Death of a Dream

The sickening sweet of smell and taste of paregoric invaded my senses.  It was the only comfort I found in the scene laid out before me.  It was odd that I found comfort in that observation.  It whisked me back to my childhood at a time when my grandmother rubbed this intoxicating brown liquid across my gums to ease the pain of a sore tooth.  Why could I taste it?  I found myself dizzy as I tried to breathe through my nostrils – I had subconsciously started breathing through my mouth.  In a strange way it helped me think about something other than the fallen trees that crossed the street ahead of me.  It was as if I was alone in the universe just for a brief moment.  That familiar licorice smell snapped me back and I began to see my friends and family emerge from the old town hall.  The dazed expressions choked the remaining oxygen out of the smoke-filled haze.

“What will we do now?”  I looked up at the confused face of my beloved aunt as she spoke.  I had no answers and I knew in that moment she didn’t expect one.

Most of the buildings lay in shambles.  The town hall was one of the few brick structures in town and even it was charred.  I saw tiny lines the tears had left on the faces of the people I loved.  Little clean rivers running down faces covered in soot.

We fought the construction as hard as we could.  This place – my home – was one of the few places left where generations lived and cared for one another together in the same house.  We treasured the rich history of our ancestors and respected all they worked for to create this place for the generations that would follow.  To lose it now – in this way – crippled all of us.

I had been elected as the one to talk to an attorney and try to fight the impending highway.  Why wasn’t I here?  The fire started in the middle of the night.  Butch went house to house knocking on doors.  The weather had been so dry the fire was spreading fast.  There was no time to get out.   As fifty people dressed in their pajamas and slippers walked into the street, they were shuffled into the only place that might provide shelter.  The town hall had been built on Mrs. Kramer’s old farm so it set back near the lake.  Sam Bishop had donated brick to ‘make it a nice gathering place’.  The fire roared around the building but luckily it withstood the heat – charred but still standing.  Sam told me they could hear trees falling and unusual popping sounds.  No one screamed.  They just huddled together and prayed.  My heart broke as I listened.

It took a long time for fire engines from surrounding towns to reach the town.  It was easily a thirty minute drive during the best of conditions.  The firefighters worked hard to put out the flames.  By morning, the smoke hung heavy and wet.  The smell was overpowering – the smell of dreams dying and hopes crumbling into dust.   I couldn’t help but wonder what my forefathers thought when they first saw this place – a place green with hope and promise was now charred and broken.

The Red Cross came in with supplies.  We had water and blankets and food but there was nothing that could nourish the souls and fill the void the fire left inside all of us.  We stayed in the town hall now supplied with donated cots and pillows.  We continued to pray when we heard the fire was the result of a poorly planned blast from the construction of the new highway – a highway none of us wanted or needed.  We had been told to just accept that progress must continue whether we were on board or not.  This did not feel like progress.

On Sunday, we gathered in the street and resolved to rebuild.  The attorney had found a violation that would prevent the construction of the highway regardless of anyone’s idea of eminent domain.  Some would say it was too late, but we felt differently.  It had become so easy to lose hope.  We were surrounded by sad news of death and destruction from all corners of the earth.  If we could resurrect the hopes and dreams of a few, then we knew we must.  It had been a daunting task for our ancestors and would no doubt prove difficult for us, too.  The fulfillment of dreams is not always a perfect path, but it is a beautiful path.  We lost a lot, but we didn’t lose everything.  Everyone we loved survived and that was, after all, everything.

Giggles

She giggled as the sand worked its way up through her tiny toes.  It made me wonder if I had experienced the same awe?  If so, did daily life push everything aside so there was no longer room for such a memory?  Somehow I felt this tiny little soul was going to open the flood gates to my heart and maybe even to my childhood memories.

I clicked the shutter on the camera and caught the moment.  I was determined that Bella would remember life’s simple pleasures.  I did not want her to become an emotionally hardened woman like I had been.  I wanted her to live her life with an open heart and as a willing participant.  My mind immediately raced to the beautifully adorned cardboard box that held all these photographs.  I knew today would be the day.  I would start Bella’s Heart Journal while my memories were still fresh. 

“Mama, look!”  Bella’s voice whipped me back to the present.  This beautiful little girl looked to the sky and pointed, “It’s a barroon.”   I chuckled as I saw the brightly colored balloon drift across the horizon over the breaking surf.

I closed my eyes and tried hard to remember anything new.  Of course I had memories.  A lot of them.  Just nothing magical.  No memories of wonderment.  I wanted to believe I was as curious and as excited about life at that age as my daughter was.  No matter how hard I tried, nothing.

“Let’s go, Bella darling.  It’s time to pick up Daddy.”

“Yipppeeeeeee.  Dadddy!  I take him this treasure, Mommy.”  I smiled as I watched her bend and pick up a tiny white seashell.

“Okay, my love.  Daddy will love it!”

Don had always been the perfect husband.  He provided for me in every way.  He loved me and supported every career decision I made.  As I was promoted up through the corporate ladder, he applauded my success.  We were the perfect couple.  Until the day he told me he wanted a family.  Every fear I had come alive.  I was angry with him for even suggesting this because we had talked it through so many times.  This world we live in is no place to raise a child.  What if something happened to us?  Who in our families could we trust with a child?  What about our jobs?  I had not worked 12 years to become an Executive Vice President just to throw it all away.  We had the perfect condo.  We had white carpet in the living room with a beautifully upholstered couch.  No place for a child.  I think a little piece of him died the day I told him ‘Absolutely not.  It’s my body.”

When I told Dr. Gwynn about my period and how I was experiencing perimenopause, he insisted on doing some tests.  Mom had gone through menopause early and while I wasn’t ready for this transition, I would just have to adjust.  I thought about Susan, the Vice President down the hall and I knew I would not allow myself to grow a moustache.  I would wax every day if necessary.

I sat in the dark waiting for Don to come home.  I knew it would be hard, but I knew he would agree with my decision.  This was not the way we planned it.  As he walked through the door he called out my name.  “Molly?”  Then his glance turned toward me.  I must have been a sight.  A 34-year-old woman, sitting among saturated Kleenex at a beautiful hand-made table from Bali.  “Molly, my God.  What’s wrong?  Did someone die?”

He held me and rocked me in his arms well into the night.  He held my hand and my heart while he told me over and over everything would be okay.   I’m not sure what happened, but by the time the sun rose Friday morning, we had decided we would keep the baby.

As I loaded Bella and her treasures into the Volvo station wagon, I chuckled to myself.  It wasn’t a red Ferrari and my flip-flops weren’t exactly corporate, but I was on vacation after all.  I knew I had missed so much, but I had to work.  These little mini-vacations were a God-send.  As I pulled out of the parking lot, Bella let out a giggle-filled squeal.  “Mommy, ice cream!”  As I started to say the words, ‘no we can’t stop now’, I felt a wave of memories rush over me.  Suddenly I was a little girl sitting in the back seat of an old panel station wagon.  I could remember everything about the old ice cream truck and how the music faded away as Mom drove in the opposite direction.  “Not now, Molly.  I have to get home and get ready for work tomorrow.”

We were a few minutes late as I pulled the car into the parking lot.  I saw Don sitting on the bench in front of the office.  He was smiling as always.  I knew Don would understand.  He always did.  He would support my decision no matter what changes we would have to make.  He loved both his little girls.

Who needs a title anyway?

Destiny

Straight black hair could be a nuisance obviously – especially when there were no colorful ribbons to tie it into a neat and tidy place.  I would soon learn that cascading hair might have a purpose I had never imagined.

Destiny had been a rescued child.  She was brought into the states from Vietnam.  She lived in a stately brick home with thick carpet and cream-colored walls that held too many secrets.  She never really knew what happened to Mr. and Mrs. Danvers, except that they just disappeared one day.  She was whisked away in the darkness by the housekeeper.  All she could hear were sirens piercing the night air.  The old blue car rattled in the opposite direction until the sounds were simply a faint memory.

~~~

Destiny rose to the rocking chair.  The morning sun was warm but it wasn’t late enough to really be hot.  She looked to the floor and pondered the objects that lay at her feet.   “Destiny, what’s to become of you if you cannot make every day special?”  She moved the objects around with her toes before she rose and again rested on the floor among the disconnected objects.

She placed the dominoes end to end.  All the black was facing out except for the center domino.  It was a double blank and would be the gate to enter into the palace.  In front of the domino would be the long skinny book with words she did not understand.  It would make a perfect drawbridge.   The chess pieces were sorted.  The horses would be the guardians of the gate.  She mixed the black and white men with the pointed hats to use as guards to the kingdom.  Gently, she tore the cup into long strips to use as a carpet toward the throne – a large book that rose above the kingdom.  The queen rested on the throne looking out over her subjects. 

There were treasures all around her, shiny stones that sparkled – the only riches that made it into the old blue car those many nights ago.  The other books fanned out to create a labyrinth of places that even a queen could hide when the enemy came to the castle. 

Destiny heard footsteps approaching.   She quickly collected her rocks and looked around for a place to hide them.  Gently, she placed them into her pillow.  She knew it would be uncomfortable, but at least she would feel SOMETHING.

This was the time of day that dreams were put aside and reality crept in.  The miracles she wove in her head created a blanket she would use in the future to cover and protect other children that had no one to love them.  The tears started to roll down her cheeks. 

Slowly, Destiny used her ebony black hair to dry away the tears.  For if there was one thing she had learned, crying just gets you hurt.