Seven Wakings Read online

  A mask covers my face, pushes air into my lungs. I feel heavy. Too heavy. I can’t lift anything. Can’t talk. Metal screeches, then bangs. Is that my side gate? Everything jostles. I’m a football, bouncing down the field.

  Someone takes my hand. “Stay with us Emma. Stay for your kids.” It’s Archer.

  I don’t know what he’s talking about. I would never leave my kids. Never.

  My hearing is magnified: a metal door shuts, an engine turns over, a beeping noise dances without rhythm in the background.

  “You think she’s gonna be okay?” Archer’s voice cracks.

  A different man answers. “We’re doing the best we can.”

  My chest twists. It feels like someone is standing on my insides with ice skates. This thinking isn’t right. I fall into a memory: Dad and I were at Linthicum Park. The pond was frozen. We were teaching Kate and Mac to play Crack-the-Whip with other kids from the neighborhood.

  “Do you remember when Mac got the wind knocked out of him? You thought he was a goner.” Dad’s laugh is close. He’s here with me. Where’s here?

  I want to look around for him, but I’m only grey breath and space.

  The beeping in the background goes from broken to solid. I float outside the constraints of my body; I’m weightless, free.

  “Get the paddles!”

  Scissors cut fabric. Gel squirts from a tube. Lightening cracks through my chest. I’m pulled back into the weight of me.

  “We’re losing her.” He yells. “Pick up the pace.”

  I notice the siren for the first time, then black out.

  Bright lights wake me. Everything is blurry. A man in thick glasses and a surgical mask hovers over me. His scrubs are mint green. The color offends me; it looks sick.

  “Emma, I’m Dr. Thomas. You’re in the hospital. You’ve been shot.” He puts his hand on my shoulder.

  Shot?

  My eyes search the room for answers. I can’t imagine who’d want me dead. Must have been random. I gasp for air; it feels like my lungs are filled with holes. The room fades.

  Back in the sea of stars, gravity pulls me through the dark. Voices whisper: “I can’t get a pulse,” “Let’s call the time,” “Who’s her closest relative?” Hushed tones echo in the space around me, but I don’t understand. Everything is jumbled.

  Who are they talking about?

  I’m suddenly distracted by an aroma. It’s Mexican food.

  My mind sees a street in Baltimore. A neon sign flashes “La Cucaracha” in the distance. Kate checks her phone, paces under a black and white stripped umbrella in the rain. Mac is jumping over the cracks in the sidewalk. Lynette says, “Where is she?”

  Something is really wrong.

  In tickertape moments, I see Archer— the new recruit— knocking on Lynette’s front door. She’s still dressed as she was this morning: green shirt, black slacks, tousled red waves pulled back into a loose bun, the pencil at its core. Archer says something. Lynette drops to her knees and vomits in the grass.

  Suddenly people are gathered in a colorless room. Pictures of my life hang on the wall. Everyone is struck silent. Even the pastor can’t speak. He looks down at the black box, the size of a half-gallon of ice cream, and shakes his head. Kate and Mac are in the front row, next to Lynette and Lou. They are varied states of disbelief.

  A new scene: Kate and Lynette are sitting on my bed, side-by-side. Lynette puts her hand on Kate’s back, tucks her hair behind an ear.

  “Mom hasn’t crossed over,” Kate says abruptly.

  “I know how hard this is.” Lynette takes Kate’s hand into hers.

  “No… it’s not ‘denial,’ or whatever you call it.” Kate gets up, paces.

  “I’m not sure I understand.” Lynette walks to her.

  “You know… the gifts our family has...”

  Lynette nods.

  “If Mom had crossed over I’d know it. She’d be talking to me.”

  “Maybe it’s like this situation with your dad.”

  She’s referring to the one conversation Kate had with her father after he passed. He told her that he would always look out for her. But he thought it would be harder for her to understand, as a child, if he spoke to her. And Mac might feel left out. He’d make contact later… when the time was right— for both kids.

  “No. Mom said she would never leave us that way. In life and in death, she promised to be there. Especially since… you know… since her mom left her.”

  I finally get it.

  I’m dead. I’m dead?

  An invitation extends to me through the dark. I don’t want to go. A woman’s voice, sweet and rich, begins to hum. It is familiar. She sings a child’s song: “You Are My Sunshine.” The last line punch’s my psyche… “Please don’t take my sunshine away.” The words curl and float.

  It is my mother’s voice.

  “No!” I scream. “I will not leave my children, like you left me!” I’m so angry, so scared, I think I’ll break into nothingness.

  She continues to hum, seemingly unmoved by my protest.

  “You were a coward!” My anger surprises even me. “No… no… you were a bitch!” I’m shaking, in complete denial about being dead.

  Silence.

  “You never even tried to contact me, or Dad, or my kids. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?” I feel like my head could pop off. “You threw us away.”

  Silence.

  “My kids will never feel that… disposable, forgotten.” I pace, knead my hands.

  Silence.

  “But you don’t get that. You couldn’t even commit to seven years as a mother. I’m committed forever. Eternity!”

  She hums softly.

  “Show yourself! Talk to me.” I strangle the air, feel like a complete idiot. “Say something!” I shout.

  Silence.

  “It figures I would get nothing from you in death.” I pace without direction, a mouse caught in a maze. “Why are you here? Where’s Dad… or Cal?”

  Silence.

  “This is bullshit!” I scream into the night. “Bullshit!”

  Silence.

  “Get me back to my kids!” I clench my jaw. “You’re a Goddamned waste of a soul.”

  The stars turn into doves and flap into a white-blue sky. I am nowhere. I am nothing. Just a voice, alone in space. Terrified, I think I might disappear.

  I take a deep breath; adjust my attitude.

  “Listen, I may not have handled that well.” I try to appear sane. “It’s just that my kids haven’t had a father, and they just lost their grandfather. You were never there. I can’t imagine what will happen to them if they lose me too.”

  The sky turns slowly into dawn.

  I’m losing my mind, like Tom Hanks in Castaway. The only thing missing is the volleyball. I begin to negotiate. “What if you sent me back somehow, just to figure out what happened… bring some closure for the kids?”

  The silence grows deeper. My ears buzz.

  “Can’t you do that? Pull a miracle out of your pocket.” I laugh a crazy, little laugh.

  I hear Mother’s voice. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word.”

  “Haven’t you noticed that I’m not a child anymore?” Something occurs to me. “I could do something for the ‘greater good’ while I’m there. You know… maybe find the missing kids.”

  The sky turns orange. She continues to hum.

  I’m frantic. I start to think about more children being taken. There’s no way I can stay here. “I’ll do anything. Be anyone. I just need to go back.”

  She finally speaks: “You don’t even know those missing kids.”

  “I’m built to protect children.” I throw begging hands up in frustration. “But you couldn’t understand that.”

  There is a beat of silence. “You would reject Nirvana for a few days on earth?”

  I’m caught off guard by her word selection. She was a bible thumping Christian. Why wouldn’t she say Heaven?

  “I co
uld never rest knowing that the people who need me the most are in a living hell.”

  There’s a pause. I feel her move toward me, as if to inspect my intention. “Are you willing to sacrifice anything?”

  She’s creepier than I remember. “I’m not willing to make a pact with the devil, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I feel her smile. Cryptically she says, “You’ll get seven wakings.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You will… soon enough.”

  The sky turns deep red. A flash slices through my brain, brings me to my knees.

  “Please,” I beg. I need to go back. I begin to sob. “I am nothing without my children.”

  I am nothing.

  Chapter Six - Raisen’

  Waking up to throw up, I wonder if I’ve been poisoned. My headed is pounding. Where am I? My mouth tastes like I gargled in cat feces. Everything is blurry. There is no point— near, or far — at which my vision is clear. I smell urine. My pants are soaked. Jesus, I wet myself. I wonder if I’m in some sort of graceless purgatory.

  I realize I’m face down on concrete. To steady myself, I put my hands on the ground and turn to sit up. My body is coursing with sewage. Shaking my head, black snakes of hair swing dance. What the hell? My stomach growls. With hands on my waist, I feel every rib. My arms are dark. I run my fingers along the skin. It’s as black and textured as licorice.

  On both feet, I stumble sideways, then steady myself between a half-wall and dumpster. Where am I? Breathing deep, I cough. Then notice I’m missing a shoe. I turn around; can’t focus my eyes or mind. I see a small building and head for the door. Feeling for the handle, I pull it open.

  “You go!” A man shouts. “You no belong.”

  “Vang?” My voice is deep gravel. I sound like a man.

  “Yes, Vang. Always Vang. You go.” He grabs something. It looks like a broom.

  In shock, I touch my chest. I have no breasts. Looking down, I am wearing familiar clothes. What’s going on?

  “Get out.” He throws something at me. “Take that and go!”

  “Why are you treating me like this?”

  “You know rules. Stay outside! No customers want your filth in here.”

  I catch a reflection in the sliding glass door of the Pepsi cooler. He’s blurry, but I think it’s DeWayne. Turning to look for him, I find he’s not there. My hair swing dances again. Confused, I walk toward the glass. Each step I take matches his. I put my hands on the fridge, blow warm breath on the case. “Oh, my God!”

  Spinning around I see a man in the convex mirror. I wave my arms. It’s me. I’m DeWayne! Breath catches in my chest.

  Vang whacks me with the broom. “I say go!”

  “What the hell?!” I rub my leg. This has got to be a dream.

  “I warn you. Out!” He raises the broom.

  “I’m going. I’m going.” I hold my hands up in the surrender gesture. My heart is pounding. I don’t understand.

  “Take roll. That’s all you get today.” He points to the cinnamon roll on the floor.

  Starving, I pick it up. “Can I please just use your phone?” I want to call Lynette.

  “You have money. You use phone.”

  I check my pockets. Nothing. He winds up for another whack.

  “Okay, okay… Jeez.” I go outside. The light is blinding. After getting my bearings I head East on Ritchie Highway, toward Lynette’s office. My mind is spinning. It feels so heavy being human. Every step is like walking in mud.

  Looking up, I say out loud. “Is this a joke?” I try to remember everything I committed to: Be anybody. Do anything. Find the missing kids. I look for the time, have no watch. The sun is mid-sky. I hesitate. “Wait…” I say to Mother, “How’d you pull this off? Didn’t you have to get the ‘Big Guy’s’ approval?” I gesture wildly. “Why would you do this for me? Forgiveness? That couldn’t be it. You never cared what anyone else thought. Maybe you have to do something nice to get into heaven…if there is such a thing. I can’t imagine what Dad ever saw in you. You’re just as crazy as you were when you were alive. What… do you keep knocking on heaven’s gate, and nobody will let you in? That’s ripe. The Christian reject. Perfect.”

  I babble on and on as if being paid by the syllable. Great freedom comes with being perceived as crazy. “I hope you know I’m not leaving here until all those kids are found.” I begin to question my own sanity. “Am I in purgatory? Is that what this is? Maybe you’re trying to figure out which way I’ll go… up or down.” I kick a rock. “All I want is to be here with my kids and friends. That’s it. So thank you very much. You’re dismissed.”

  As if I have any control over the situation.

  I think about what it would be like to live for the rest of my life as DeWayne. I wonder how he came to settle for so little in the world, wonder what his background was. What makes a person think, this is all I deserve: sleeping by a dumpster, waiting to be fed, bathing in a gas station sink. And just look at how Vang treated me in different skin.

  I wish I had done more for him, instead of just feeding him like a hungry dog. He’s a person who probably experienced more abuse than I can even fathom.

  Maybe that’s why I woke up as DeWayne… to understand him. Maybe get him some help.

  Liking the sound of DeWayne’s deep voice, I try singing, “Let’s get it on,” by Marvin Gaye. His timbre vibrates in my chest. The walk seems to go on for days. I comb the shoulder of the highway for a stray shoe. My left foot starts to bleed.

  After what feels like an eternity, a car playing Def Leppard pulls up behind me. Turning toward it, I see three big white guys inside. They’re drinking Pabst.

  “Hey… Scum Bag,” the guy in the passenger seat says to me, then throws a full beer at my head. “Thirsty?”

  I duck just in time.

  The others laugh. They stop the car, all get out.

  “Hungry?” Another one of them says and curls his hand into a fist. “I’ve got a knuckle sandwich for ya.”

  They are a cacophony of low, dumb laughs.

  “Who talks like that?” I say and hike up loose pants. “What are you, six-years-old?”

  Without warning, he decks me; a knock-down punch to the right eye. I’m a spinning carnival ride. My whole body throbs. He kicks me in the stomach, knocks out all my air.

  “Grab his legs,” one of them says.

  For a second I wonder if they’re going to rape me. Girl thinking.

  “Let’s get him to the bridge,” the driver says.

  All three men grab me. I try to fight, but I’ve got no strength, feel like I have no bones. Without teeth, I can’t bite them. They’re going to throw me off, onto the railroad tracks below. Traffic whizzes by. No one stops. A passing car honks like we’re at a tailgate party.

  “You guys don’t want to do this. I’ve got friends in the police department,” I say.

  “Yeah… you look like you’d be friends with cops.” They all laugh, shimmy me higher.

  I try to wriggle free. My efforts are futile.

  Is DeWayne treated like this all the time?

  A distant siren hollers.

  The men look at each other; drop me on the road, then run back to their car. My bones are back, they feel like shattered glass. I lean on one elbow, try to get up. Everything in me is screaming. I lay on my back, look at the sky, and wonder if Mother is getting a kick out of this.

  A police car pulls up. An officer gets out and runs to me. “Are you okay?” He’s writing something down, presumably their license plate number.

  Even though he’s a blur, I recognize his voice. “Archer?”

  “How’d you know my name?” He helps me to my feet.

  “It’s on your badge,” I lie.

  He touches around my eye. “That must have been a hell of a punch.”

  With his support, we make our way to the passenger’s seat of his squad car. I stumble.

  “Thanks… you know, for being here.” I’m emba
rrassed by my smell.

  He unwraps an alcohol swab. “This might hurt.”

  I brace for the worst, but now feel numb from head to toe. Addictive cells want to suck on the alcohol-drenched cotton.

  “You got any food?” I try to imitate DeWayne’s speech pattern.

  “Sure.” He opens the glove box. It’s filled with protein-rich snacks.

  “Not a Twinkie guy?” I joke.

  “I get the shakes if I don’t eat every few hours.”

  “I get the shakes, too.” I hold up a hand to show him that I’m not kidding. This is a tough body to be in.

  He laughs and puts a butterfly bandage on my cheekbone. “Take whatever you want.”

  “Thanks.” I grab a Power Bar. “Hey… can you drop me somewhere?” I realize that Lynette is probably at work, and the kids are in school.

  “That all depends.” He looks at me, raises his eyebrows.

  “Nothing sketchy. I just need to go to my shrink’s office… weekly meeting.” I can’t eat the Power Bar; my teeth feel loose. No wonder he only wanted cinnamon rolls. “Hey… what’s the date?”

  “The 17th.” He shines a flashlight in my eyes. “You might have a concussion.”

  I don’t want to be taken to the hospital. “It’s not that, I just lose track of the days out here.”

  As he drives, I realize I can ask him about my shooting. DeWayne was there.

  “I remember you from the other day… you know when that lady got shot,” I say, trying to act casual.

  He looks at me. “That was you? I was so caught up in…”

  “Yeah, that was scary.” Mindlessly, I scratch my crotch. “Do you have any leads yet?”

  He laughs. “You sound like a cop.” He goes quiet. Then, “Nothing so far.”

  I forget who I am for a minute. “Don’t lose sight of the kids.”

  He looks at me, then the road. “Do you mean her kids?”

  I scramble. “She mentioned something about missing kids. I’m sure she’d want you to focus on that, since it was so important to her and all.”