Dream Smashers

by Angela Carlie

  I put my arm through his. “Like what?”

  He walks along with me and together we cross the parking lot.

  ”Uh...” He squints his right eye. “I can’t think of anything at the moment, but give me a sec, I’m sure I’ll remember something.”

  Several seconds pass. “Nope. Can’t think of a single thing. I guess those two are the strangest thing that has ever happened.”

  We laugh.

  A car slides into the parking lot.

  “Whoa. Stand back.” Evan pushes me gently through an open gate at the edge of the parking lot. The car slams to a stop right in front of him. He looks at me with ginormous eyes. My heart skips. The expression on his face tells me that he might have just peed his pants too.

  The door opens and Grams steps out in a fashion that means business.

  “Autumn! Hurry.” Her voice is urgent, sharp. She clings to the door for support. Her body crumples like a balloon with a small hole in it. “It’s your mother.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Faster. Faster. I wish he would drive faster, but with slick roads, that would be crazy. And Evan isn’t that. But he is a gentleman and volunteered to drive Grams’ car. Caleb and Rainy follow in Evan’s car.

  I turn to Grams, sitting next to me in the back seat, her hand shivering in mine. “I’m sure everything is fine.” Lie. I can’t possibly know that. “They probably just wouldn’t tell you on the phone because they didn’t have time or something. It’s freakishly slippery outside so maybe there are lots of accident victims or something.” Ramble. Ramble. Lie. Lie. “Maybe she was in one of them. Probably just a broken leg or something.”

  Grams shakes her head, her gray eyes stare straight forward.

  Dread fills my body. I wish we were on a grassy hill far away from here. The sun warming our skin and one-by-one we roll down the hill to the bottom where we find a field of daisies. I wish we could drive by the hospital and keep going. Pretend that they never called Grams, just keep driving like we were out for ice cream. Or we can drive all the way to the coast, rent a room on the ocean and watch the storms slam in. California is nice this time of year. Let’s hop on I-5 for a trip to Hollywood or Disneyland or something, anything but the hospital.

  Evan’s eyes meet mine in the rear view mirror. They aren’t smiling like earlier tonight, but are filled with concern.

  I squeeze Grams’ boney, cold hand as we pull into the parking lot of the hospital.

  “See! Look at all these cars. The place is busy as heck.” Deep in my heart I know that I’m probably right. Jacinda can’t die without making things good with us. She just can’t. If she died now…well, I’m not going to dwell on that because she isn’t dying. We don’t even know.

  But what if she is? I totally wished her away. Maybe this is what I want. The carefree life that I’ve always dreamed of doesn’t have a mother high on meth in it—that’s for sure. Not this way though. Life would never be carefree if she left us like this. Guilt would whittle away any life I tried to make for myself. Guilt of not trying to forgive her, for not loving her like I should, for letting her sleep on the streets and not insisting she stay with us. For yelling at her, for hating her, for not saving her—or at least trying.

  Evan drives the car into the multi-level car park, winding up and up the ramp. Caleb and Rainy follow. The artificial lights flash through the car in segments, like an old picture show. Dark, light, dark, light, dark, light.

  It’s not my fault, though. She did this, made life this way. Not me. Stuck in a melting pot without a single skewer to grab onto, I debate. My heart says forgive, my mind says no.

  I sigh.

  Grams turns to look at me. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. You’re right. It probably isn’t serious.” She brushes hair away from my face and I know she is battling the same war I am. Hers is a bloodier one though. For a mother always forgives her daughter. Yet that forgiving for so many years has brought us here today.

  If only Grams had put her foot down firmly so long ago. She did with me. “Grounded for life,” is what she threatened me with if I ever touched drugs. Why didn’t it work with Jacinda? Didn’t she punish her? Didn’t Gramps?

  I study her face, the worry lines etched by time around her mouth, the persistent frown that never leaves her thin lips, and the sunken sad eyes that no longer shine. No, it’s not her fault either. It’s nobody’s fault.

  The car stops.

  Grams climbs out, then lights a cigarette. She shuffles her feet to the elevator, taking several drags along the way and then snuffs her cigarette into the ash tray before stepping into the open compartment.

  We follow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Rainy forces a smile and grabs my arm while we walk through the entrance the woman at the information desk told us to go through. A sign above the door reads, “Cardiac and Vascular Department.” Another sign posted on a stand inside the door reads, “No Visitors After 9 PM.” It’s eight now.

  There is no seating, just a desk with nurses behind it. “I’ll go check with the nurse at the counter,” Evan says. “You guys can take a seat outside if you want.”

  The general waiting room just outside the cardiac department, full of coughing, sneezing, bloodied, crying, smiling, tired people, is outdated and smells like 1989. It even looks like 1989 with salmon colored benches and chairs. Evan and Caleb stand together at the end of a long line at the powder-blue counter while we make our way to the last open chairs under the muted television.

  A woman lies like a pretzel in the seat to my right, sleeping, if you could call it that. Grams sits to my left, on the edge, ready to spring if need be.

  Sad faces. Frustrated faces. How long have these people been here? Why are they here? Do any of them have a family member dying?

  One man watches the TV above us. His face, unshaven and full of story, twitches every few minutes, waking him from his thoughts. Or maybe his thoughts cause his face to twitch. His right leg taps the floor, like a jack-hammer on asphalt. Is he waiting for news of a loved one? Wife? Child? Mother?

  I imagine this man, a hard worker since birth, providing for his family and none for himself—selfless. A wonderful husband, father, son, I bet. I wish he was my dad. I wish he was my mom. His eyes snap open, full of blue-sorrow and red-pain. I look away.

  If Jacinda dies tonight, I’ll go skydiving. Random, but not really. I’ve always wanted to skydive. Rainy’s always wanted to skydive too. I can think of no better way to celebrate our liberation than jumping from an airplane. It symbolizes a life free of worry, free of addiction, free of hate—carried by the wind, floating, flying, sailing down to the soft-hard ground that nurtures open roads to explore. Roads that lead to exotic lush forests or dry sandy deserts or booming cement cities or snow covered mountain tops. The road I love the most leads to the ocean—ever churning, bringing new life to the surface and drowning the old or vice versa.

  Evan touches my leg, waking me from thoughts. “We should pray.”

  I look at Rainy, sitting three chairs down. She stands, hesitates, and then steps toward us. Caleb holds her hand. She in turn grabs Grams’ who holds mine and I hold Evan’s—a circle of bodies and arms.

  Rainy looks at me out of the corner of her eye and then smirks.

  I can’t help but bite my bottom lip, holding onto my own laugh and look beyond our circle at the man with blue-sorrow eyes. He meets my glance for only a moment before closing his eyes and bowing his head. My cheek muscles relax, no longer fighting the smile, defeated by grief.

  “Lord Jesus,” Evan says. “Thank you for your gracious kindness and love. Please be with us in our need to bring comfort to our unsure hearts. If it’s your will that Jacinda live, we pray that she makes a speedy recovery from whatever ails her and that you grace her with your presence. Amen.”

  Amen. And God, if you’re still listening, please don’t take her tonight. Please make her well and make her be a good mom, if that’s not too much to ask.

/>   “Jacinda Winters’ family?” a petite woman in rainbow scrubs bellows.

  Grams’ grip on my hand cuts all circulation. I try to move, but my limbs won’t obey. This is it. They’re going to tell us now that Jacinda is dead. That she died of an overdose or that she got killed. My poor mom, lonely and misunderstood, mean and selfish, but still mine. Mom.

  Mediterranean Sea spills over my eyes, my jaw tightens, and I return Grams’ hand grip with rigid fingers.

  “Jacinda Winters’ family?” the woman repeats.

  Evan makes eye contact with me—kind, loving. “Right here,” he says.

  We follow the swift moving woman to a room created behind a curtain and then we each sit in a chair around a rectangular table that wobbles. No one says a word. As soon as we sit, the woman turns to leave us. A tall man, who looks like he belongs on one of those reality TV shows, with black hair that curls around his face, steps into the room of sorrow, the room of death announcements and dark family secrets.

  Evan squeezes my knee under the table. I’ve built up the dam again—it’s stronger this time, made of concrete—but it still may crack so I don’t even acknowledge his touch.

  “Good evening.” The doc pulls his stethoscope off his neck and sits in the last open chair at the head of the table. “My name is Dr. Williams and I’ve been treating Jacinda.” We must seem like a room full of pale zombies who can’t speak because he talks without being prompted—without giving us a chance. “She is fine.”

  The room hisses when we release the air we’ve been holding in our chests—especially Grams.

  He sets a file on the table and crosses his hands in front of him. “She suffered from cardiac arrest. Have you been told anything about her circumstances?”

  Grams looks at me and then to the doc.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Grams says.

  “Okay.” He clears his throat. “Well, Jacinda was found in a ditch along—“ He flips through pages in the file. “I don’t have all the details of how she came to be here but I’m sure the police report will give you specifics where she was found. My point is she’s been here for several days. Since, uh—“Again, he looks through the papers and then blushes. “Since Tuesday. So, for three days. Sorry folks, weeks drag on here and my days get confused.”

  “What?” Grams’ entire body shakes more than usual.

  He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t hear Grams. “It was touch and go for a while, but now she is stable and resting comfortably.”

  Evan jumps in. “Why wasn’t her mother contacted before now, sir?”

  “Please, just call me doctor.”

  Whatever. Get over yourself. Sadness is replaced with anger—simmering fury close to boiling.

  Doc continues. “She had no identification on her. When she woke, she refused to give us specifics of her identity. We eventually had an anonymous call giving us Jacinda’s name and your information as well. When we knew who she was, she was still reluctant to allow us to call. And this evening she’s had a change of heart and gave us permission to fill you in. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be speaking with you now. She wants you to know what happened.”

  Well, isn’t that just dandy.

  “Dude, you mean someone just called up and told you all this crap and you didn’t get their name?” Rainy’s forehead vein pulsates, like it does when she is uber-pissed. “What the hell is up with that?”

  Caleb puts his hand on Rainy’s to calm her. For some odd reason, it works. Her vein slows and slithers back under her skin.

  The doc ignores Rainy and looks at me and Grams. “She’s been moved out of ICU into her own room and has requested to speak with you.”

  Grams pushes her chair from the table, causing the floor to scream as the metal legs scrape onto the tile. She stands, hunched over and trembling. Evan springs out of his seat to help her.

  I don’t move. It feels like I’m in a separate room, a room all to myself and that there is a thick pane of glass between me and the rest of the world—contorted and squished in a glass box with no air. Of course everyone stares at me. Who wouldn’t stare at the freak in the box? Not everyone can take being in such close quarters. Not everyone can bend into such a monstrosity.

  Even with chains holding me down, I feel safe in the glass box. Safe from evil dream smashers and from those who insist I face them. No one can touch me here.

  Rainy’s mouth moves, but I’m in the box and can’t hear what she says. Far away, muted voices speak calmly and in a cryptic language. Grams turns toward me. Evan faces Caleb and moves his mouth. As if walking under water, Caleb steps toward Grams, replacing Evan at her arm.

  Evan swims toward me. It takes an eternity for him to move across the room and while he does I watch, content at where I’m at even though my lungs are squished in between my legs and head. Not much air in the box.

  His expression doesn’t hold the judgment or humor that most people would have when looking at such a show. His blond hair hangs just above his clear wells of concern. I want to brush it away from them, for it is obstructing the view. I know him. I want him to break the glass and rescue me, to hold me in his arms and protect me from the dream smashers.

  And he does. His gentle, strong, warm hand on my arm is all it takes for the entire room to shatter.

  “It’s okay, Autumn.” His voice melts the chains.

  I believe him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hospitals wouldn’t be hospitals if not for the modern machines that help to keep bodies breathing and monitor heart rates and feed stomachs through tubes and collect urine in bags. We’d be looking at a dead body instead of a live one at this very moment if we didn’t have machines.

  Her hair is stringy and dirty as usual. Her lips are chapped and broken, typical. Her skin is pale and blemished in various locations with crusty scales around her nose. Plastic tubes push invisible atmosphere into her nostrils.

  She notices us. Her lips tremble and expose her icky mouth in a partial smile. “Hi,” she whispers. Her dark portals leak tears that stream down the sides of her face into her hair.

  Grams shuffles to her side and holds onto her hand. I stay next to the door—might as well have an escape plan just in case things start to get smashed.

  “I’m sorry,” Jacinda squeaks while looking up at her mother, like a child that has just colored a masterpiece out of crayon on her mother’s pristine white walls. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice gets clogged with pain and regret—deep and snotty.

  Grams nods her head, not saying a word. Misery pours out of her eyes. She holds Jacinda’s hand up to her face and kisses it and then bends over the bed rail in an awkward-I-need-to-do-this movement. The rail pushes into her thin ribs. She holds her daughter as close as she possibly can, trying with all her might to protect her from all the evil in the world.

  But she can’t do that. I’m sure she has tried and probably will try for the remainder of her life but evil has and always will penetrate her efforts. For without the bad, there will be no good, and therefore bad things will always be, no matter how hard they hug right now.

  The protector breaks her embrace to look at me standing in the doorway. “Autumn, come over here,” she says in a compassionate tone.

  I grimace and tell my legs to move. They obey in a stiff fashion, one step at a time.

  Mother and child watch grandchild, me, stop at the foot of the bed.

  Jacinda wipes the tears from her face with a hand stuck with all types of tubes being held in place with tape. “I know you may not like me, but I love you.”

  Yeah right. My throat burns like after swallowing hot sauce.

  She must be able to read thoughts because she replies, “I know you probably don’t believe me. All I can do is prove it to you.”

  I stuff my hands in my front pockets. The blinking lights on the wall above her bed catch my attention. Red and green lights. Red and green are for Christmas. It’s almost Christmas. Three red and four green. The green lights blink off when t
he red lights blink on. Back and forth, on and off.

  “Autumn?” Jacinda says.

  I snap my gaze back to Jacinda but I’m still wondering what those stupid lights are for. They could at least label them. Maybe one needs to go to a special school just to learn what the blinking lights are for.

  “I promise to never touch crank again. I’m never ever going to do it again—I swear.”

  Grams raises her hands in the air. “Praise the Lord!”

  We’ve heard this one before. I’ll believe it when I see it. But that’s not what I say. Jacinda will burst Grams’ bubble all on her own. I don’t need to do it for her.

  I nod. And swallow the pain away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Saturday, October 17th

  Dank and loud. Body odor underscores the coat of coconut scent from the fog machine. I dance. And I don’t care who sees. Sure, I’m probably making a total fool of myself. My dance is unique to me—smooth glides along the dance floor, easing people away. I slither and wiggle to the rhythm of the funky mixes playing over and over, never ending. One song fuses with the next and the next until they all sound the same.

  Despite the pulsating colored lights, the room remains dark and sparkles from the disco ball, and black lights make our teeth gleam. Mirrors along every wall are evidence that this is real, that I am dancing and I look hot, so hot that I can’t stop watching the alien reflection of me and everything around me. Angel washed my look dirty with stellar skills and wardrobe. “If you are going to be seen with us at Scour, we’re gonna have to do something about all this you-ness of you,” she said to me before handing me a tiny black leather skirt, and red stilettos.

  She also gave me a button-down blouse that squish what boobs I have up and out like scoops of ice cream placed neatly on sugar cones. Angel poofed out my long brown hair and super-modeled my face. I look like I belong on a cat walk, strutting my stuff for the world to admire and drool over, no longer like a sixteen-year-old fledgling.