Bring Me Back

by Taryn Plendl

  ***

  I can’t work. My mind is numb and I can’t seem to sit here and think of Laney or of anything else, so I decide to throw on my sweats and go for a run. I used to run regularly, and seeing Ally pop out from the trees the other night, I longed to do it again. I walk passed the mess I created with the pot and kick a piece of it down the steps. I looked to where Ally came through the trees and decided to try that way.

  Once I was through the trees, I found an obvious trail, one that had been well used and started to run. I felt the cool mountain air on my face and let myself go, running and breathing, that’s all I was concerned with. When the trail finally wrapped back around and ended up just past Ally’s house, I was completely spent. Barely making it back to my porch steps, I collapsed and cried. That seems to be all I can do lately. There are certain truths that I can be sure of….Pain and tears. The pain lets me know I’m still alive... the tears remind me that I’m only human. I stand up to go inside, but not before noticing that the mess I made with the pot was gone.

  Chapter 11

  ~Ally

  When I came out of the bathroom, Ian was gone. I should have been scared to find him in my room this morning, but I wasn’t. I walked out to the kitchen to make some tea. I want coffee, but if I intend to sleep at all today, I have to try to do this right. I notice the paper sack on the counter and peak inside. “Oh good!” I might be able to get this table done before Ronnie comes on Wednesday with the grout and new glass cutters I’ve been waiting on. I remember right before throwing the bag away that I had seen Ian write something on it the day before.

  ~Hello, Was asked to drop this off. Ian (your neighbor)

  Crumbling up the bag, I glance out the window across the drive to Ian’s house. He is standing at the foot of his stairs with his hand clenched into fists at his sides. He walks up to his door, and I am just about to look away when I see the pot go flying into the post and shatter. About 20 minutes later Ian emerges from the same door with sweats on and runs down the stairs. Glancing both ways, he starts off through the trees in a jog, and just as quick he disappears.

  My stomach is feeling sick for what I have decided to do. I have a box propped on my arm and slowly walk across the drive toward Ian’s house. This is so far out of my comfort level, and I am sweating profusely. Several times I want to just drop the box and run back into my house. I start to replay a mantra in my head. It’s okay, it’s okay, It’s okay with every step and before I know it I am standing at the foot of the stairs that lead up to Ian’s porch. Quickly, I begin picking up the shattered pot and placing the pieces into the box I brought. I continuously look over my shoulder as I work so that I am not surprised by him returning from his run. As I place the last piece in the box, I notice the broom at the top of the stairs, leaning against the post. With one last glance over my shoulder, I decide to finish the job and sweep the remaining dirt and plant off the porch and into the bushes below. I nod in approval before grabbing the box and returning in a full sprint to my house.

  ***

  I mix the grout and work with it to secure the glass into the permanent pattern that I have finally satisfied myself with. The table is an intricate pattern of reds, yellows and blues with a kaleidoscope look, branching out from the middle. The colors complement each other and I step back and realize that I truly like the table, and I know Mr. Roberts will be happy with it too. As the table dries, I start to look through and sort the broken pot pieces and try to decide what to do with them. It was a beautiful pot, and I know it will make a beautiful mosaic piece. I work straight through lunch and then decide I better try to sleep before it gets dark.

  It sometimes surprises me at just how routine my life can be at times and then utterly out of control at others. This is where the anxiety sets in for a person like me, someone who needs control in every aspect, someone whose daily existence relies on avoiding triggers that will set you off in a down spiral of fear. The irony is that often those that feel the most need for control, are themselves the ones being controlled by their own fears, insecurities, and doubts.

  I grab a bite to eat around 9:00 p.m., and wait. I am determined to go running this evening, and after officially meeting my neighbor, if that is what we are calling it, I feel a little less apprehension about accidentally running into him like the other night. In the few times I’ve seen Ian, he has looked like he was having some sort of inner battle. I have a feeling he needs his privacy as much as I do.

  ***

  I tie up my shoes and stand on my porch. I look to the left down the drive and am relieved to see that the lights are off at Ian’s house. I tip my head back and take a deep breath. The cool mountain air greets me, filling my lungs with refreshing pine that infuses all of my senses. I start off toward my normal path as the sounds of the nighttime forest calm me. The gravel of the driveway crunches under my feet as I start my rhythm, pat-pat-pat-pat-pat. The only break through sounds are the occasional snapping of a branch under my feet or the scurrying of animals who are caught by surprise by the heavy feet running by, muted only by the sporadic mat of leaves.

  I run, sometimes closing my eyes and allowing my acute senses to take over. I feel so free; running into the darkness of the night allows me to figuratively run away from the darkness in my mind. There is no Ian tonight as I emerge from the trees, and when I finally plop down on the stairs of my porch, I feel wonderful!

  Chapter 12

  ~Ian

  I don’t know why Ally would have cleaned up the mess I made with my pot. It doesn’t make sense, but regardless I am grateful to not have to deal with it. Feeling empty after my emotional outburst, run and tears, I strip my sweats off and head straight for the shower. Surprisingly, the water feels absolutely invigorating! Afraid to lose this feeling, one that has become almost non-existent, I stand underneath the water, letting it run over my puffy eyes and tired body. As I dry off, I can’t help but think about how good I feel right now. My skin feels alive and my body refreshed. The run was a good idea, and something I should probably keep up. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.

  I sit down at the table to eat a late lunch before starting on some work. While looking around, I make mental notes of things I may want to change about the house. When I first looked at the house, I was most attracted to the rustic look and feel. The walls are warm rust orange that I really like, and it seems to make the exposed beams look so dark and rich. I love the kitchen cabinets because they have that same look, like they are made with the same wood as the beams. The counter tops are concrete and have been painted and finished to a shiny crème color. I am not fond of the tile in the kitchen and bath, and the table I am sitting at is something that the previous owner had, as well as the crème colored sofa with flower throw pillows—too feminine. That is something I should change sooner than later.

  I work most of the afternoon and into the evening. After I finally leave my desk and computer, I want nothing more than to hang out on the couch and watch ESPN. After heating up some Hot Pockets, I do just that. By 10:00 p.m., I can’t keep my eyes open. I turn off the TV and head straight to bed.

  ***

  I wake up with a heavy heart. I didn’t see a healthy Laney in my dreams, but I didn’t have a nightmare either. I never thought I would prefer the nightmares over nothing at all. I don’t know how to explain what I'm feeling right now, it’s just.....my heart hurts.

  I muddle through the morning in a stark contrast to the jaunty way I felt last night. I work up until lunch time on a couple different projects and watch out the window as Ronnie drives up and delivers a few bags of groceries to Ally. Before leaving, he carries a round table out to his truck and places it gently in the back. The table top catches the light and sends off a rainbow of shimmering reflections. “Wow.” I mumble to myself. It is a beautiful table, and I wonder why she is getting rid of it.

  I am not quite ready to eat, and opt instead to go and take another run. Pulling on a clean pair of sweats and a t-shirt, I move out to
the porch to put on my tennis shoes. The porch creaks as I step out and I can’t help but smile just a little bit. It is part of the charm of this house. The settling and the sounds it makes are sometimes like music to me.

  I start out the same way as last time, cutting through the trees in front of my house and starting on the developed trail. The ground is slightly moist, and as I run, I can see the much smaller footprints running the opposite direction. Ally must have been out again last night. I think as I continue at a relaxed pace. I look around at the surrounding forest. The trees are tight together and thick. I can’t begin to envision how dark it must be on this trail at night, and for the life of me, I can’t imagine why a small woman like Ally would choose to run in the dark.

  As I run, I think of what I know about her. I know she has lived in this house for 2 years (the realtor told me that)—she doesn’t seem to leave her house for much, other than to run at night and clean up my mess on my porch. I know she has long chestnut hair and dark eyes and by what I recently observed, she has nightmares that would outrival any that I have ever come close to having. So basically, not a whole hell of a lot!

  I make it back to my house and leave my shoes by the front door, as I seem to have picked up a little bit of dirt from the areas on the trail with the most moisture. I throw together a sandwich, chips and a pickle and sit down with remote in hand. Flipping through the channels, I decide on the movie, Coming to America. I haven’t seen this movie in ages, and it is upbeat enough to ward off any of my depressing thoughts.

  Chapter 13

  ~Ally

  I spent what feels like an eternity sitting on the steps, just basking in the calm of night. All of my favorite sounds—what I know. I finally come inside when my stomach starts to cramp a little bit. I think I must be a little hungry, so I decide to throw something together after I hop in the shower. The water feels quite nice, but with an angry stomach, I don’t linger. I pull on my softest pajamas, grab some snacks and head into my little studio. I sent the finished table with Ronnie today when he dropped off my groceries. It was beautiful, and I am so excited about how it turned out. I’m anxious to hear what Mr. Roberts thinks of it too. I am working on a new piece from Ian’s broken pot. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going with it, but I know it will come together eventually.

  I work in the studio for a little bit, but the queasiness in my stomach won’t go away, so I move myself to the living room and turn on a show. I check the clock, 4:00 a.m. Still about 3 ½ hours until sunrise.

  Somewhere between the 2nd and 3rd episode of Seinfeld re-runs, I become violently ill. I barely make it to the bathroom before I begin vomiting, and by the time I crawl from there, the sun is up. I am sweating and have chills, and I finally realize….I’m sick. I grab a bucket and a glass of Sprite and make my way back to the couch. Curling up with a quilt, I allow myself to doze.

  ***

  I wake up with a full bladder screaming at me for relief. I try to stand up and almost fall over from the pain in my stomach. Bent over I slowly make my way to the bathroom to relieve myself. I glance in the mirror while washing my hands and am completely shocked by my appearance. My eyes have dark circles around them that are almost purple, my face is flushed and my hair is wet from the sweat. I carefully make my way back to the couch, careful to not stand up erect. By the time I arrive back to my spot, I am again violently vomiting into the bucket.

  When I wake up the next time, the sun has set and I panic. I am still in so much pain and I know I must be running a fever. I stand up again and cry out in pain. Leaning my head against the kitchen counter, I make a decision. I need help.

  Wrapped in my quilt and with my shoes hurriedly slipped on my feet, I open my door and walk out. Every step is excruciating. I am still unable to walk standing straight, so I keep myself bent at the waist and looking down as I awkwardly walk toward Ian’s house. Half way there I vomit again. My mouth feels like I’ve eaten a flannel shirt.

  The walk that should have taken just a minute has become what feels like a marathon, and by the time I reach the stairs, I am practically crawling. The wood of the porch feels so cold on my hands. My face feels like it is on fire. I am so hot and so cold at the same time. Pushing myself, I finally reach the door and knock. Not sure of what to do next.

  Chapter 14

  ~Ian

  While contemplating a bowl of ice cream or just going to bed, I hear a soft knock on my front door. Confused, I get up to answer it. I’m not sure what I expected, but it sure wasn’t the scene that unfolded before me as I opened the door.

  “Holy shit!” Ally was standing before me wrapped in a quilt looking so sickly that it jolted me back to thoughts of Laney for a moment. She looked up with those dark eyes and whispered, “I need help.”

  Realizing that I was just staring at her, and she had asked for help, I jumped into action. “Ally, put your right arm around my waist.” She didn’t hesitate or argue, and when I felt her hand slide across my back to the side of my waist, I knew why. “Christ Ally! You are burning up!” She was nodding as she walked, telling me that she was well aware of that. I helped her to a chair at the table and poured her a glass of water. She had her head lying on her arms and her breathing was shallow. I went to the bathroom and searched under the sink until I found what I was looking for. Returning to her with a thermometer, I gently asked her to open her mouth. She complied without a word, and I watched her as we waited to read the temperature. When I pulled the thermometer out and held it up, my eyes widened. “Almost 104°. Ally, have you taken anything for a fever today?” She shook her head. “Do you hurt?” She nodded this time. “Please Ally, tell me what’s wrong.” I sound like I am pleading. Taking a shallow breath, she says, “My stomach hurts so badly. I have been throwing up all day, and I didn’t know what to do. I haven’t been sick since I’ve moved here.” Running my hands through my hair, I groan. “Ally, you need to go to the emergency room.”

  You would have thought that I told her to jump off a cliff. She bolted out of her chair and immediately fell to the floor, grasping her stomach in pain. “No! No, no, no.” She gasped. I knelt to the floor. “Ally is there someone I can call for you?” Shaking her head, she quietly said, “There is no one. I have no one.” I looked into her eyes. “No one?” she looked right into my eyes and shook her head. “Shit.” I kept running my fingers through my hair, as my own stomach became queasy, with the knowledge of what I needed to do. I was going back—back to the place that I hated more than anything. The Hospital.

  I put my shoes on and grabbed my wallet and my keys. I went outside to pull my car around and parked it in front of the stairs. Walking back through the door, I spoke very softly to her. “Ally, I know you don’t want to go, but I think you are really sick, and you need a doctor. You asked me for help, so please let me.” I didn’t wait for her response; I just reached down and lifted her gently in my arms. She was so light that I had absolutely no problem walking with her. I carried her down the stairs, mindful of how much pain even the slightest of movement caused. As I set her into the passenger side of my car and leaned over to fasten her seatbelt, I paused to look at her. Our eyes locked, and I could see the fear in her eyes. We were so close that I could feel the heat radiating off of her skin. I couldn’t help but think that by going to the hospital, we were about to do something that scared us both beyond reason. I closed the door and walked around to the driver’s seat. I pulled forward and stopped in front of Ally’s house. Turning to her, I softly touched her hand. “Ally? Where is your wallet? You’ll need ID.” “Oh! Um, I think it is on the counter by the coffee maker.” I nodded and ran into her house to retrieve it. Running back out, wallet in hand, I slid into the driver’s seat again. With a deep breath, I drove down the drive and out onto the road.

  Chapter 15

  ~Ally

  I felt every bump in the road as Ian drove me to the hospital. I was shaking, but this time I knew it wasn’t only from the fever. I had not been away from my house in over
1 ½ years. If I had not already been sick to my stomach, I was sure I would have been now. Holding my stomach, I tried to focus on the pain. The pain was real, and I needed to distinguish between real and irrational fear. “Are you cold?” I heard Ian ask. I just shook my head. I could tell he didn’t want to take me. He had cursed several times after he decided that I needed to go. I knew it must be an inconvenience, but I couldn’t worry about that right now. I was barely holding it together. I pressed my head against the window and began to sing softly.

  Goodnight, my angel

  Now it's time to dream

  And dream how wonderful your life will be

  Someday your child may cry

  And if you sing this lullabye

  Then in your heart

  There will always be a part of me

  Someday we'll all be gone

  But lullabyes go on and on...

  They never die

  That's how you

  And I

  Will be

  I was brought back when I heard Ian on the phone talking to the hospital, asking for someone to meet us with a wheelchair. When I opened my eyes again, we were in front of the emergency room doors and someone in green scrubs was waiting with a wheelchair. I looked at Ian and shook my head. “I can’t Ian, I can’t do it!” I couldn’t stop shaking my head. “Ally, you have to, you’re sick.” If I didn’t feel like I had been run over by a truck, I may have been amused by the irony in that statement. “They will take care of you.” He said. My eyes shot open wide as I looked at him. “You’re not coming with me?” I choked. He shook his head and grabbed my hand. “Ally, I can’t go in there.” We sat there staring at each other, and right then and there, I realized that this man sitting in front of me was broken too. I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. When I opened my eyes, I looked right at him. “I can’t do this without you. Please. I know you understand how hard this is. I see it in your eyes, but Ian, I can’t do this alone.” We sat there nodding at each other, almost trying to gather strength from each other. When the person in scrubs opened my door, I felt Ian squeeze my hand and say. “Okay, let’s go.”