my senior project together when my mother called with news that brought those plans to a screeching halt.
Cancer.
Breast cancer, more specifically, but my mother really couldn’t tell me more than that. She explained that she’d gone to the doctor after finding a large lump in her right breast and he tested it. A few days later, he discovered it was the kind that spread. They would cut it out soon, and after that, some kind of treatments to try and kill it off. My mother’s voice sounded hopeful and resilient that day as she explained those things to me in her usual, simple manner, the way only a woman who had lived her entire life on a farm could. I can remember looking at the scattered papers and open books on my desk as I listened to the news, knowing what she said actually meant.
Despite her insistence that I not to worry about it, I knew better. My little sister Abby could help some, but she was barely even thirteen years old and more concentrated on boys or music or whatever it was teenage girls her age were into these days. Father would need someone to keep the house up. Mother would need my help getting to chemotherapy and radiation appointments. If, God forbid, things didn’t go the way I hoped, she would probably need help just getting out of bed or forcing down a few bites of food. I saw it plenty of times before as a student. I knew what cancer looked like up close, and the ugly, unfair reality of it. The decision to go home wasn’t that difficult.
My reflection had become life-size as I reached the sidewalk in front of the drab bus station. I convinced myself that I would simply have to wait a little longer. “Maybe in a year,” I thought, and straightened my hair, “a semester even, if things go well for mother. I can always go back then and finish my degree.”
No more time for regrets. Now, I had to be there for my mother. With a sigh, I pulled the glass door open with a jingle and walked into the building’s lobby, which was much less moody than the outside.
There was a slightly round, middle-aged woman seated behind a lime green counter who immediately looked up at me and smiled enthusiastically. She patted the comical, tightly-curled, and very obviously dyed bright-red coif on her head before rising to her feet. The wide-collared, grey and lime green blouse she wore, which matched the countertop almost perfectly, made her look more like a flight attendant from the disco era than a clerk at a small country bus station.
She smiled widely at me and asked in a quirky, Appalachian accent, “How you doing, darlin’? Can I hep’ you?”
“Yes ma’am. I reserved a seat,” I answered and rummaged through my purse, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper I’d written the confirmation on. “It should be under the last name Atwater. I called about an hour ago and spoke to…uhm, someone else.”
“Musta been Randy, I suppose. He left about fifteen minutes ago.” She assaulted the computer keyboard in front of her, typing so fast with her fingers that I questioned if the woman had perhaps missed her calling as a court reporter. “See you right on this here screen, Missus Atwater. Row twelve, seat B. That ‘gon be all right?”
“Sure.”
“Got a lot of people comin’ into town, but not a lot of folks leavin’ so they’s plenty of seats going outbound. Reckon that’s on account of the bluegrass music show tomorrow night.”
I nodded politely. She sure was friendly. Amazing that a person could be so chipper when the weather was so miserable.
“There we go.” She tapped one last button emphatically. “Bus oughta be here in about an hour, darlin’. Driver called in to let us know he was gonna be a tad bit late. You know how things is sometimes. The boarding area’s right down yonder.” The woman pointed one stubby finger towards a short hallway with a set of white double doors at the end. “Good chance you won’t have to be here that long ‘fore they pull up.”
“I can do that. I’ve been waiting all morning, anyway.”
The woman raised her eyebrow and looked at me strangely.
“Oh, not you. I’m talking about my boyfriend, sorry. He was supposed to pick me up this morning and drive me home.”
“I see. He didn’t make it, huh?”
I put on a sour expression and shook my head. The woman put her hands on her hips and tried to remain cheerful as she continued, “Take it from me sugar, men can be like that sometimes. I’m sure he’s got a good reason.”
She obviously didn’t know Hale.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll come up with something,” I said.
The phone on the counter rang and the woman smiled knowingly. “I’ve got to get this now, hon. There’s a snack machine right around the corner if you’re hungry, and a water fountain in this little hallway here, too. I’ll holler overhead when it’s time to board. Thank you for travelin’ with Median.”
I trudged across the lobby with my suitcase in tow and headed through the white doors. The boarding area was surprisingly empty, save a few tired-looking strangers with bags of their own and a young man who was absent-mindedly sweeping the floor. I took a seat on an unoccupied, worn out couch and tried to relax. There wasn’t much else to do besides watch the television bolted to the wall in front of me. It was either that or try to call Hale again, so I leaned back into the soft cushions and tried to focus my attention to whatever was on the screen.
My boyfriend, I thought, and let out a huff through my nose. Is he, though?
That was a title that might soon be changing. Hale wouldn’t be getting any more calls from me today. That’s right, the next time he heard my voice it would be me yelling at him for being a no-good jerk through his screen door!
Thankfully, the rational side of my head took over before I started to cry. Jesus, Kat. It’s not worth driving yourself crazy over and it sure as hell ain’t something to be crying about in a public place like this. Maybe he does have a good reason this time, and then you’d look bad, wouldn’t you? Just stop thinking about him already.
I actually managed to do it for awhile, until the disturbing image of Hale, shirtless and in bed and with another woman entered my mind. It was so real. I could see his tall, sculpted frame sliding around beneath a sheer white sheet and that playful, naughty grin of his flashing up at me. When his hand traced across the naked back of a beautiful blonde-haired girl lying next to him, my heart sank and I balled up my fists. With a shake of my head, I pushed it away
.
Darn it brain, I said stop.
It went like that for a while. Absent-mindedly zoning out, watching nearly-muted game shows, waiting for a bus to arrive so I could get out of there, and trying the whole time not to let my anger at Hale fly out and spill over into apprehension or grief. Finally, something happened that took my mind off it.
Just as the next contestant was about to take his turn answering a question, the television show was suddenly gone and the spinning, computer-generated emblem of the local news channel came zooming across the screen. With the way they hyped those things up and cut in like that, you’d think they were about to report on the apocalypse.
The camera was focused on everyone’s favorite Watauga County weatherman, Skip Weathersby, who immediately launched into his role as lead meteorologist. The volume was so low that I had to strain and bend forward just to hear him. Even then, I only caught bits and pieces.
“…gonna be some…conditions for travel today…let’s go to the map…”
I wanted to laugh as he gestured with his hands wildly; making big, sweeping motions in front of curving red or blue arrows, telling his audience something he must have thought was pretty important. That guy was born to give a forecast. I wondered how much his last name had to do with his enthusiasm for telling people about things that fell from the sky.
The blue background behind Skip changed to fuzzy radar images of clouds which covered almost the entire state. Most of them were quickly moving in thick, yellow and red bands across the middle counties. In the center of some were bright flashes of purple which usually indicated something bad. One look was enough to know. It was what the folks around here termed a real “valley washer.”
“…high winds…miles per hour…estimates between twelve and fourteen inches of precipitation…low lying areas…” Skip said and continued on as I tried to hear the television, “flooding…coming in today and all the way through the week. Don’t forget your raincoats.”
Love Lift Me Page 1
