Afterimages

Night’s probing fingers ran over his body, wishing to lull him to sleep. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get beyond the invasive red glow of the clock beside his bed and the empty pillow next to his head. A shiver ran through his body as his eyes squeezed shut, knowing that the cold that ran through him didn’t come from the breeze that licked at his window pane, but from something much deeper, much more out of his control.

He rolled over, away from that empty pillow, but he could still feel it burning a hole through the covers that formed his cocoon. Against his will, his red-rimmed eyes fell on the photo resting on the nightstand. Feeling a moment of panic claw at his chest, he thrust the covers away and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, determined not to see either. Looking around the room he marveled at how odd it was the way the moonlight seeped in through the curtains, staining the familiar objects in the room with an eerie glow, making them seem foreign and unsettling. It looked wrong. It felt wrong. It was wrong.

A small whimper died in his throat, but the small sound it made seemed to echo throughout the walls. It contained enough power to chase away the silence that weighed so heavily on him. Slowly he became aware of the small sounds, subtle evidence of life. The chirp of a cricket, humming along to the tune of Nature’s nocturnal concert. The sound of the wind playing with the curtains through the partially open window he had forgotten to close. The dim hum of the heater. The never ceasing tick of his watch that lay on the dresser where he had dropped it before going to bed. That bothered him more than the other things. Every tick was a painful reminder that time kept moving on, dragging him along with it.

The sound of his own teeth grinding together finally caught his attention, and he unclenched his fists. A dull throbbing told him that he had torn the skin. Stepping closer to the pale glow the moon offered, he held his palm out to examine it. Tiny crescent shaped cuts marked with a streak of crimson stood out in stark contrast to the white light. With his other hand, he swirled the sticky substance about with one finger. Flesh was so fragile. Such a poor defense for humans to rely on.

Almost unconsciously he dug through the top drawer of the dresser, rooting through the mound of socks that were crammed inside. After some digging, his fingers brushed the crumpled box he knew was back there. Once he’d retrieved it he lifted a cigarette out, and continued searching through the drawer until he found a lighter. Placing the butt between his lips he held the lighter up, finger poised just above it. He remained like that for a moment, unmoving, listening to the watch tick. With a sudden burst of anger he threw them both forcefully away from him. Crumpling the box even further, he tossed it in the trash.

Quickly he abandoned the bedroom, opting for the kitchen. As soon as he reached it, he checked to be sure the baby monitor on the counter was on and the volume up. Funny how it was such a habit now, when it had been just over week. He shuffled over to the refrigerator, but the flashing red light on the answering machine caught his eye before he got there. Although he continued to stare at it, his mind saw something else. He reached out for the chair by the table, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The scent of antiseptic mixed with sterile fear and sorrow broached his nostrils, and the repeated ding of a heart monitor filled his ears. He was petrified to move his eyes away from that blinking light, afraid that he would see her lying on that gurney again.

Forcing himself to blink, he became aware that his breathing was ragged and strained. Before his grip gave out, he pulled the chair out and sat heavily down in it, burying his head in his hands. He willed himself to keep it together, wishing that he could simply shut down his brain. If he didn’t think, he wouldn’t feel. Normally, he could achieve that result with a few rounds of Jack Daniels, but even that was gone. Just like the smokes, he wouldn’t do it. Not anymore.

The sound of a tiny cry crackling over the speaker made him look up. Without even thinking, his feet took him on the well-traveled path to the nursery upstairs at the end of the hall from the master bedroom. Gently, he turned the knob and entered, closing it just as quietly behind him. Small whimpers came from within the crib on the far wall, and he walked over to it with a slight hesitancy in his step. Placing his hands on the railing, he gazed down at the tiny child that lay there. His child. His son. The only part of her that he got to keep. With utmost care he reached in and picked up the infant, drawing him close to his chest while breathing in the baby scent that he had come to depend on. He placed a tender kiss on the tiny forehead, feeling a sudden warmth steal through him and chase away the loneliness. Right here, right now, he could forget. It was the only time the night allowed it.

When he’d gone through the routine he’d established for quieting the baby and heating up the bottle, he clicked the button on the answering machine before sitting down with Alex. As he maneuvered the bottle between the wailing lips of the squirming infant, he paid vague attention to the message waiting for him, making a mental note to throw the machine away and get voice mail instead. For now though, he merely smiled a little and shook his head at the sound of Howie’s squirrelly voice spitting rapid fire sentences through a cell phone from what sounded like the middle of downtown Orlando.

“Age, it’s me. Sorry I didn’t drop by, but we took longer dropping Bri and Kevin off than I thought we we’d take. Word musta gotten out about their flight, and the airport was a security nightmare. Damn, you shoulda seen it, I thought Billy was gonna shit a brick. Anyways, Denise told me she had some stuff to do tomorrow, so I told her I’d come over and keep you company. And don’t call back and tell me no, ‘cause I need some excuse to get the hell away from those little throw pillows Nick tries to call dogs. You’d think he’d be able to leave them at home. Next time I’ll make him stay in a hotel. I think Sue will come with me, she’s sick of them too. Don’t ask me how she lives with them. Okay, so anyways, I’ll see you tomorrow. Later.”

When Alex had finished eating, A.J stood and placed the little head over his shoulder, ensuring that the spit up blanket was securely in place. He began to pat the baby’s back gently, sighing to himself when he thought about the friendly concern that laced Howie’s voice. The man was as true blue as they came, and did a wretched job of disguising himself. It was touching, but at the same time it only made him feel worse.

“I get the feeling your Uncle Howie is going to drive us crazy,” he whispered to his son, who responded with a healthy gurp.

He took a moment to gaze into that scrunched up face, marveling at the perfect creature he held in his arms. It astounded him that he had had a hand in his creation, and that no matter what the future held, this child would always be apart of him. It was this thought that helped him to believe that he could face that future without the woman who had given him his son, the woman who he loved so much.

“She would have been so proud of you,” he said aloud, hypnotized by those tiny fists that waved about incessantly. “I wish you could have seen her. I would have given anything to see her eyes light up when she saw you for the first time. Her little miracle. That’s you.” He could feel the lump rise in his throat, and his eyes watered heavily. Angrily, put his cheek to Alex’s head, trying to brush them away. It was only in the dead of night that he let himself cry. Tears had to be hidden from the daytime. There was something secret, private about the darkness that made it safer for him to let go.

“I’m going to miss her,” he whispered. “So bad.” He rocked back and forth, cradling the small body closer to him, letting the blanket catch the stray tears that fell. “But you and me, we’re gonna pull through this together, okay? You and me.”

He didn’t know how long he sat there, rocking the infant back and forth in a smooth, uninterrupted rhythm, but when he looked down again Alex had fallen into a peaceful slumber. Reluctantly A.J. returned to the crib, easing him down with a practiced arm. Satisfied his sleep was undisturbed he made as if to leave, but found himself hovering in the doorway instead, unable to tear himself away. He could almost feel her presence, watching over the two of them.

With a dry swallow he closed his eyes, hearing the wail of the monitors screaming through his memory. He could see the strain on the doctor’s faces, the desperation in their eyes. How could something so wonderful as the birth of their first child have gone so horribly wrong? He would never forget the fear etched on her beautiful face, or the strangled cry she’d been unable to suppress when a nurse had forced them apart to get him out of the way. If he tried hard enough, he could feel her fingertips leaving his hand, the last time he had ever touched her. What had happened next had been a blur. All he remembered was holding his son in the nursery as someone told him that his wife was dead. How was that possible? The two of them had been brimming with anticipation just hours before, that vivacious spark that he had fallen in love with alive and kicking behind her playful green eyes. Then it was gone, in the blink of an eye.

Stifling a sob, he slid down the smooth surface of the door until he was seated on the ground, his entire body shaking. “Why?” he whispered harshly. It wasn’t fair. They’d had dreams they would never get to realize. They’d planned to grow old together. They were going to share it all, every step of the way. Instead, they’d only been granted three short years before she’d been ripped away from him, leaving a jagged hole inside him that he didn’t think could ever heal. Now he was left alone as a single father, with a career that ruled almost every aspect of his life. How in the world was he going to do this? With her by his side, he was convinced he could do anything. Now he was dreadfully alone. Never had he been so afraid of what waited for him down the road.

Right now, all he knew was how badly he hurt. Everywhere he looked, he saw her. There were still post-it notes on the refrigerator in her handwriting. The book she’d been in the middle of reading still sat on her nightstand, bookmark on page 204. Her shampoo and body wash still sat in the shower, keeping her scent alive. Her medicine cabinet was still full of makeup, perfume, hairspray… all of the things that he had become so accustomed to as hers. How was he supposed to move on from that? What would he tell Alex when he got older? How would he do her memory justice? How would he ever be able to see the sun rise again, when she wasn’t there to see it with him? Brian had told him that healing would come in time, but right now he had no idea what that meant.

Trembling, he pulled himself back to his feet, and approached the crib again. Peering down at the sleeping infant within, he felt his heart swell. He hadn’t known it was possible to love something this much, from the very first moment. As angry and lost as he was, he still had Alex. Tasha had died bringing him into the world; there was nothing he could do to change that. But he was going to make damned sure that this child got everything they had dreamed of, even if she wasn’t there to see it. Whatever the sacrifice, no matter how hard it was, he wasn’t going to let that kid down. Ever.

But for now, in the blessed sanctuary of darkness, he just cried.

Index