Firstliners

An Angel's Kiss

“Have we met before?” Kellie asked. The young girl standing in the doorway looked passively into the bathroom. A brilliant smile – eerily innocent – cut across the little girl's face; it startled Kellie, crimson tinged water splashed to the bathroom floor.

"Are you here to take me?" Kellie asked.

"Yes I am, but you have to tell me your story first."

"Tell my…story?" Kellie asked with obvious confusion. "What do you mean my story?"

"How did you get here?"
         
"I…don't…remember really. I think he put me here," Kellie replied.
         
"He put you in a tub of red water?"
         
"Yes. I'm cold. Are you cold?" Kellie asked.
         
"No maybe you're cold because you're in a tub of water, but you shouldn't worry about that, it will pass."
         
"I don't know," Kellie said unsure.

"Will you tell me your story, so we can go?"

"Why do I need to tell you anything, you're the expert, you should already know?"

"I need to hear it in your words before we can go. Why do you think he placed you in a tub of red water?"

"One would never accuse him of being a creative person. I am sure this is the best he could come up with," Kellie replied.

"The best he could come up with; yes I'm sure you're right."

"Can you tell me where you're taking me?" Kellie asked.

"You don't need to know that, and I couldn't tell you if I wanted too."

"Why?" Kellie pressed.

"I'm sorry, but we need to hurry. You must start telling your story."

"Ok, if you insist. But I'm still cold and getting colder by the minute."

* * *

"Don't worry lady. There's an angel kissing you."  The young girl said before she took her last breath. The air was rank with the smell of burnt rubber mixed with the overwhelming sweet smell of wild flowers. The meadow, where the young girl landed, was full of them; as far the eye could see, and in every imaginable color. They framed her angelic face in a halo of color, which enhanced her innocent beauty. A beauty fading with death’s quickening seconds.

"Don't worry," she had said, "there's an angel kissing you."

"Jessa!"

Turning I saw a short black woman standing at the side of the road. I don't know how long I was standing over the young girl she called Jessa. I couldn't have told you when I got out of the car, or even how I came to be standing over Jessa. I looked back at Jessa: the eye that I could see was motionless. The left side of her face covered with dirt and leaves having attached themselves to her bloodied face. After she was batted aside by the car, she bounced and flopped through the field. Her left arm stretched unnaturally out to her side; the right lying across her stomach. She looked as if she could have been staring up at the coming night sky waiting for a star to fall: ‘Want to make a wish’.

"Oh my god, Jessa," the lady yelled again.

The woman bounded into the serenity of the wildflower field, stomping over the delicate flora with loud crushing footfalls; the wildflowers screaming their final protest beneath her stubby feet.

"Oh my god, Jessa!" she repeated.

I could hear the fear growing in her voice. She feared what I had already known; Jessa is dead.

"The stupid little bitch shouldn't have been in the street," I recognized the voice, but I didn't want to hear him.

A girl had followed the lady with the wildflower-crushing-stubby-feet across the road. "Ella necesita una ambulancia," the girl said, "Mrs. Marrón, yo dijo que necesita una ambulancia!"

I looked at her. I thought she might be speaking Spanish, though her appearance was that of an African-American, although she could have been Puerto Rican; I wasn't sure. She stood beside me screaming in this language that I couldn't understand.

The woman dropped to her knees next to Jessa sobbing loudly. I could hear the kids on the other side of the street yelling for a Ms. Brown. She must be Ms. Brown. The girl yelled something incomprehensible again. Then he was down the small embankment yelling at her.

"Shut your fucking trap, just shut up!"

The girl whirled around in fright. Realizing he was advancing on her, she shrank away from him; stumbling closer to me. When she had come close enough, she grabbed me around the waist and buried her face into my ribs. She was screaming as loud as she could; a piercing sound that cut through my dazed stupor just in time to stop him in his tracks. "What are you doing," I snapped, “are you going to kill her too, this time I guess you’re intending on using your bare hands. What has she done to you? She's just a scared child, leave her alone!"

He stopped: just staring at me, his lips a tight, thin line, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. I was afraid he might attack me instead; maybe both of us as a twofer. It wouldn't have been the first time he hit me – I’m use to it -- but this child doesn’t deserve to be punched around by him or anyone else. So, I stood my ground.

"You blame me for this, don't you?" He said a slight slur to the question.

I didn't reply. Not one word; I was very familiar with this drill. Every time he had too much to drink, and he did something that his father's lawyers would need to extract him from this was the question; as if he’s not to blame. It was rhetorical. He didn't want and answer, so I didn't give him one. I just kept my eyes fixed on him.

"Don't you?" He screamed. "Of course, you do. You always think it's my fault, don’t you? You think everything is my fault. Blame all your pathetic problems on me."

I could hear the sirens off in the distance. That sound must have given me more courage than usual; I decided to talk back.

"You're the one who's drunk, aren't you?" I spat at him, "yes, you had to taste everything in sight, didn't you?” ‘Would you like a Martini, sir?' and you said, 'Why, thank you James,’ and then you asked for and received, 'A double Scotch, yes please, Edward thank'. Oh and how you laughed and enjoyed each one. The glass of each drink that sloshed past your lips, the thought impairing liquid from each of those glasses that oozed down your throat led up to this: Death." I said fueled by all the disdain built up inside me from six years of marriage. Marriage, oh that’s funny. It was more like servitude. Kellie I want you to get me this? Kellie you are going to do that? It's your role as a politician's daughter-in-law; what in the hell did that mean anyway?

The sirens were much louder; car tires were screeching. I noticed the woman called Ms. Brown was standing, again.

"You bitch," he said to me, and then laughed a little.

I forced a fake smile and said, "Yes dear I am. Like you always say, ‘Being a Bitch, that's the one thing, the only thing, I'm good at.’ And why shouldn't I live down to my husband's every expectations? Isn't that what a marriage is all about?"

Ms. Brown stepped forward; there was a look of confusion on her face. I knew she was trying to figure out what was happening. The girl nuzzled her face deeper into my ribcage. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, my husband, Mr. Hugh Watson, Jr., wife-beater extraordinaire.

"You've been drinking," Ms. Brown said, in apparent disbelief, as she moved closer to my asshole husband. "Excuse me for stating the obvious, but it's three in the afternoon, and…you're drunk!" she said. "Why would you be drinking this early on a Wednesday afternoon?" The timbral quality of her voice rose ever so slightly as she stepped closer to him.

"Who are you? I don't answer to you," Hugh slurred through clenched teeth, "you're just the bus driver, aren't you? Isn't it your job to keep those brats under control?" Hugh pointed across the street at the remaining children: who were standing shoulder to shoulder, as if waiting for someone to call roll. Some had tears in their eyes others just stood there stunned.

Hugh looked at me and said, "If this black bitch would have been doing her job none of this would have happened!"

Before I could utter a response, Ms. Brown lunged at Hugh catching him at the waist. The two of them hit the ground with a hard thud. Ms. Brown swung, but before her fist could connect with Hugh’s jaw, a police officer caught her by the waist and pulled her off. To my surprise, afterward I realized that I had wanted her to do what I couldn't all those years. Just punch him one right in the nose.

The second officer helped Hugh up. The whole time Hugh was yelling constant obscenities at Ms. Brown.

* * *

Kellie watched the slow-flowing water from the faucet; the excess red water draining languidly over the edge of the tube.

The young girl asked, "Why are you in the tub?"

"Because, this is where he put me."

"Are you finished with your story?"

"No, there's more."

"Will you continue, please?"

"Why, what will it accomplish?"

"Why is the water is red?"

"I don't know. I told you that already, aren't you listening to me; besides you're changing the subject."

"Of course I am."

"Which question are you answering?" Kellie asked.

The young girl didn't reply.

* * *

"Please state your name for the court?"

"Kellie Lynn Smyth-Watson." I said.

"Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give is the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," I said.

"Mrs. Smyth-Watson, can you tell the court what happened on the afternoon in question?" The prosecutor asked.

"Hugh and I had left the Radisson Hotel down in Westmoreland, Virginia; there had been a fund raiser there for Hugh's father. We were on route 301 going north towards home. We have a weekend home in Allens Fresh, Maryland. I talked Hugh into going there since Alexandria was so far from where we were. We were arguing as usual. I wanted to drive because I felt Hugh had had too much to drink, but he refused to pull over." I said. "It was so like Hugh. His father raised him to believe that he was indestructible. That he could do anything. Sometimes, I would agree to raising a child that way, but Hugh thinks no one can do anything better them him. With alcohol in him, he is ten times as bad. I became tired of trying to get him to stop.

"So, to get my mind off the argument I turned on the radio. I was trying to find something, which isn't that easy down there and with only AM to work with. Hugh has a '64 candy apple red Mustang convertible; hopelessly cliché. Hugh became irate, because I was as he puts it, 'Flipping the fucking dial around; breaking his damned car,' Bastard!"

"Objection your honor, personal opinion of the witness isn't relevant to this case." Alan Hansen interjected.

Alan Hansen, I never liked him, he's slimy. Not to mention he's a pompous prick. Alan is Hugh's father's lawyer and, of course, daddy isn't going to let his little boy fry, even though he should.

"The word bastard is to be stricken from the court record. Mrs. Smyth-Watson you shall refrain from derogatory comments about Mr. Watson's character in the future, do you understand?" the judge asked.

"If I must," I said.

"You may proceed," she said to the prosecutor.

"May I approach the witness, your honor?" The judge nodded her head. The prosecutor stood and walked around the table where she had been sitting. Then moving to the center of the court, she asked, "Mrs. Smyth-Watson, may I simply call you Mrs. Watson?"

"No," I replied.

"Why is that?"

"Because it shows my independence from him," I said.

"Okay, Mrs. Smyth-Watson, please continue."

"Well as I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, I was looking for something on the radio. Hugh began to, how, should I phrase it, speak with bitter resentment." I said as I shot a look of disdain toward Mr. Alan Hansen, Esquire! "Although, as I stated before, I had grown tired of arguing so I ignored him. That is why he hit me, because I wouldn't give him the attention that he felt he deserved."
Hugh sat there; eyes blazing murderously with a monstrous glare. He deserved every minute of this inquisition!

“’Are those tears I see welling in those pretty pale green eyes; you know I think that they're your best asset sugar-plum,' that is what he said just before he punched me in my left eye.”

“My head to hit the window, I said, 'You love your God damned car more than you love me,' I knew it was stupid, but that was all that popped into my head.”

“'You're so perceptive today,' he said spitefully, 'Hey, I know, maybe you can tell me whether we will be together tomorrow. Maybe, I'll divorce your sorry ass; how would that suit you? You would be cut out of my father's will with the signing of a few crappy papers. All those millions will float out of your reach’.”

I could see the muscle twitching at his jaw, which always happens when he's angry. Although, clearly, I didn't need to see it to know; I mean I had a blossoming black eye on the left side of my face and a mountain of a knot rising on the right side of my head. He always thought that I only married him for his money. The truth is I didn't realize how rich his father was until after we married.

"At this point tears were streaming down my face. I just wanted to get home and lock myself in my bedroom."

"Your bedroom?" the prosecutor asked.

"Yes, Hugh and I haven't shared a bedroom or ourselves for two years."

"Why is that, Mrs. Smyth-Watson?"

"Because, we can't be in the same room without arguing: we would never get any sleep."

"Why haven't you filed for divorce?"

"Because, I still love him, I've always loved him."

"But, he beats you. Why would you want to stay with a person who beats you?"

"I don't know. I love him."

"Thank you Mrs. Smyth-Watson, you may step down. Your honor the prosecution would like to call Clara Brown to the stand."  I passed Mrs. Brown as I walked back to my seat. Although she didn't look at me, she glared at Hugh as I walked by.

"Mrs. Brown, please tell the court in your own words, what happened on the day in question." The prosecutor asked.

"Well, I was tryin' to get those kids inside the bus quiet; they're a rowdy bunch this year. When I heard Jessa yell, 'No she's not and I'm tired of you talkin' 'bout my momma like that!’ It caught my attention, so I looked outside. There on the side of the road was Monica and Jessa standing face to face, again.

So I yelled from out to them, "you girls stop that arguing.  Stop right this minute!"

The pain of recounting the incident was visible in Clara's face.  The Prosecutor gave Clara her full attention.  "I went to the door of the school bus and there they were about thirty yards away, Monica with her hands on her hips taunting Jessa, and that poor girl crying.

Jessa screamed, "My momma isn't a whore!"

"I told them 'If you girls don't stop I'm comin' out there!'"  Clara said. "Monica started to turn away from Jessa just as I stepped off the bus, and that seemed to make Jessa go wild. I guess she just couldn't take it anymore.  All year she has been taking Monica's abuse. I guess Jessa just couldn’t take it anymore."

Clara wiped a tear from her cheek with a tissue she pulled from her purse then continued, "Well she grabbed Monica by her hair.  Constance, Monica's mother, always put that girl's hair in a bun so tight it would pull Monica's eyebrows up.  Well, I suspect, that made it easy for Jessa to get a good grip.  ‘Monica might as well have put a sign over the bun that read, PULL HERE’,” Clara crocked a little laugh.

The Prosecutor smiled, being polite.

"Well there they were about 30 yards away standin' in that grassy area near the end of the off ramp; that's were the bus stop is. It's dangerous, and it makes no sense, I know. I've complained about it repeatedly. No one listens.

"Monica shouldn't have been over there in the first place; she lives in the opposite direction down on route 80. Jessa took hold of that bun and pulled; hard! You know, like she was pullin' on one of those slot machines over in Atlantic City, goin' for the jackpot.  So I started to run.

"It seemed like Monica was just hanging there in the air.  I didn't know it at the time, but the kids had started to get off the bus tryin' to see what was goin' on.  I only found out after my foot came down on a rock. The rock rolled to the side throwing me off balance; I went backward falling hard on top of it. It hurt like hell. When I got to my feet, the pain shot straight up my back and exploded at the base of my head.  That's when I realized that almost all the kids had gotten off the bus.  I yelled for them to get back on the bus," Clara pursed her lips and shook her head, "but none of them listened."

Clara went on, "I turned towards the girls again.  Monica was on the ground, and Jessa fist had just collided with Monica's face.  Monica's body appeared to spasm when Jessa hit her, or so I thought.  What Monica was doing was trying to get away, which she did as Jessa tried to take advantage of her position. After Monica was freed herself, she was up running; Jessa right behind her and me a distant third."

The Prosecutor, the whole court and I were fixated.

"Monica was running toward route 301 shrieking, 'Mommy, mommy!'  Jessa was right behind her screaming, 'Come back here you fraidy cat!' if it wasn’t so tragic I’d have to chuckle. It's a wonder those slippery soles of those shiny, patent leather shoes Mary-Francis – that’s Jessa's mother – made her ware didn't send her flyin' to the ground.  I was almost halfway to them when one kid yelled, 'There's a car comin' fast,' my heart stopped." Clara clutched her right hand to her chest to emphasis the feeling.

"I looked up the road, and saw that little red mustang swerving, coming off the exit.  It seemed to me it was going 65 or 70; almost a red blur.  When I turned and caught sight of the girls again Monica had reached the road and was on her way across it, with Jessa seconds behind her.  The red car swung around the bus and turned onto route 301 the driver didn't see Monica, she stood there frozen the car barreling down on her, time seemed to slow.

"I picked up my pace running as fast as I could, Jessa stood there at the side of the road staring at first then screaming, 'Monica look out!'  Then she ran out and pushed Monica out of the way. The car snatched Jessa away in a blazing streak of red. The poor girl was tossed up onto its hood; her face colliding with the windshield. The wheels squealed when the driver slammed on the brakes, threw Jessa forward. The Mustang fishtailed to the left, then to the right, and finally to the left again then spinning out of control; catching Jessa, before she fell to the road, with the tail of the car, batting her into that field of wild flowers."

"She loved flowers." Clara sat, staring into space, not looking, not blinking.

The Prosecutor flushed with embarrassment.

The court was quiet.

The ticktock from the clock above the door droned on.

The moments collected forming seconds.

The seconds combined and flowed into minutes.

The Prosecutor nodded her head and said, "Thank you Mrs. Brown; your witness Mr. Hansen."
         
Alan Hansen stood and said, "So Mrs. Brown you confirm that the child willingly ran into the street crossing the path of Mr. and Mrs. Watson's car."
         
"Well that doesn't excuse him for being drunk."
         
"No further question, your honor." Alan sat down again, and then Hugh turned and looked at me then winked.
         
As Mrs. Brown made her way back to her seat, she saw Hugh wink. Changing her mind she came and sat next to me; Hugh glared at both of us.

* * *

"Why would he be looking at you like that," the young girl asked, was it because he knew you could make him pay?

Kellie gave no reply.

"What happened after the trial," The young girl asked.

"I left him for good."

"Oh…did you?"

* * *

"You told me he was gone for good." The poor connection made Clara's voice rise and fall; staccato-like.

"I thought he was. His father made bail for him until sentencing. That's why I came down here to Allens Fresh. I thought he can't drive; they took his license. Why not go to a place that needs to be driven to." Kellie said.

"Well don't be there… get there…trust him…leave."

"You're going in and out, Clara. Why don't you hang up and call me back." Kellie said.

"Ok, I'll call…" Clara's side of the call went dead. I stood there holding the phone for a few seconds doing the "Hello, Hello, Clara…" thing, but she was gone.

I curled up in the chair facing the large bank of floor to ceiling windows and sliding doors. It had been six months since the end of the trial. The dirt-bag and his father through Allan Hanson had filed for an appeal and gotten it. Now Hugh was out on bail, and the last I heard he was out on the town in D.C. with whatever bimbo would go out with him. I don't care; I love it here. Even the Hugh-Years - that's how I refer to my time with Hugh - can't remove my love of Gran's country house; I feel safe here.

I decided to open the sliding glass doors. The evening insect song filled the empty house along with the sweat scent of the marsh. The sweat smell made me think of Clara. When they first meet I didn't like her, but after she sat next to me in the courtroom our friendship blossomed. Clara had been coming over to the house nearly every day since I moved back. I hadn't expected the friendship to progress, but it did. I didn't even know I wanted to move beyond the friendship level, but it felt right. Clara spent the night last week, and then spent another, then another. She stayed until the weekend leaving this morning when she had to go back to work.

I sat enjoying the evening air and song waiting for Clara to get there. An hour later, she still hadn't called back, but then the doorbell rang. I happily swung the door open saying in delight, "Clara why didn't you…," I was a fool. The pain exploded in the middle of my face; then darkness took me.

That's all I remember. It was the cold water that woke me. I was groggy. To my blurry vision, the bathroom’s purple pastel wisteria vine pattern wallpaper wove intricate loops and swirls along the ceiling and walls of its own accord. The pain along my wrist wouldn't go away and was only surpassed by the pain at the base of my head. I tried to sit up. He pushed me back. I hadn't realized he was there until then. I saw the swirls of red emanating from just above my palms, snaking through the water like ethereal red eels.

Hugh kissed me then and said, "You brought this on yourself; even so I still love you. I want you to know that." He placed one large hand on my forehead and over my eyes and pushed my face under the water.

* * *

"He still loves you."

"I don't believe that." Kellie said.

"But he just said so? The question is do you still love him after all he has done?" She asked.

Kellie gave no reply; she just continued with her story.

* * *

When I woke again – I wasn’t sure how much time had passed seconds, minuets, probably longer – she was there. Hugh was lying on the floor; he wasn't moving, a baseball-bat on the floor next to him. Clara noticed when I looked at it and said, "Louisville slugger; I keep it on the backseat of my car…just in case." I started to black-out then, and she yelled, 'You stay awake. Kellie you need to talk to me.' And I found myself being pulled out of the water. Then it was dark and cold, and I couldn't hear Clara's voice anymore.

* * *

The young girl looked out into the hallway through the door she had entered. Kellie followed suit. About ten feet beyond the door the hallway opened into a great room. Kellie remembered more than she could see that the great room had been bright and airy. She had loved it; it had been her favorite room in the house. She had spent many nights recently enjoying the view of the sun setting over the marsh and the Chesapeake Bay beyond. Kellie remembered that the great room had two sets of sliding doors that opened onto a patio, long and deep. She had sat out there just last evening listening to the song of the cranes and the buzzing trill of the cicada. It had been wonderful.

Then she remembered before her marriage to Hugh. When she was younger, a child who had come to this area to stay with her grandmother; how she had loved the marsh. How her grandmother had taken her down to the beach at Point Lookout to swim. How the Chesapeake seemed to go on forever and ever. Then as a teenager when Gran, during a visit to Washington, D.C., had taken her on a tour at the White House, and then they had spent the rest of the day just roaming through the Smithsonian.

Then Kellie remembered how, after she had turned sixteen, her parents had died in a car accident and she had come to live with Gran. That was when Gran had bought the house: this house. When Gran died while Kellie had been off studying at GW, Kellie came back one final time to take care of Gran's estate. I hadn't come back for ten years after her death. Why? She couldn't answer that question. She had loved the place then as much as she loved it now.

Now that she wouldn’t be coming back ever again she could admit that to herself. She watched as just beyond the end of the hall in the great room they worked. There where two of them; one on each side of that which remained; one blowing into the mouth, the other pumping up and down on the chest. Clara standing over them watching with a sad look of certainty on her face; someone who knew the actions of these people would be fruitless.

Kellie knew this too. She looked at the young girl and said, "We have met before. Well not exactly meet; you're her, aren't you? You’re the girl the Hugh killed."

"Who," the girl asked continuing to look in the direction of the paramedics and Clara.

"The one who died in the wild flower field: Jessa."

"Yes…I used to be her," Jessa said thoughtfully. Jessa looked down at her feet then out into the hall again, "So now they're trying to take you back?"

"Yes, I guess they are." Kellie replied only vaguely interested.

"But we need to go. You can't stay."

"Yes I know. It's for the best, isn't it?" Kellie asked.

"That depends, do you still love him?"

"I guess I still do. You know you repeat yourself a lot."

"Do I,” Jessa asked distractedly.

"Yes," Kellie said.

"Are you going to kiss him before we leave?"

"Yes, I think I will," Kellie mused.

"Do you think it will help after all he has done?"

"I don't know, maybe, I doubt it. He's done so much, but I think he at least deserves someone's forgiveness," Kellie said unsure.

"Why?" Jessa asked.

"Maybe, I did cause this."

"But, you were a victim; like me," Jessa said.

"Was I, I'm not sure. Should I kiss him on the cheek or the forehead? Will he be coming soon?" Kellie said a hint of regret in her voice.

"On the lips," then Jessa asked, "do you still feel cold?"

"No, you were right. Will he be cold like I was?"

"Even if he is now; then he will be hot soon enough."

"I'm not hot, I'm comfortable. I'm glad that the cold is gone; for good, I hope." Kellie said.

"Don't worry lady it has," the young girl said. As she took Kellie's hand, lightness replaced the heaviness, and the red water changed to a red mist that evaporated instantly.

"Is it time to go," Kellie asked.

Jessa just smiled that brilliant smile. Kellie stepped from the tub. Kellie felt that she was walking, but she knew the effort of movement wasn't hers. They stood above Hugh whose eyes rolled lazily in their sockets then fixed on them: on her. Kellie leaned down her ethereal lips brushing his. Then she and Jessa were walk-floating through the hall and into the great room. Kellie hovered next to Clara.

A whirring sound filled the great room, and the female paramedic said, "Clear!" The electric jolt rushed through Kellie’s former body. A spark of life flowed back into that which remained causing her ghostly spirit to flicker like a light plugged into a faulty socket. The eyes in the body rolled then were lifeless.

"It's time to go lady," Jessa stated flatly.

Kellie took in the tableaux.

The male paramedic said, "Call it."

The female paramedic said, "time of death 9:45 am."

Kellie looked back at Hugh as his spirit rose from its former shell. Hugh’s spirit stood over the body looking down in confused interest. His eyes fixed on Kellie; an imploring look for explanation. Even if, she had wanted too she hadn’t time because flames leapt up through floor; grabbing Hugh’s spirit with fiery, vengeful hands, and engulfed him.

Kellie felt Clara's eyes on her; Clara stood inches from Kellie. Clara said, "Sweet journey my angel."
Kellie let her hand wisp along the Clara's face, and leaned and kissed her lips.

Clara had seen them there – the two of them, Kellie and Jessa – and then they shimmered and where gone. Clara raised her fingers to her lips; they felt cool and warm at the same time.