Begin Again: Short stories from the heart (11 page)

“Mary Alice?” I said again. “It’s me,
Vivi
.”

“
Vivi
.”
She mouthed the word as though she were a child learning a foreign language.
“
Vivi
.”
It fell out in a monotone of indifference. Her shoulders slumped forward, her eyes grew heavy. “
Vivi
,” she repeated once more just as Mrs. Olivetti swooped down on her, refusing to meet my gaze and herded Mary Alice up the steps of St. Richard’s where the congregation would pray for salvation and redemption, all in the name of the church.

I watched them enter St. Richard’s, watched the lifeless bloated shell of my friend disappear through the weathered oak doors, and then I turned and started home, wishing my mother had told me the truth.

Mary Alice Olivetti was already dead.

The End

Pretending Normal
grew out of
The Death of Mary Alice Olivetti
. Like the short story, it centered on human frailty and family but it offered hope and forgiveness rather than the stark effects of despair and disillusionment in Mary Alice’s story.

Pretending Normal
has an alternate ending which I’d like to share. I thought of Willy
Loman
in
Death of a Salesman
but when I wrote this ending I wanted there to be a greater arc of love, forgiveness, and choice. Having Frank
Polokovich
die in the car that had given him so much happiness was a bit anticlimactic. What about Sara? She might have given her father a gift by letting him die, but what of herself? She’d live a life of guilt and torment, and could end up with the same issues as her father. I toyed with the ending for weeks, bouncing back and forth and finally settling on one that provides hope for Sara as she learns and embraces the truth about human frailty, family, and forgiveness.

Alternate Ending for Pretending Normal

At first I don’t hear the noise.

I’ve just said goodbye to Nina and am thinking about heating up leftover spaghetti and meatballs for dinner . . . maybe tomorrow we’ll have Porterhouse steaks . . . he’ll like that. I am almost to the garage when the low rumble of the Chevy’s motor fills my ears.

Dad?
Dad!
I run to the garage
door,
grab the knob and turn, but it’s locked. I thrust my body against the old wood of the door, slamming myself into it over and over, but nothing happens. It is then that I spot the letter from the mill on the ground. Dad’s bold print is on the other side.
I’m letting you go, Sara. You’re free… let me be free, too.
Love, Dad.

I cram the letter into my jeans pocket and scramble to the back of the garage where I climb the stack of cinder blocks and peer in the window. Plumes of pale gray smoke cloud the garage, crowding around the Chevy like a net. My father is in the driver’s seat, head thrown back, eyes closed.

…let me be free, too
. His words float to me on puffs of smoke, filling my throat, cutting off oxygen. Tears burn my face, grief and guilt scalding me, promising to choke the last breath of life from me as though I am in the seat beside him.

Then the other words come to me …
And the horrible thing for these poor sons of bitches is when some do-gooder shuts off the engine and opens the door, thinking he’s trying to save a life when all he’s doing is prolonging a death…

I sink to the
ground,
try to block the murderous sound of the Chevy’s engine. One minute … two … three …

I can’t do this!
I am on my feet, running for the garage door, hurling my body against it, hard, harder, clawing my nails into the weathered wood. I spot a shovel propped against the side of the house, grab it and ram it into the door, over and over, until the knob bends forward and I push the door open, coughing and choking as I fight my way to the car.
I’m coming, Dad! I’m coming!
I lift the handle, pull hard but it’s locked.

Damn you! Damn you, open the door!

I’m lightheaded and nauseated but I push on, grab the shovel and bang it against the window until the glass shatters. He doesn’t move. His eyes are still closed. I reach in, turn off the engine.

My lungs are heaving, pulling for fresh air.
“Dad?”
You
can’t die, not now. I love you, Dad.
I give him a light shake.
Don’t die.
His huge body falls forward and slumps over the steering wheel.

I open my mouth to scream, yell out the pain and misery of living, the injustice of it all, but nothing comes out,
nothing
but air and grief and horror. Then everything is black.

***

In the hospital with Sara and Ms. O’Grady

She strokes my arm. “Your father wanted it this way. He knew he’d never beat the bottle.” Her hand stills. “He gave you a gift, Sara. The most precious gift he could, the only way he knew how … and he took his, the only way
he
knew how. You let him give you that gift and you let him take his. Only a strong person could do that, someone like you.” She sniffs, clears her throat, “We’re all counting on you—me, your mother, your father, your sister, your aunt. We need you to pull through, show us, not just how to survive, but how to
live.
”

The End

Pretending Normal

Pretending Normal, formerly Lies Imitating Life, was a past quarter finalist in Ray Bradbury’s New Century New Writer Award contest. It was also a past semi-finalist in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest.

1976 Before
-Sara
Polokovich
wants out of Norwood, Pennsylvania, population 4,582, where the undertaker and the butcher are the same person. All she has to do is earn a scholarship. Just two more years… but until then, she pours over classics to strengthen her comprehension skills, reviews for the SAT, and continues to request college brochures from every school in the northeast.

Sara’s just buried her mother, her father drinks too much, and her kid sister won’t leave her alone. Why can’t her life be normal?
Even half-normal?
Why does Frank, (she refuses to think of him as her father anymore), spend all of his time in the garage with that damn ‘57 Chevy? And why does he have to hide bottles all over the house; in the red metal cupboard in the garage, behind the faded orange curtain in the kitchen, under the sink in the bathroom?
Why can’t anybody talk about what’s happening?

As Sara struggles to free herself from a life of dysfunction and disease, she will learn the true depths of a parent’s love and the ultimate sacrifice given— and taken— in the name of that love.
Pretending Normal
follows Sara
Polokovich’s
coming of age as she discovers the truths about family with all of its flaws and weaknesses as the bond that holds one to another, in love, loyalty, even death.

Am I crazy for sharing a story about a squirrel?
Possibly.
But I wrote this at a time when I was coming to grips with a painful betrayal and writing was much cheaper than therapy. It would be the beginning of the end of my marriage and while neither my brain nor heart could process the truth, my subconscious already knew. I guess this was the first step in accepting what would happen months later.

Samuel tossed a small acorn back and forth between his paws, enjoying the briskness of the fall morning. The village where he lived with his family and friends was surrounded by trees and a splash of sky that while a safe haven, had become much too predictable. It was this very sameness that caused him unrest, festering until one day it burst from him in the form of a question. “Jacob, have you ever considered leaving this place?”

Jacob peered over his spectacles and twitched his nose as squirrels did when they were searching for answers. “Leave?” he asked, as though he did not quite comprehend the question. “Why would I leave when I have everything I need right here?”

Samuel pointed a paw at the huge expanse of water known as The River and whispered, “Look across the water. Do you see that oak tree?” He zeroed in on its majestic presence, its green glossy leaves swaying in the breeze. He watched, mesmerized. “What I wouldn’t give to make that tree my home.” He scratched his head. “I could leave this place with its tepid offerings… and live on the Island of Id.”

And so it began. Each day, Samuel lay on the grassy bank dreaming of a future in the beautiful oak tree across The River. He spent his mornings planning his escape, his afternoons plotting his future, and his evenings gazing at the titillating beauty and all it promised.

And each day, Jacob watched helplessly as his friend turned his back on his home. Neglect swept through the overgrown garden laden with weeds. The once clear walkway marking the entrance of Samuel’s home became shrouded with sticks, brambles, and weeds. The inside of the abode was in similar disrepair, layered in dust and disinterest. The nuts, which had once been so bountiful, had dwindled to no more than a scant, sporadic offering. Samuel didn’t care. He was too busy dreaming of what lay across The River in the arms of the oak tree.

Jacob grew relentless with his warnings. “Don’t throw everything away. Samuel, wake up before it’s too late. Your tree has been a constant. It has guided, supported, and nurtured you for many years. Even now, when you totally ignore and abuse it, it still provides what sustenance it can—but it will not last forever.”

Samuel scoffed at Jacob’s incessant worrying. “This place is ugly and drab. Nothing sparkles; no new excitement awaits me. Do I not deserve better?”

Jacob shook his head like the worrisome creature he was and continued with his preaching. “You have trampled everything that was offered to you and are ready to abandon your home for an illusion. Yes, Samuel, an illusion. That tree, that land, is what you perceive it to be, not what it really is. It has done nothing to earn your steadfast devotion, yet you are ready to discard everything for it. Go back to your true home. Clear the garden and walkway, then open your eyes and see the love that is there. Why not devote your misplaced attention to rekindling and multiplying the fruit of your own hearth? For that is where faith, love, and loyalty lie. Open your eyes my friend before it is too late.”

Samuel ignored Jacob’s words and replied, “I spoke with Raven today and I will be leaving tomorrow. I must do this—for myself.
For my happiness.”

“You have no idea what really lies past The River on the Island of Id
. You see what you want to see
. Those seemingly lush ripe nuts you desire may be empty.
Or rotten.
Have you considered that?”

“There is no need to consider what is not so.”

“Your oak tree has endured and sustained you through all manner of hardship,” Jacob said. “Even now, in your utmost neglect it still nourishes and shelters you.”

“I don’t want it anymore. The fruit is soft and flavorless, the presentation even more so.” He smiled. “But that tree”—he pointed to the oak across The River—“will have the sweetest fruit I have ever tasted.”

“You can never come back.”

“Why would I want to? Freedom awaits and I shall have it.” Samuel turned his back on Jacob and once again stared over the waters at the object of his fascination. He did not hear Jacob leave. Soon he would begin his new life. Too excited to sleep, he spent the night pacing the grassy banks of the forest. He would not return home for farewells. Why should he when it had done nothing to entice him back? In truth, it had grown old, shabby, and disgusting. Soon, all of this desolation would be behind him.

As dawn approached, Raven swooped down upon a sleeping Samuel and startled him. The bird’s dark gaze pierced Samuel as he inquired, “Are you certain this is what you want? Things are not always as they appear.”

“Raven, this is different. Soon, I will have everything I could ever desire.”

“Samuel, you can never return.”

“I don’t want to return.
Ever!”

With one last look, Raven leaned low enough for Samuel to hop on his back. Off they glided toward the Island of Id and the nebulous future.

Samuel was too caught up in the moment to notice The River’s current had become quite turbulent, tossing smaller animals against rocks, hurling them to painful, bone-crushing deaths. He never noticed the decay scattered on the perimeters of the island or smelled the stench of death. But death and decay were all around them, from the fragile protrusions of fish bones and small game to the slime of algae. The closer they got, the more evident the destruction. Raven landed on a fallen rotting log and Samuel slid off.

“Good-bye, my friend,” Raven whispered to the retreating figure.

Samuel scurried toward the direction of the beautiful oak tree. In his haste to reach his long-awaited destination he had been oblivious to his surroundings. Now, as he paused to rest a moment he was surprised by the complete absence of sound save his own rapid breathing. He was in a forest and yet he heard no birds chirping, leaves rustling, or other signs of inhabitants.