by Lisa Smartt
After meeting Dave and Shannon, I had envisioned the way it would be at church. The dress would be casual. The people kind. But my vision didn’t turn out exactly right. I had visualized Doug standing next to me while we sang. I would feel like holding his hand but I wouldn’t.
Dave surprised me with his absolute ability up front. His message about God’s never-ending love seemed especially appropriate. I wish Doug had been there. I couldn’t fathom what was going through his mind.
CHAPTER SIX: Living Through Drama…I Mean, Trauma
DOUG
October 31 7:30 am
God, please tell me Aunt Charlotte isn’t at the house yet. I’m too tired for all the family drama. And I think that Ben-Gay smell would make me throw up right now. Oh no, there’s the ever familiar ’96 Crown Vic…and Uncle Bart’s old truck is in back…and Charlene’s mini-van…and Chester’s Ford Focus…and Billie Sue’s getting a coconut cream pie from the back of the Trail Blazer. Looks like Jim Smith from the hardware store and Jessica, the twenty-two-year-old girl from the electric company, are standing outside smokin’. I need an escape route. Oh no. Too late.
“Oh Doug!!! Doug!! Bart, Charlene, Chester, Everybody, Doug’s here!!!”
I managed to get out of the truck and make one step before the big assault. Hugs, kisses, tears, Kleenex, nose blowing, and words coming at me like bullets from an automatic weapon. An emotional ambush of sorts. I couldn’t even tell you who said what. “Oh Doug, Sweet Doug, we’re so sorry!” “Susan was such a gem. She was a gem, wasn’t she, Chester?” “A great lady.” “Oh Doug, you must be just torn up. Are you torn up?” “Of course, he’s torn up, Charlene.” “Why on earth did she do this to you, Honey?” “I’m so sorry. She must have just lost her mind.” “You look awful, dear. Just awful. Here, have some pie.”
Finally Aunt Charlotte suggested everyone give me space to breathe, “Let’s all go inside and give Doug a chance to rest before we have to go to Groeden’s.” Groeden’s is the funeral home that everyone in my family and most people in our town use. I didn’t know which was worse, eating Billie Sue’s rubbery coconut pie at 7:30 in the morning or going to the funeral home to pick out a casket with Mr. Groeden, the man who remembers me as the boy who brought his daughter home drunk after the prom. But of course, the worst thing was that my mom was gone. Dead of her own choosing. This was a day from hell and it could only get worse. Aunt Charlotte removed her old wire-rim glasses and wiped her eyes with the tail of her apron. As she led the troops into the house, her slip was showing out the back of her yellow too-tight knit dress. Some things never change.
Jessica was acting strange. While everyone else cried and blew their noses, she just stood against the kitchen wall. I had only met her one time when Mom had pulled that ridiculous set-up and I couldn’t figure out why she was even here. “Um, Doug, your mom…well, she was a great lady. She really was. And she was crazy about you, really she was. I don’t know why she…well, why she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Thanks, Jessica. Yeah, it was a blow. And yeah, she was a great lady.” I wanted to just go in the bathroom, lock the door, throw up, and then fall asleep on the freshly-washed navy blue bathroom rug. But about that time Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Bart came up behind me and patted me on the shoulder, “Doug, you ready to go see her, Honey?”
Go see her? What are you talkin’ about , Aunt Charlotte? There’s no going to see her anymore. Didn’t you get the news? She’s gone, Aunt Charlotte! She’s outta here. She ditched me, tossed me aside, forgot about the whole I-want-grandkids thing and went straight for eternity. She’s dead, Aunt Charlotte. All that’s left is a cold corpse, a dead body. But I would never say that to such a nice old lady even if her slip was showing and she smelled like Ben-Gay.
“Yeah, Aunt Charlotte, we can go now. But could you do me a favor? Could you ask everyone to give me the afternoon here by myself? I want to go through the house alone. If everyone wants to come back at supper time, that’s fine. But I need the afternoon…and maybe I’ll even try to sleep some.”
“Oh absolutely, dear! NOW LISTEN UP EVERYONE, we all need to go home until 5:30. If you want to be with Doug and family and friends, you can come back at 5:30. Spread the word please. Doug needs to rest and process everything that’s happened, the poor dear. Let’s give him some space. He’s suffered a drama y’know.” I wanted to say, “That’s trauma, Aunt Charlotte.” But on second thought, yeah, drama works too.
The morning at Groeden’s was a blur which is what everyone always says. The red carpet smelled almost moldy. Too much rain. When someone asked me a question, I answered without even thinking. “Yeah, that gray casket’s fine.” “Yes, Bro. Dan will do the service. Can you call Sandy Caldwell about singing ‘Great is Thy Faithfulness’?” “If they do the autopsy Monday or Tuesday, we could have visitation Wednesday night and the funeral Thursday morning.” “Aunt Charlotte, would you like to say a few words? And is Aunt Clarice coming from California?” I must have looked horribly tired because in the middle of it all, Aunt Charlotte promised me she would do the rest of the funeral schedule exactly the way Mom would have wanted. She instructed me to go home, eat, and take a nap.
I pulled my truck into Mom’s driveway at 12:09 and just sat there. It was windy and the front porch swing was making an eerie sound as it swayed. The white farm house was old, built in 1917. But it had been meticulously cared for. No peeling paint. No missing shingles. She wouldn’t have stood for it. Leaves had fallen on the sidewalk. Mom would have gotten the broom and said, “What messiness on the walk! Just give me a moment and let’s get this solved.” She had painted the swing and all the chairs just a few weeks ago. I remember her big dilemma about it too. “Doug, I’ve thought of trimming the front porch and the swing in a real color. Maybe mossy green or a lemon yellow. People in the city are doing red now. Can you believe it? That seems so…I don’t know, showy maybe. I guess I’ll just do white again. There’s nothing cleaner than a crisp white. Everyone loves a crisp white.” Yeah. Mom would be the one worried about what seemed cleaner. And unfortunately, she had passed on her obsession to me. Even the yard had been picked clean of any natural untamed life. If it were in Susan Jameson’s yard, it would be conventional and all lined up in a row. We mustn’t let things grow wild and free. What about people, Mom? Can they be wild and free? Too late to ask.
When I walked in the house, everyone had cleared out. But there was already a pile of food on the kitchen table. I knew there would be. I had seen Mom rush over to the bereaved home on many occasions with potato salad and a chocolate cake or a crockpot full of mini meatballs. None of the food called my name. I grabbed a pimento cheese sandwich just to make the growl go away. And then I did something I had never done. Ever. I walked into the living room and sat on Mom’s favorite cream-colored couch and ate the sandwich. When I was done, I rubbed my hands on the arms of the couch. For some horrible reason, I was trying to hurt her. But it didn’t matter. She was gone. I started crying into a tan throw pillow and eventually fell asleep on the couch. It was probably the first time human feet had ever really rested on that couch. And lightning didn’t even strike.
I woke to the sound of loud whispers. Louder than some people’s regular voices. “Sh! Doug’s asleep in the living room. Don’t go in there and please whisper!”
I stood up, rubbed my face a little, and tried to find my balance. The grandfather clock in the corner said it was 6:20. Everyone must be here by now. Before I walked into the kitchen, I did a quick overview of voices. Uncle Bart, Aunt Charlotte, Chester and Ida, Jim Smith, Jessica (I couldn’t figure this one out), Charlene, Uncle Stanley, Aunt Beth, Ralph (Uncle Stanley and Aunt Beth’s son), Brother Dan, and yes, Dave and Shannon. Thank you, God.
“Dave! Hey, ya think I was gonna sleep all night?”
“We weren’t worried. How’s it goin’, friend?”
“Well, not too great, as you can imagine.”
Uncle Stanley and Aunt Beth approached slowly. I knew Uncle Stanl
ey’s gray wool jacket would smell of moth balls and lemon drops. Aunt Beth was wearing an old navy blue suit with a huge sunflower pin on the lapel. She was at least a foot shorter than Uncle Stanley and her hair was pulled tight in a gray bun. I had never seen it any other way. Ever. Comforting. I reached out to hug them. Yes, there’s that smell. I’m just like Mom. She would have noticed the smell. But unlike Mom, I had the good graces to remain quiet. Mom would have scrunched her nose up and said something like, “Uncle Stanley, haven’t worn this coat in a while, eh?” I knew better. They had both gotten a little more fragile since the last time I’d seen them. I wished they lived closer, especially now.
“Doug Honey, well, we’re just torn up. Torn up. We just got into town. Ralph drove us in. I hated for Stanley to drive under the stress. Plus, it’s a long way for us old folks. Ralph’s a good boy. We’ll all stay with Charlene a few days. How’re you doin’, Sweetie?”
“Thanks for comin’, Aunt Beth. Really. You and Uncle Stanley are special. You were special to Mom. You know that. I’m not doin’ too well right now. But it’ll get better.”
Aunt Beth started crying. I knew that it was because I told her she was special to Mom. She was. She always tolerated Mom’s obsessions better than anyone else. She loved her even when she was difficult or critical of other family members. Aunt Beth would say, “Now Susan, we can’t control what other people do. Maybe it’s best we not even try.” God knows she was right.
“Well of course, the shock alone would be hard to deal with, Honey. Bless you, Doug. Bless you. Your mama was a fine Christian woman and don’t ever forget that. Perfect? No. But she loved all of us, Doug. You can take that to the bank.”
Uncle Stanley felt uncomfortable with all the emotional talk especially considering the circumstances. He just stared at the tan linoleum for a while and then poured three glasses of lemonade. Finally, he said with a grin and a pat on the back, “Well, the talk around Commerce is that Carlie Ann Davidson has a boyfriend up in Tennessee. I wouldn’t know. But that’s the talk.”
I was happy to be talking about a more pleasant subject. “You’ve got good taste, Uncle Stanley. She’s somethin’ else.”
“She is, Doug. She’s like an undiscovered treasure. I’ve always known there was more there than the people in Commerce had uncovered. Go slow. Play your cards right. This one’s worth workin’ for.”
“Right now I don’t think I have the strength to work for her, Uncle Stanley. I’m tired and pretty useless.”
“You’re not useless, Boy. You’re a fine man. Every man gets knocked down sometimes. We can’t always explain it. But don’t turn away from her, Doug. That’d be a mistake. Especially now.” He held Aunt Beth’s arm and led her to a chair. “I’ll get ya a sandwich and some meatballs, Beth. You wait right here.”
Wearing a tight-fitting black dress that was more than just distracting, Jessica approached me with a smile. “Doug, did you rest well? I hope so. You need your rest. I brought some chicken soup. It’s in that crockpot on the counter if you’d like to try some. It’s my grandma’s recipe and it’s really good. I hear that Oprah Winfrey has a good soup recipe but I’ve never made it. I’ve always wanted to be at her show. Again, I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you ever need anything.” She put her arm around my shoulder in a way that seemed like more than friendly consolation. Jessica is not a bad lookin’ girl but she smells of smoke and I get the feeling she’s lookin’ for a ticket out of her current situation. How in the world did she con Mom into arranging that setup?
Shannon had been working with Charlene to display the food on the now-extended dining room table. Someone brought in a huge cornucopia from City Florist and sat it in the middle of the perfectly polished table. Dave helped Shannon make some decaf coffee with the coffee maker Chester brought from the church. Finally she approached me with a hug, “I’m so sorry, Doug. Really, there are just no words. Hard to believe that just last night we were all sittin’ around the table laughing. Now we’re here in your mom’s house making coffee and talking about a funeral.”
“Yeah. I can’t even remember where I am half the time. Like I’m watchin’ a movie of someone else’s life. Thanks for taking such good care of Carlie, Shannon. I mean, I guess you told her and everything.”
“I did and Doug, she was sad for you. Really sad. She went to church with us and had sandwiches at the house before she headed back to Commerce. Dave and I really like her. She’s her own unique kind of girl. She wanted me to give you this.” Shannon pulled an ivory-colored envelope from her purse. “Doug” had been written in cursive on the outside. I had never seen Carlie’s handwriting. It was that extra loopy real pretty handwriting that girls often had and boys rarely did. She was pretty. What would it be like if she were here standing with me in the kitchen right now? Would she be bringing me coffee, rubbing my back with her hand? Meeting all my crazy relatives? Would she tell Billie Sue that her pie was delicious and then find a way to dispose of it in a napkin? Yeah, she would. What would it be like if she were here after everyone went home? What if she took all her clothes off in the guest room and laid down beside me on the double bed? The room would smell of vanilla, just like her. She would kiss me and love me with no reservations. I decided that would be heaven on earth. Truth is, being with a woman like Carlie would make everything easier.
But I knew that scenario would mean that she was my wife. A wife who had never even met my mom, had never eaten her pot roast for Sunday dinner, had never heard my mom talk about the pansies she wanted to plant in the window boxes and the fact that she was afraid of an early frost. Carlie would be a wife who would never hear the words, “James and I were always so proud of Doug. Good grades, good manners, and a fine son.” I sat in the green recliner, put my head in my hands, and cried. Why did Mom do it? How in the hell could she leave me here to deal with all this? God, please make everyone go home.
Aunt Charlotte came to put her hand on my shoulder, “Doug Honey, go ahead and cry. We don’t mind.”
“Aunt Charlotte, it’s after 8:00. Could you ask everyone to go home? Don’t get me wrong. I love the family, but I have to go to my apartment and I need to work on some things. I asked Dave and Shannon to stay here. But I need some time away from the crowd.”
“Oh absolutely. OKAY EVERYONE, go home now! It’s time to go home! You can come back tomorrow! Doug, when can they come back tomorrow?”
“Uh, I dunno. How ‘bout 10:00?”
“Okay. No one comes back ‘till 10:00 tomorrow. Chester, this means you. If you and Ida would like to take some food home, there are paper plates on the counter. But leave poor Doug alone until 10:00 in the morning. No exceptions. And Jim, get those God-awful cigarette butts off the front porch as you leave. Susan would have had a cow over that. Charlene, can you help me put the potato salad and other cold items back in the fridg? Rest of you, OUT!”
The great thing about giving Aunt Charlotte a job was the knowledge that she would be thorough. God knows no one would be left wondering what she really meant. Oh no. She had the gift of clarity.
Unlocking the door of my apartment felt normal. This is where I live. It’s where I had my own memories. I could sleep in my own bed and take a shower in my own bathroom. I laid out on the brown bedspread and reached into my pocket to pull out the cream-colored envelope. The room looked bare. Had my obsessive cleanliness actually created a cold space where the life had been choked out of every corner? I’d never even thought about it before now, before her. I’d wanted to read the note from Carlie all evening. But as Aunt Charlotte so aptly said, “I’ve been through a drama.”
Even the envelope smelled of vanilla and it made me want her. I wanted her right beside me.
Dear Doug,
I’m sorry. People always look for really special or creative words to say during times like this, but I find the words “I’m sorry” are what I really want to say. So I will not try to find something more brilliant.
I wish I could be there wi
th you at this moment. I am sending a long embrace. I’m getting things in order here so that I might come to the funeral. I know you are tired, but if you ever need to talk, you have my number. Don’t be afraid to use it. Shannon said they didn’t find a note. I’m sure she wasn’t thinking clearly. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have never left you, Doug. She wouldn’t have. She loved you deeply. What little I knew of her makes me assured of that. What I know of you makes me realize how very proud she must have been. Any woman would be proud to have a son like you. You gave your parents joy.
I read a poem once by Neil Gaiman
“You mourn, for it is proper to mourn,
But your grief serves you;
You do not become a slave to grief.
You bid the dead farewell, and you continue.”
I always wanted to add the words. “You bid the dead farewell, and you continue…because death is not the end.” This is what we believe, yes?
I will see you soon.
Love, Carlie
I dialed the phone without thinking. God, please let her be home.
“Hello.”
“Uh, Carlie, it’s me. Is this a bad time? Is it too late?”
“Oh Doug, I’m so glad you called. I didn’t want to disturb you while you’re with all the family and friends…but I was so hoping you’d call.”
“It’s been a pretty bad day and I’m not sure a peanut butter sandwich and some Tylenol will fix this one.”
“Yeah, you may have to graduate to two tacos and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s this time.”
