Nothing Else Matters (27 page)
Stu contorted his face and pressed his eyes shut with his free hand as if trying to force the tears back in.
“Oh, God why?” he cried before succumbing to another onslaught of tears.
I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. It was like I had died. It should’ve been me. It was supposed to be me. I should have died on that football field two weeks ago. That way I wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that Reyna, the love of my life, was gone. I should have died first. I imagined her arms around me and staring into her comforting eyes as I drew my last breath. I could live with that idea. I couldn’t live with this. I couldn’t live with the reality that she had died before me. And she died alone. I wasn’t even there for her as some misguided cop took her away from this earth and from me.
I turned away from Stu and stared at the wall.
***
Nov. 25, 2008
“You have to eat, Scottie. You haven’t eaten in two days. You have to eat so you can take your medicine.” Those were the next words I remember anyone saying to me. I did need to take my medication. Pain ravished my body, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that consumed me.
I groaned my refusal and continued obsessively studying my dining room wall. I knew every solitary crack of plaster, every bump in paint. A little while longer and I’d be able to see through the wall.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Scott. I loved her too, you know. And I love you. I can’t lose you too. I need you. I can’t get through this without you. I —” Stu stopped short as my mother’s footsteps battered the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Stu spat at her. They’d probably had several arguments in the past few days that I was unaware of. No one stood up to Sam like Stu. Even at my healthiest, I was no match for her. Stu, though slight physically, was a formidable opponent verbally.
“I need some air. I’m going for a run.”
“How can you go jogging at a time like this? Your daughter-in-law is dead and your son is not far behind. Look at him. Look at him!”
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it. I can’t bring her back to life.”
“You cold-hearted, selfish, bitch. I didn’t think you could get any worse, but apparently I don’t know you well enough.”
“I tried to talk to him. I don’t know what else to do.” I didn’t remember talking to her. Either she was lying or I was just that out of it. I guess both were plausible possibilities.
“Why don’t you try being his mother for once in your pathetic life instead of his personal trainer? Tell him you love him. Or at least take him to a doctor. He’s not eating, drinking, or taking his medicine. He can’t go on like this.”
There was a pause in which I thought maybe, just maybe, my mother had a change of heart or somehow managed to grow a heart. But then I heard the front door slam and her sneakers beat the pavement of the porch.
Stu yelled some obscenities after her, and then stormed into the kitchen where he proceeded to throw a slew of plates and glasses around.
***
Nov. 26, 2008
“Her funeral’s today,” were the next words Stu said to me. I assumed it was the next day, but there was no way I could be sure. “You have to go.” His voice was a plea. I had driven my brother to pleading. I imagined he was on his knees, but I didn’t turn around to see. I think I grunted something then closed my eyes.
Seconds later, I was being lifted off the bed. Someone had pulled me up from the armpits. Had I lost so much weight that even Stu could lift me? When the person tossed me over their shoulder like a bag of Brussels sprouts, I knew it couldn’t have been Stu.
Sam proceeded to climb the stairs with me over her shoulder. It didn’t occur to me to protest. I had no idea what she was planning on doing to me. Did she think she could get me to take a run on the treadmill? Maybe do a few reps on the rowing machine? I thought she had lost her mind. My thoughts were confirmed when she set me down in the shower and turned the freezing cold water on me.
After the initial shock of the cold water, I quickly became numb. I felt nothing physically or emotionally. I stared into my mother’s steel blue eyes as she slapped my cheeks trying to get a reaction out of me.
“What are you doing?” My voice was stale from lack of use. I had to force the words out of my dry throat.
“We
gotta
get you cleaned up. You have to go to this funeral. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t say good-bye to her. Trust me. I know about living with regret.”
I let my head fall back against the tile and closed my eyes. I just wanted her to go away. Why couldn’t she leave me alone? I wanted everyone to leave me alone. Nothing mattered anymore.
Even if I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t go. I opened my eyes and looked down at my pathetic, wilting, ineffectual legs and then rested my head on the wall again.
“Look at me. I can’t even wash myself. I can’t let her see me like this. I can’t go.”
My mother breathed heavily either from the exertion of carrying her 200 pound son up a flight of stairs or from the anxiety of watching me in such despair.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, Scott.” She plopped down on the bathroom floor and sighed. After resting her head in her hands for a moment, she looked at me and said, “This is supposed to be the part when I say something inspirational and you have an epiphany and I save your life, but I don’t know what that something is. I don’t know what to do.” She banged her fist into the wall. She felt like a failure and I could tell it scared her to death. There was no chance she could win in this situation. “I know I haven’t been the best mother,” she continued, her voice softer, almost kind. “But all I know is sports and competition and going for the gold. Reyna was your gold, okay? Loving her was your greatest accomplishment. She made you happier than any sporting event you’ve ever had in your life. That’s pretty special, Scott. Nothing can take that away. Not even death.”
I lifted my head and stared at my mother. I was shocked. This was probably the longest conversation we’d ever had that didn’t directly pertain to sports.
“I’m sorry I never accepted her when she was … before
she
… you know. And I don’t know how you’re supposed to get through this, how you’re supposed to go on. But let me tell you something, Scott Kincaid, you will not quit on me. You’re not giving up on life till God takes you out of the game. Even then, I’ll fight for extra innings for you.”
***
I sat in the front row of the church next to Mr. Lewis. My mother sat on the other side of him and actually held his hand. The preacher’s words that drew emotion filled “hallelujahs” and “praise
hims
” just bounced off my ears. I felt deaf and blind except for the sight of Reyna’s lips peeking out from the coffin. I wanted to kiss those lips. Was it disgusting that I wanted to kiss my dead wife’s lips? It didn’t matter because that was what I wanted more than anything. Some tiny part of me thought that if I kissed her she’d come back to life like in those stupid fairytales.
I kept staring at her lips even as people filed past me and offered their condolences. Sometimes I even moved my head to look around a person that momentarily blocked my view. A strange sensation crept through my body beginning in my toes and rising. I thought it was muscle spasms caused by the Lupus, but instead of feeling like a painful annoyance, they felt kind of energizing. Before I knew it, I stood from my chair. I walked to the coffin and leaned upon it as I looked down on my sleeping beauty. She was finally sleeping. At peace and sleeping.
“Do you remember the first time our lips touched? For some reason, that just popped into my head. Sixth grade, remember? You were my first kiss. That was also the day you told me about La Cienega. How she smiles even though she can’t see anything because it’s not what you see that makes you truly happy, but what you feel.”
I didn’t know I was crying until I tasted the tears seeping into the corners of my mouth. My voice shook and I had trouble catching my breath, but I had to continue.
“The day I asked you to marry me, you promised you would always be in my life. I know you, Reyna. You never break a promise.” I took her wedding band out of my pocket and placed it on her chest. “So even though I can’t see you, I’ll know you’re here with me. I’ll feel you in my being and I’ll remember the love we shared.”
Then I closed my eyes and felt La Cienega smile.
Leslie DuBois lives in Charleston, South Carolina with her husband and two children. She currently attends the Medical University where she’s earning her PhD in Biostatistics. Leslie enjoys writing stories and novels that integrate races.
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