Bloom (12 page)

Sweeping strands of sunlight sat atop the mounds of snow as Anastasia’s breathing slowed. Her eyes, closed ever so gently, may never see daylight again, I thought inside as I divided my gaze between her peaceful face to the peaceful face of the earth outside her window.

The curtains billowed from the flow of heat beneath them as squirrels skipped along the backyard. For a suburban house, their backyard seemed to have no end.

I watched Anastasia. Vasili, Sophia, and Yanni did too. Eleni and Kyriakos were on their way, but the messy streets would make it difficult. According to Laura, many of these children experience complications near the end of their battle, but thankfully Anastasia’s last moments of life, so far, proved uneventful. As serene as her.

I think we all secretly hoped Anastasia would open her eyes and warm our hearts with her smile. One last time. But somehow I doubted.

I put on a kettle and started the coffee maker. Not sure anyone would want it at the moment, but I needed to busy myself. The melancholy look on Yanni and Sophia’s faces pained me. With each tick of the clock we knew we were a step closer to holding a lifeless child. I listened to the coffee machine gurgle as I begged God to take me instead, knowing that my requests wouldn’t be granted.

Vasili stepped beside me. “You okay?”

“Are you?”

He nodded. “I have peace about it.”

“How?” A surge of frustration prickled my mind. “How can you have peace when everything is so messed up? I should be dead right now. Not like this.” I sighed. “She should be alive. Not me.”

“Maybe. Maybe we can spend our lives thinking of should’s and should not’s. Or maybe we can accept what actually is and believe that there’s some kind of purpose in it.”

“But it’s not fair. I didn’t want to live. I woke up in the hospital and begged to die. I dreamed of someone slipping me pills to end it all easily. And here I am. Alive. When other people who actually want to live shouldn’t be dying.”

“You don’t want to live?”

I shook my head. “I’m okay with it now.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He waited for me to respond, but I didn’t. “I don’t admire that. Death isn’t some kind of escape from life. There’s no such thing. Besides, a few scars on your body is not a big deal. There are others who have no limbs and manage to enjoy life.”

“I know, I know.” I pulled a few mugs from the cabinet. “Want tea?”

“Coffee. Thanks.”

“I’m just saying ... it’s hard to watch someone so full of life die.”

He nodded. “I could say the same about you. Don’t have to take your last breath to die, you know?”

We sipped our warm drinks in silence, then brought coffee to Yanni and Sophia.

Yanni held Anastasia’s hand as he stroked her hair with the other, while Sophia curled up beside her daughter and kissed her head every few seconds.

Hours passed. My body ached from sledding and my skin felt tighter than usual. I sat in a comfy chair in the corner of the room and tried to process the scene before me.

At some point I woke up. Everything looked the same. Except I was covered in a blanket. Vasili sat on the floor beside me with headphones in his ears and an iPad on his lap. I glanced down to see what he was doing. Looked like reading. He yanked the headphones from his ears and mouthed, “Feeling okay?”

I nodded.

Sophia gasped and Yanni stood.

“Is that it?” Sophia cried, pulling her daughter into her chest and looking into her husband’s eyes. “Is she gone?”

He nodded his head.

Vasili inched toward the bed and made a cross symbol over her body, then guided some kind of black rope through his fingers. I noticed he stopped on each knot and held it a few seconds, then moved to the next.

Anastasia’s arms fell limp beside her body as Sophia sobbed and drenched them both in tears. I felt wrong being there for such an intimate moment. Vasili must’ve sensed it, because he walked over to me and said, “She wanted you here. So do we.”

I nodded, but kept my distance.

After an hour, Sophia calmed down and let Yanni hold Anastasia. Kyriakos and Eleni entered the room and immediately welled up. I retreated to the bathroom and cried where no one could see. Such a beautiful life ... over. Just like that.

Throughout my life I attended a total of four funerals, but never watched someone take their last breath.

Sobering.

I thought of the photographs we took and the slideshow she had me make. Reality seeped its way in. Only a few weeks ago her funeral was just a plan. Not a reality.

Now, the world was a little darker. A little less colorful.

Two extremely kind men
from Danielson’s Funeral Home brought a stretcher into Anastasia’s bedroom.

Yanni set his little one on the white sheets and held her face in his hands. “My little one.” He kissed her forehead and her cheeks.

Sophia did the same, then we all took turns saying goodbye.

Yanni and Sophia walked beside the stretcher as the two men carried it outside. The rest of us watched from the front door as Yanni lifted the sheet over Anastasia’s head and stepped back.

Her body disappeared into the back of their vehicle. They exchanged a few words and Yanni and Sophia walked back to the porch and stood, arms crossed, as the red taillights turned the corner.

It was official.

December 25th at 3:46pm Anastasia Sophia Koursaris left the world and took our hearts with her.

Vasili insisted on driving
me home, but I insisted I was
okay. He won the argument and took me back to Ella’s. When we parked I didn’t see their cars, but I saw James standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets. Of all days.

“Want me to stay until he leaves?” Vasili said. “He looks drunk.”

“’l’ll be okay.”

He nodded with apprehension as I opened the car door. James whistled and waved as I walked up to him. I turned back and urged Vasili to go, but he stayed there.

“Who’s that?” James touched the hem of my coat.

“You’re drunk. What are you doing here?”

“It’s Christmas. All I want for Christmas is you.”

I unlocked the door. “Come inside.”

He swung his legs as though it took great effort, then fell into the couch.

I stood at the bottom of the steps. “I need to change and do my burn routine.”

“Why? Where’ve you been?”

“Anastasia died. I was with her family.”

“Who’s Anas ... Anastia?”

“Wait here.”

I sat on my bed and looked around, imagining Sophia probably in her daughters bed. The funeral director said they could come to the church the night before the funeral and hold Anastasia until morning. I couldn’t imagine.

I pulled my shirt up and over my head, then began taking my compression garments off. A few minutes later I stood in front of the mirror.

I ran my fingers across the scars. I no longer had any resemblance of being a woman, or even a man, while looking at my chest. Scars upon scars. My doctors kept telling me to see a plastic surgeon when my skin could handle it, but I didn’t see the point of adding two fake boobs to a chest full of scars purely for aesthetics. I just wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to love my new body. Fake boobs or not. Vasili didn’t understand. I could never make love to a man like this. Not even with the lights off.

James appeared in the doorway, smirking. “Look at you.”

I held my shirt against my chest. “I’m not finished.”

He raised his eyebrows. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

“You’re not having me. Not now. Not ever.” I stepped back as he came toward me. “You’re drunk. Leave now or I’m calling the cops.” He stepped again. “I’m serious.”

He grabbed my arm and shoved me into the wall.

“Stop.” I jerked away, but he forced me against the wall again. “James. Stop.”

“I’m going to show you that I still think you’re beautiful.”

He squeezed my arms so hard I felt like my skin would rip apart. I kicked my feet, but he forced me over his shoulder and dropped me on the bed.

“Smile for the camera.” He pointed his phone at me. “So sexy now. Come on, you can do better than that.”

I wanted to scream and punch him in the face. Or give him a list of reasons why he was unattractive too. Instead, I pressed my face into the bed and mentally traced the lines on my quilt as I did when my sister and her boyfriends made fun of me years ago.

“Bug eyes.”

“You’re taller than a bean stalk.”

“Your legs look like toothpicks.”

“You’re so pale. Are you sick?”

“Amazon lady.”

“Your stomach isn’t flat enough.”

“That mousey hair. It washes you out.”

“Is that what you call a dress?”

“Your teeth are yellow.”

“Are those love handles?”

“Your shoe size is bigger than my head.”

“You should wear your hair down. Those ears stick out too much.”

“Your hair is too frizzy.”

“Your nose is too big.”

“Your lips aren’t big enough.”

Too much and not enough. All at the same time.

By my senior year my sister was away at college. She didn’t get to see when I was voted prom queen and Most Beautiful in my class. She wouldn’t have cared anyway. People always told me girls are mean to other girls when they’re jealous. They don’t feel beautiful within themselves, so they refuse to see beauty in everyone else. Their lives become one big game of tearing down others to feel good about themselves. Except they never feel good about themselves. They never feel good about anything. Whether they realize it or not, they paint everything ugly.

I refused to be like that. I told myself I’d always see beauty in everything. Even in an eel or a flower everyone despises. I became a photographer to capture beauty in things others missed or discarded. Every day I inspired others as I constantly preached to them about looking for beauty in all things.

And now, lying half-naked and humiliated, I found it difficult to see the beauty of my own imperfect body.

I drew in a breath and looked at the Edmund Blair Leighton painting on my wall. A young woman in a flowing white dress reached down from her balcony to give a grinning man a flower. The artist called it A Favour. How I longed to jump inside the painting and become a beautiful woman smiling down at a winsome fellow.

James continued taunting me, saying he wasn’t much of a breast man anyway. I closed my eyes and tuned him out, imagining waves lapping against a shore. Camera in hand, I looked for hidden beauty to photograph. So easy to take a picture of the pastel sunrise. Instead, I waited for something unexpected.

My imagination wandered for minutes until James jerked me up and forced me to look at the pictures on his phone.

I came back to reality, away from the shores of my imagination, and pretended to smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Now you’ll marry me or I’ll post these images all over the Internet.”

I covered my chest with a pillow. “What have I got to lose?”

“Fine. You want me to do it? I will. Right now.”

“Go ahead.”

“You wanna play that game, huh?”

“I’m not playing any games. My life is already upside down. I’m not pretending to be pretty anymore, James. Just do whatever makes you happy.”

“What makes me happy is you.”

“Funny way of showing that.”

He shoved his phone into his pocket. “Do I really have to blackmail you to marry me?”

“There’s no blackmailing. Do what you want. I’m not marrying you.”

He swung his arms and raked a hand through his hair. I clutched the pillow tighter and hoped Ella would be home soon. James tried to speak, but said nothing.

Our eyes met for a brief moment. Quick enough to mean nothing, but long enough for me to notice his bottom lip quivering.

“Please go,” I said.

“Go where?” He slumped into the chair across from me and covered his eyes with his hand. “I have no one. Just Abby.”

“Your parents.”

“They hate me. Since my brother died, they hate me. They blame me for every problem and flaw they have, like I could possibly be to blame for milk they spilled when I don’t even live there.” He sighed and knelt down in front of me. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” His eyes reddened around the edges. “I’ve been a complete jerk and I know it. I’ve been spending more time at the bar than with Abby.” He squeezed the arm of the chair until his hand turned red. “For the entire year after the accident I tried to love you like before, but you didn’t receive it. You’ve barely wanted me around since this happened. It’s made me feel insane. I’ve been hurt and angry. Ripping old pictures of us, then scrambling to tape them back together. I thought maybe if I hurt you that it would wake you up. I don’t know what to do.” He hung his head. “Everything I love ... whatever I touch ... I mess it all up.”

“I forgive you, James.”

He looked up at me. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Do you love me?”

I hesitated, then whispered, “Yes.”

“Do you love me, Sarah?”

“I said yes.”

“Show me.”

I closed my eyes. “James.”

“No. If you love me, show me.”

“I care about you. I love you the same way I love my other friends.”

“How did we come to this?” He walked to the door. “If I would’ve put that fire out like you asked we’d be married right now.”

“Maybe.” I pulled my feet onto my bed. “Maybe we’d be happily married. Or maybe not. Maybe this happened to show us that eventually this would’ve happened in some way. If love can’t survive flames, then maybe it wasn’t love to begin with.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, then slammed the door.

The wall next to it shook, tilting a picture of Ella and I when we were kids. I felt bad for James. Life dealt him a tough hand. His choices and lack of self-control throughout life seemed to backfire in his face all the time. Initially, I was attracted to him for that very reason. I saw a cute guy who needed a little sunshine in his life. Everyone always called me “Sunshine,” so who better, right? We were happy at first. So long as I made him feel valued, even if it meant ignoring my true feelings.

Like one day when Ella and I wanted to go out to eat and James had a nervous breakdown when I told him we were traveling to Baltimore for the day. He tried to say he was worried because his brother died in a car crash, but really he didn’t want me finding someone else. He threw such a fit about it that we never left. I told Ella I didn’t feel good. She met up with Dee instead. I thought James would come over, but as soon as I told him I was staying home he decided to go to a bar with his friends.