Far From You (11 page)
Authors: Lisa Schroeder
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Death & Dying, #Family, #Stepfamilies, #Action & Adventure, #Survival Stories, #General
Like an old man
waking from a long nap,
the motor sputtered and coughed,
and finally turned over.
Like an old woman
coming inside from a rainstorm,
I breathed a sigh of relief.
After I melted the snow,
I took a couple sips
of water
and then I made Ivy
a bottle.
I had never been
so glad
to see a bottle
completely
emptied.
Help did not come
like I hoped it would.
Darkness
surrounded us,
and without Victoria
there to talk to,
the silence
was almost
maddening.
I thought of her
walking alone
in the dark
and I wanted to scream
from all the fear,
anger,
and sadness I felt.
I would start to imagine
the worst,
but then I’d make myself imagine
a different picture.
It looked something like this:
She will use
the flashlight
to find a sheltered spot
where she can sleep
for the night.
She will
think of us,
and that will keep her strong.
She will
miss feeling her baby in her arms,
and that will push her on.
She will
find help tomorrow,
and that will get us home.
In the middle
of the night
the bitter cold
took hold of us,
squeezing us so tightly,
I shivered in pain.
The car
was dead
again.
As I cuddled with Ivy
in the sleeping bag,
trying to keep her warm,
I thought of Cobain,
my oxygen tank.
God, I missed him.
I missed his warm, silky fur,
his smelly dog kisses,
but most of all,
the way he calmed me.
I tried to pretend
he was there with us.
I breathed.
She breathed.
I breathed.
She breathed.
My hand
stroked her little head
full of dark hair.
She let out a big sigh,
and although I couldn’t see her
in the blackness of the night,
I knew she was calm.
And with that
realization
came another one.
It wasn’t
about me
anymore.
Drifting in and out of sleep,
I heard a soft voice
whisper my name.
I sat up,
startled to hear something
aside from Ivy’s
baby noises.
A soft,
glowing light
appeared
outside.
I squinted my eyes,
straining to see
who or what
it was.
Was it Victoria,
coming back?
I couldn’t tell,
but the light
floated closer to me,
literally floating
through the nighttime air.
An intense feeling
of comfort
and warmth
washed over me,
as if God himself
had joined us.
I longed
to be closer.
But as I reached down
to open the door,
the light disappeared,
leaving us in the
cold,
lonely
darkness
once again.
No.
Victoria!
Don’t leave me.
Oh God,
no.
Am I all
Ivy
has left?
An angel.
Coming to check on us.
Coming to check on
her baby.
It’s all
that makes
sense.
I stayed awake
last night,
with only my memories
to keep me company,
waiting for her
to return.
She never did.
with angels we will fly
Like the North Star,
ever present in the sky,
regret shines brightly
in my soul.
That regret,
combined with the recent events,
make me cry and cry
until there are
no tears left.
As I look back
over the past weeks,
I wish I could change
so many things.
But I can’t.
The past is gone.
Uncertainty
about tomorrow
hangs in the air,
now even more noticeable
than the cold.
I hold Ivy close,
thinking of her mother,
wanting to believe
last night
didn’t happen,
and that she’s still out there,
alive and well.
But I
know
it happened,
as sure as I know
there is only one thing
we can do
now.
I whisper into Ivy’s ear,
“Take it one minute at a time.
That’s all we can do.
Hang on one minute at a time.”
I fasted at church one time
for twenty-four hours
to raise money
for the local food pantry.
They wanted us to know
what it feels like
to have that pain deep inside you
and no way to make it stop.
Of course,
that was ridiculous
because we did make it stop
at the end of the twenty-four hours
when we had a huge
pizza fest.
But now I
really
know
what it feels like.
And it sucks.
A lot.
I think of Vic,
who was out there,
stomach gurgling
as she walked alone
in the frigid air.
And I know
I’ve got
nothing
to complain about.
Luckily
I’m able to get the car
started again.
I decide
I can’t turn
it off
anymore.
It must stay on
until every last drop
of
gas
is
gone.
Please let someone find us today.
Before it’s too late.
Desperate to find
something else to eat,
I empty the
glove compartment,
hoping some food
will magically appear.
A pile of napkins
proves my theory
that Dad has a
serious addiction
to Jamba Juice.
I find two packets of ketchup
and an old, green Life Savers candy.
It’s not coffee and doughnuts,
but I’ll take it.
After I suck the ketchup
out of the packets,
I reach for my
tasty dessert,
only to
d
r
o
p
the candy
between the seat
and the center console.
I push my hand
deeper and deeper,
oblivious to the pain.
I want to laugh at
the irony
of feeling like
my life is dependent
on a candy called
Life Savers.
I can’t reach it,
no matter how hard I try,
and the tears come
because I want that candy
so damn bad.
The wave
of emotion
grows
bigger and bigger,
becoming a
tsunami
as I pound the seat
with my fist
over
and over
and over
and over
and over,
harder
and harder
and harder
and harder
and harder,
until my hand hurts
and I SCREEEEEEEAAAAM
from the pain
of the moment
and all of the
horrific,
painful moments
leading up to this one.
When my screams
become more of a whimper,
I hear Ivy bawling,
and look back
to see her
bright red face,
and her whole body
shaking.
And suddenly
it’s all too much,
and I wonder
if we shouldn’t just
GO.
Maybe we would find help.
Maybe we would make it.
Maybe it’s the only chance we have.
I scoop her up
and sit in the front seat,
rocking her back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth,
talking as I rock.
“Should we go, baby?
Should we?
Would we be okay?
Would we?
I don’t know what to do.
What do I do?
Stay here and die?
Go out there and die?
What?
WHAT SHOULD I DO?”
The weight of everything
is so much,
I can’t even hold us up
anymore.
I crumble to the
cramped space
in front of the seat,
both of us
crying
shaking
broken-hearted
fed up
ready
to be rid
of it all
for good.
In a ball
curled up
holding tight
feeling sad
praying hard
feeling mad
making plans
feeling bad
reaching deep
underneath the seat
trying
one
last
time.
If I get it,
we stay.
If I don’t,
we go.
My hand
touches something.
Something
bigger
than a Life Savers candy.
Something
better
than a Life Savers candy.
A
true
lifesaver.
The car’s cigarette lighter.
I use my
sock-covered hands
to carve out
a place
in the snow.
When the orange light
touches the paper napkin,
it creates a flicker of a flame,
which creeps up the side,
somewhat hesitantly,
but still, it moves,
until finally
the flame
grows larger.
Slowly I add more napkins,
pine needles,
and wrapping paper.
It smolders,
burns,
and finally,
ignites.
Fire.
I quickly collect sticks
and sprinkle them
with brandy.
The fire crackles
and grows,
bigger still.
More sticks.
More brandy.
I search the car
for burnable items.
My eyes
land on the book,
and I think,
there must be
something bigger.
The stool is there,
full of memories
and dreams,
ready to create more
in the coming
years.
I reach for it,
hesitation swirling
through my fingertips.
How can I turn
those dreams
into ashes?
And yet,
do I have
any other choice?
A child
without a stool
is much better
than
a stool
without
a child.
Orange and red flames
dance cheek-to-cheek,
making me want to dance,
and so I do.
I twirl,
twist,
jump,
yelling while I do,
“Take that, you freaking frosted monster!”
For the first time,
I am controlling
the monster
more than it’s
controlling me.
I search for something
that will create
lots of smoke.
Smoke that
will reach the sky
and let people know
we are here.
I spy
the small pile
of used diapers
by the tree trunk.
Underneath the
big fir branches,
they’ve stayed fairly dry.
One by one,
they’re thrown into
the snapping
flames.
Dark,
gray
smoke
floats
to the sky.
Ugly to many.
So very
beautiful
to me.