I haven't shared a short story in quite some time, and I'm happy I finally finished this one, entitled Precipice. Thanks to all who take the time to read things I post here. As always, copyright applies.
Precipice
By Veronica Randolph Batterson
©Veronica Randolph Batterson
She ran. The meadow opened before her like welcoming
arms ready to embrace, its colors beginning to alter as autumn waited patiently
to paint the landscape with rich hues of yellows and reds. Wildflowers and wheat fields swayed on the
horizon, defying the inevitable change as if crying, “not yet, not yet” but gradually
all would bow and sleep; the palette of fall would insure it. The air was clean and she breathed deeply;
she heard nothing but her own breaths and the inner turmoil that raged inside
her head.
The image of her
daughter strapped to a gurney and being rushed down a hospital corridor
replayed, as it had done repeatedly for the last year. Had it been a year? The rawness of it made it seem like
yesterday, and she wondered if it would ever ease. The helplessness, anger and hopelessness
vying to take over her life consumed her days.
Sleep had become her only release, yet even that small amount of
deliverance was slipping from her grasp.
Her daily actions were no longer dictated by the hours on a clock, as
somehow time slipped past without her knowing how. Forgetfulness.
A dance of leaves
just to her right made her turn, and she watched a hawk take flight from the
branch of a nearby tree, soaring upward then dipping low in search of
unsuspecting prey. Its wings spread wide
against the sky made her think of freedom for some reason; she envied and wished
for that feeling within herself, of simply letting go and gliding, feeling
nothing but peace.
“I can do it,” her daughter had beamed, when
at age five she pedaled off on the tiny bicycle, minus the training wheels,
wobbling down the driveway.
“You did, you did!” she had exclaimed in
response, clapping her hands with encouragement, yet fearful her little girl would
crash before stopping.
“Mommy, why are you crying?” the child
turned, looking over her shoulder after braking beautifully, with one foot
balanced on the ground.
“Oh, just happy tears,” she replied, wiping
one from her face with the back of hand.
“That’s silly,” her daughter laughed as she
took off again, racing along the front sidewalk.
She’d give
anything to shed those silly tears again. Twenty years later, the tears were
gut-wrenching and unrestrained, inevitably evolving into sobs at the slightest thing,
smell, sound or memory. Happiness wasn’t
the source.
“Mom,” the whine came followed by six sets
of giggles underneath multi-colored sleeping bags strewn across the family room
floor.
“That’s my name,” she’d replied in an
attempt to sound cool to her newly-minted teenaged daughter, rather than
reflecting her annoyance that the sleepover party wouldn’t settle for the
night.
“You don’t have to be in here with us,” her
daughter said, followed by the eye roll that came with turning thirteen. A habit that nearly drove her crazy for
years.
“I do as long as you don’t sleep. Early
morning for the rest of the house,” she had said, hunkering down and crossing
her arms.
And she had stayed until each rebellious little
body gave itself up to the night.
The wind picked
up, drawing her from the memories. All
she had to do was walk a few yards and let go, removing the pain of no one else
understanding. Time doesn’t ease
anything; this too does not pass. Forget
closure and healing. The door of
unanswered questions remains open, bearing down and squeezing your heart and
brain so tightly that reason and logic disappear; the ability to simply
function is too great to handle because the only person with the answers is
gone.
“Here, I made this for you,” her daughter
had said, as she slipped the mixed compact disc into the car CD player for the
two-hour drive.
“Who is it?” she had asked, hands on the
steering wheel. Empty nester, freshman
college drop-off and an SUV packed to the gills with things her daughter had to
have for the new dorm room vied to make her into an emotional mess, but determination
to stay strong was winning the battle.
“Taylor Swift,” came her daughter’s reply,
with the slightest lilt to a voice betraying her youngest child’s struggle to
remain strong as well.
“What’s it called?”
“Just listen.”
I'm five years old
It's getting cold
I've got my big coat on
I hear your laugh
And look up smiling at you
I run and run
Past the pumpkin patch
And the tractor rides
Look now, the sky is gold
I hug your legs
And fall asleep on the way home
I don't know why all the trees change in the fall
But I know you're not scared of anything at all
Don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away
But I know I had the best day with you today
I'm thirteen now
And don't know how
My friends could be so mean
I come home crying
And you hold me tight
And grab the keys
And we drive and drive
Until we find a town far enough away
And we talk and window shop
'Till I’ve forgotten all their names
I don't know who I'm gonna talk to now at
school
But I know I'm laughing
On the car ride home with you
Don't know how long it's gonna take to feel okay
But I know I had the best day with you today
I have an excellent father
His strength is making me stronger
God smiles on my little brother
Inside and out he's better than I am
I grew up in a pretty house
And I've got space to run and hide
And I had the best days with you
There is a video I found
From back when I was three
You set up a paint set in the kitchen
And you're talking to me
It's the age of princesses and pirate ships
And the seven dwarfs
And Daddy's smart
And you're the prettiest lady in the whole wide world
And now I know why all the trees change in
the fall
I know you were on my side
Even when I was wrong
And I love you for giving me your eyes
Staying back and watching me shine
And, I didn't know if you knew
So I'm taking this chance to say
That I had the best day with you today.
They had driven in silence when the song
ended, and suddenly her daughter said, “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too,” she replied. With that sweet, wonderful song called ‘The
Best Day’ the daughter had confirmed her mom had done it right. With all the imperfections and even despite
them, perhaps she had done okay.
She looked over her
shoulder and there the car waited, ready to take her back to life without a
daughter. But standing before her
release beckoned, beyond the precipice a wide-open space offered flight and
quick relief; the turmoil within would be over and freedom would be hers. Peace.
A gust of wind, a
shadow across the rocks from the trees as the leaves rustled, then she heard
it. Faint but clear, meant for her ears
only.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too,”
she replied, the words a breath, carried away from her lips toward the memory
that was now her daughter.
She sighed and looked
up one last time, then turned her back on the precipice that offered no
answers. The car was waiting.
©Veronica Randolph Batterson
