This Place Only

Chapter Four - Wake

Chapter Four

Wake

I awoke slouched over in a rocking chair, my neck aching horribly. As I rocked my head back and forth, the vertebrae cracked like loose river stones. My left arm sat loosely in my lap and my right was hung around the side of a crib.

Standing was not an easy feat as many parts of my body were either numb or cramped. Having managed an upright position, I leaned over and peered into the crib. The room had been swallowed in midnight darkness save for a faint, blue nightlight glow against the far wall. In this primal light, I could just make out the warm, snoozing shadow of an infant. I listened to each gentle breath and watched the small form rise ever-so-slightly and then fall.

Up.

And down.

My mind floated in the ethereal light and I knew, without truly knowing, that something important was happening. Standing there, watching this sleeping baby, something deep within me awoke. Do not be fearful, it said. Do not panic. For, of course, I should have been panicking! I did not know the name of this baby. Thinking further on it, I could not recall my own name. Exiting the nursery, I found myself in an unfamiliar hallway, doors to my left and right. I peered cautiously into each room and walked into what seemed to be the master bedroom. The bedcovers looked recently disturbed. Had I just been sleeping here? Only one side of the bed appeared slept in.

Back out in the hallway, I made my way to the top of a carpeted flight of stairs. I looked down and found everything rendered before me in gray scale. At the bottom of the stairs, all was still and silent. I walked to my left and found, at the end of a shorter hallway, the kitchen. A large utility island sat in the center of the tiled floor. Upon it were dozens of papers all folded in half and sitting upright. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that they were greeting cards. A small, red light blinked on the counter. Investigating further, the light turned out to be the flashing digital numbers on an answering machine. Over and over, the number 19. Though I was tempted to press PLAY MESSAGES, I was more fearful of destroying the silence.

Still, I needed more light. The sky beyond the windows was a dark blue-black. Morning was still a long way off. Possibly weeks or months, it felt. Finding the stove, I turned on the small light below the fan shield, feeling all the time like an intruder. Back at the collection of cards, I saw immediately that they were all of the sympathy variety. Sorry for your loss. Our hearts are with you. You will not falter. A few bore simply a signature or two, but most had messages inscribed on the blank areas inside. I read them all, but it was the very first card that said it all:

William,

Marta is gone, but little Kate will be with you always. Cherish your daughter and know that Marta will be watching over the both of you with love.

Always, Big Sis

On the dining room table sat a photo of me with a woman who was very pregnant. Next to it was a folder. Inside were all the particulars associated with the wake and funeral. Cross-referencing the dates on the cards with the calendar on the fridge and the documents before me, I gathered that the wake would take place later that day (in the afternoon) and the funeral tomorrow.

Leaving all this on the table, I walked into the gloom of the living room and reclined on a long couch. My body felt exhausted and unstable. My mind buzzed like an insect trapped in a dirty mason jar—there must be a way out, there has to be… I could see everything around me in a dusky haze. The reality of it. The physical definiteness of my world. I knew, however, somewhere deep within, that it was all wrong. The first problem was my own mind. Did people simply lose their memories like this? Great stress certainly wears away at you, but to this extreme? Also, I felt no sorrow at what I’d discovered. This woman, Marta, was evidently my wife. I should be overcome with intolerable grief at her death, but felt no sadness whatsoever. The sleeping baby, Kate, was my daughter. Shouldn’t I feel something special toward her?