Through the Windshield Glass

by Kristen Day

  “We’re leaving.” Daman said.

  “I never thought any of my children would betray this family,” my mother said coolly, “I thought I raised you better than that.”

  My family stepped back and my mother slammed the door in my face.

  I could feel my lower jaw trembling with the effort of not breaking down. I was beginning to see why the door had been labeled misery. I was completely miserable by now, but I knew it would get better, I still had Daman.

  I turned to look at Daman, expecting to see him looking down at me, expecting him to tell me that everything would be okay, that we didn’t need the support of my family in this. As long as we had each other we’d be fine, so what if our children didn’t know their grandparents. We didn’t have to tell them that their grandparents had been abusive to their father and had disowned their mother. There was no need for that, and if we were lucky we could find some elderly couple to adopt as grandparents and our children wouldn’t have to be any the wiser as they were growing up. Or better yet, to save them the pain of losing grandparents when they were young, we would just tell them that their grandparents had died before they were born. We could make everything okay, I knew we could.

  The only problem was, when I turned to look at Daman he wasn’t there. My heart jumped to my throat and my stomach dropped. I whipped around and saw Daman walking away from me; he was already halfway down my street.

  “Daman!” I yelled. My voice cracked with the effort.

  He didn’t turn around. I raced down the steps and sprinted after him, I wasn’t going to lose him again. I felt like I was running through pudding, but I finally made it to Daman. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him around to face me.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I was leaving you to live with your family, I’m not going to be the reason our child grows up without grandparents.” he said.

  “I don’t care about that,” I said, desperately, I was out of breath, but I did my best to sound forceful.

  “Well I do!”

  I was taken aback by how loudly Daman yelled. I didn’t think he was capable of that kind of noise.

  “You’re pregnant, you need them to help you raise that child and I’m no good for it, go back to them, ask for their forgiveness, they’ll take you back.” Daman said.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, “I’m not pregnant,” I said.

  “You told me you were.”

  “No,” I said, my voice rising, “I’m not! You just told my parents I wasn’t!”

  “You’re the one who told me you were,” Daman said.

  I was extremely confused, to the extent of my knowledge there was no way on the face of the planet I could be pregnant. The nightmare continued.

  Daman’s face was sad, but firm, “Go back to your family, raise the kid there. I’m no good for it; you’ll be a great mom. Just let me know where to send the child support and alimony, okay?”

  I let go of Daman’s sleeve, my hand dropping lamely to my side.

  “What?” I whispered, “You’re really going to leave me because of what my parents said?”

  But Daman was already turning away from me, I was losing him again, this time it was worse though. He wasn’t morphing into a door; he wasn’t being ripped away from me. He was choosing to leave me. He was choosing to let me go back to a family that didn’t want me, with a child growing inside me.

  The more steps Daman took away from me, the more I felt as though my heart was being ripped out, and the more my anger rose.

  “I hate you!” I screamed through my tears at him, “How could you do this to me?” My screams ripped at　my throat and　tore my tongue. I dropped to the ground, my knees striking the pavement, opening holes in my jeans. I sat there and sobbed, suddenly very aware of how my stomach felt.

  “It’s better that you hate me,” Daman said, “it’ll make it easier on both of us,”

  “You don’t want to do this! You’ll be a great dad, you won’t hurt me!” I tried through my tears. I felt like someone else was speaking and feeling for me, just as it had in the previous doors. I knew I couldn’t possibly love Daman as much as some part of my brain was fooled into believing.

  “I’m not going to take the chance,” Daman said, and this time when he turned away and I yelled his name, he didn’t look back. He just kept walking. He was really gone this time. I knew I couldn’t go back to my parents. What would they say? They would just tell me I got what I deserved, they would just say that I had made my bed and now I had to lie in it.

  I looked around for a door to lead me back to my hallway, surely I was as miserable as I could possibly get, but there was no door, I just had to accept this wasn’t the end of my suffering.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I should have built up to it. I should have chosen a door that was a little friendlier like murder, or being eaten by sharks; I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. Even knowing that none of this was real, I couldn’t rationalize my feelings. I couldn’t make myself see that everything would be fine. My feelings were completely real, and outside of my control. It was like I was in a play, and completely in character. Like I had gone crazy from the role I was playing. It made me sick. I crawled to some bushes in a neighboring yard and vomited. It burned my already raw throat and stung my nose.

  When I had finished I rolled over on my back and stared up at the sky where the sun was setting. It reminded me of a place where I just might be happy. I dragged myself to my feet and shakily started off in what I hoped was the right direction. Pretty soon I realized I had no idea where I was going. In life, I would have been at Rosemary Park by now, but apparently a place that had always held so much happiness for me was unattainable in a place all about being miserable. My feet ached, my stomach hurt, my throat felt like it was bleeding, and I had lost everyone I cared about in less than ten minutes. That shouldn’t even be possible. I was glad I didn’t have to go through it when I was alive, I don’t think I could have handled it, I would’ve killed myself. I wouldn’t have been able to bear being so alone, knowing that no one wanted me in their lives, and knowing that my unborn child was going to suffer the life of living with an impoverished single mother. I still couldn’t believe I was pregnant, but every impossible thing imaginable had already happened, why not that?

  I knew there was nothing I could do but accept whatever the door had in store for me. I checked in the pockets of my jeans and jacket for some kind of identification or house keys, or a little cash since I was starting to get really hungry. My jacket pockets came out completely and depressingly empty, as did all of the pockets in my jeans. I should have known. This experience was all about misery. I was going to be on my own, but maybe...

  "James!" I yelled, reopening the pain in my throat.

  He didn't come, I knew he wouldn't, all I had achieved by yelling was my throat hurting worse than ever before.

  I set off in the direction I had come from; I thought maybe if I just wandered around long enough my suffering would end. The sun was setting and cold desert night was starting to settle on the land around me. The cold wind tickled its way up the sleeves of my jacket, chilling me to the bones, making my muscles seize and ache even more. I pulled my jacket as tightly as I could around my body, hoping to create some extra warmth and protection from the wind. Without even thinking I let my feet plod on, I figured I might as well let them lead since my brain had no idea where to go.

  I watched the stars rise in the heavens, followed by the moon, still as full and bright as it was in the park when I first met Daman. I winced; his name was like a knife in my heart every time I thought about it. I started quietly singing to myself to try and alleviate some of the tension I was feeling. However, I quickly realized, the longer I searched for the words of happy songs, the more they evaded me. Eventually I settled back into silence and just followed my feet.

  My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that, not only did I have myself to feed, but the little lif
e inside of me, relying on me to keep it alive. That was the only thing that kept me going. After what felt like ten miles later but was probably closer to half a mile, I came across my saving grace: a soup kitchen.

  I nearly tripped over myself as I hurried inside, I felt light-headed from all the walking and crying I had done.

  I guess I looked really beaten up and exhausted when I walked into the kitchen because I was immediately set upon by an elderly woman who led me to a seat and told me not to move until I had eaten something.

  I stared blearily around the brightly lit room. There were about a dozen other people in the room, I noticed one was another pregnant woman. Disobeying the old woman's command to stay seated, I drunkenly made my way over to the other expectant mother.

  She was staring dismally into a bowl of lentil soup, looking as if she wanted to drown herself in the dregs, and the only thing keeping her from attempting to do so was her belly which prevented her from leaning close enough to the table. I estimated that she was close to eight months pregnant.

  "Hi," I said to the woman, taking the seat next to her, "I'm Alice; it looks like we're in the same boat."

  The woman glanced up at me without really seeing me. There was something about her face that seemed familiar. It wasn't until she said her name that I understood why.

  "I'm Rebecca," she said.

  I gasped Rebecca! James' wife! She hadn't recognized me yet, maybe she wouldn’t, and that would probably be for the best. It seemed I had gotten away with my deception, then, recognition dawned in Rebecca's eyes. She looked at me again, took in every detail of my face and slowly recognition dawned.

  "Alice?" Rebecca said slowly, "Alice Patterson?"

  I didn't answer; I had turned around to see if I could find the woman who had promised me soup.

  "You killed my husband," Rebecca whispered, "You killed him!" this time her words came out sounding akin to a banshee shriek.

  Everyone in the kitchen was looking in our direction now.

  "I didn't kill your husband, Rebecca," I whispered to her. Why was she in a soup kitchen? Why hadn’t my parents taken her in after James died?

  "You might as well have!" Rebecca was on her feet now, the lentil soup lay completely forgotten on the table.

  The old woman came out with my soup, "What's going on?" she demanded.

  "She killed my husband!" Rebecca yelled, pointing an accusing finger at my face.

  "No, I didn't," I pleaded desperately, “Why are you here, Rebecca? Why aren’t you with your parents or mine?”

  The old woman walked up to me and handed me the soup, "I think you should leave, dear, you can take the soup. This young lady has been through a lot. Her husband died, and she's very pregnant."

  "I'm pregnant too!" I wanted to yell, but didn't, I still didn't believe it myself so why would they? I mumbled a 'thank you', and hurried out of the kitchen. Rebecca's screams followed me out into the cold night.

  I sank down on the curb outside the soup kitchen. I hadn't noticed until the cold air hit it, but, as I had been rushing out of the kitchen some of the scalding soup had sloshed over the side of the Styrofoam bowl and burnt my right hand, which was now throbbing painfully.

  Sighing, I awkwardly used my left hand to hold the bowl to my mouth while I drank. I nearly spat out the soup on the first sip. It was creamy potato soup, my least favorite food in the entire world. I was tempted to set the bowl aside and see what I could dig out of the dumpsters behind the kitchen, but my growling stomach told me that wouldn't be wise. There was no guarantee I'd find something edible, and I had more than just me riding on this bowl of potato soup.

  I used my stinging right hand to plug my nose, and drank the hot soup as quickly as I could, leaving a trail of burnt taste buds in its place. I had to work to keep the soup down, but eventually I was satisfied it wasn't going to come back up. I decided to leave before Rebecca came out and found me.

  I tucked my left hand safely in my jacket pocket and let my right dangle out in the cool air, if I was lucky, it wouldn't swell up too bad and I wouldn't get an infection. I did feel a little better though, I wasn't full but my stomach had stopped protesting at every step I took. Now all I had to do was find a decent place to sleep. I had an idea of how to get one, but I didn't want to have to resort to it if I didn't have to.

  There was still one place I could check before I went with plan B. There were a lot of factors though. Would she even be here? Were we still friends? There was only one way to find out. I turned back in the direction I had come from and started walking. Maria and I had lived less than a block away from each other when I was alive.

  The trip back to my neighborhood went much faster than the trip from it. Maybe because I had food in my stomach, or maybe because I was doing what I was supposed to now, either way, I was actually making progress. It took me less than ten minutes of trudging through the cold to find Maria's house. I was so glad to see it there, still standing and with lights on, that I nearly cried. Surely, she wouldn't turn away her old, pregnant best friend.

  I stumbled up the path to Maria's porch and rang the doorbell. I stood there, shivering, for about half a minute before the door swung wide. Light fell over me, and I must have been a sight to see because Maria gasped and took a step back. She looked just the same as she had when we were seventeen. She was still thin as a twig, and tall as a tree, with hair that would make Rapunzel jealous.

  "Maria," I said, "It's me, Alice."

  "I know who you are," Maria said, "I just don't know why you're here,"

  Not a good sign, she didn't look angry though so I kept going, "I've run into some hard times, my family kicked me out, my husband left me, and--and I'm pregnant. I have nowhere to go, and I need a place to stay, I was hoping you might have room..." I trailed off.

  "Do you not remember what happened?" Maria asked, "Don’t you remember what you did to me? You stole Daman away from me! He was my boyfriend, I was in love with him and you took him away from me! Why would I want you of all people in my house? Especially, if you're carrying his child!"

  "I—I didn't do any of that," I stammered.

  "Typical, selfish, Alice," Maria said, she looked mad now, "You think you can just waltz over here and ask me for help after you drove me into depression and I almost killed myself. No, you know what? You deserve what you got; it's about time you got hit with some bad luck!"

  Maria slammed the door in my face. I was left standing there on the porch wondering how I could have done any of the things Maria had described. I would never do that to her, if she were dating Daman I wouldn't have the courage to tear them apart; I wouldn't have been able to do that to Maria, let alone myself. I couldn't have lived with the guilt of it. But apparently, when you're meant to be miserable, you're also meant to do things to deserve that misery.

  I was left with no choice. I had to resort to plan B. I didn't like it, but it was going to have to happen. I couldn't sleep out here in this cold, I would freeze to death. I took a deep breath of frigid night air and walked to the end of Maria's lawn. After a moment of searching I found a good sized rock. I took aim at a large window, the one in the sitting room at the front of Maria's house, and threw it. The rock hit the window hard and the resulting sound was torrential. The glass rained down, sounding like jingle bells on the rocks below.

  I waited at the end of Maria’s lawn; within moments she was at the empty hole that used to be her window. It only took her a moment to sum up what had happened, she already had the phone in hand and was calling the police. I shrugged, sat down on the curb and waited. This was my plan B. This is what I was subjecting myself to, because I had nowhere else to sleep.

  Soon the police arrived, a cop got out of her car, and came up to me, it was a, “Are you the one who threw the rock at the window?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied, simply.

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you downtown for the night at least,” the cop said.

  “Fine,” I replied. I
popped up off the sidewalk and began walking to the police car. The cop looked stunned. I doubt she’d ever had someone so willing to be arrested before.

  “Are you drunk?” Maria yelled from her porch.

  “Not even close,” I replied with a wave, “I just always hated that window.”

  I swear Maria almost smiled at that, but the twitch of her mouth was gone in the blink of an eye.

  The policewoman opened the back door of the car for me. I was becoming more and more of the wild child Daman had jokingly called me when we first met. Just in time, the policewoman remembered to cuff me and mumble out my rights, before helping me into the back of the car.

  Without thinking, I tried to wave to Maria through the tinted window of the cop car. I know she didn’t see me, but she watched as we pulled away and when I turned around to look at her, still standing there on her porch, she had raised one hand in solemn farewell. I almost laughed to myself. This wasn’t so miserable. I still felt good from the soup, and I was going to have a semi warm place to sleep, even if the toilet was open to public view. Maybe I had read the door wrong. Maybe there was small print under Misery, that said ‘with a side of silver lining’. Apparently too much wishful thinking was an invitation for more misery to set in.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I was waltzed into the police station and made to sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair, while I waited for the cop at the front desk to get off the phone. After a little while, the cop hung up his call and looked at me. I noticed his name tag said Parker

  “Well,” he said, “I have good news for you, Ms. Patterson. Ms. Cole isn’t going to press charges; you’re free to go,”

  I didn’t see that coming, my jaw dropped, “I don’t even have to stay here overnight? I mean I broke someone’s window, on purpose!”

  Officer Parker laughed, “You sound like you actually wanted to be here.”

  I laughed too, with absolutely no enthusiasm, “No,” I said, “Of course not, I just thought…”