Red Hands

She gripped the edges of the sink, the letter crumpled up on the counter. She turned the faucet on and ducked her head under the flow, letting the water run down her neck. She gasped for air in between loud sobs, forcing her lungs to fill and calm down her racing heart. She looked up and splashed water in her eyes and on her cheeks. Pumping the soap on the wall with force, she scrubbed her hands trying to get them clean. Finally giving up, she gazed at the red-stained skin stretched over her fingers; they were worn and tired from years of washing too hard. She shut off the water and looked up.

Her reflection wasn’t that of a 20 year old. Huge, dark circles occupied the portion of skin under her eyes –a side effect of getting no sleep –and her skin clung to her frame, so tight from the past few years of being anxious and jittery. Her shaky hands dove inside her bag for the small container that actually gave her some piece of mind. She popped three blue pills into her mouth, reached her hand under the faucet for water, and forced her throat to swallow. Clutched in her hand, the container had fingers groved into its sides. Anxiously, she breathed deeply, waiting for the Xanax to hit her system. When she seemed to feel a little better, she grabbed the letter and shoved back in her bag, pushing it down the very bottom so it wouldn’t fly out into someone else’s hands.

Just then, her mom crashed through the bathroom door, her arms stretched out to comfort.

“Oh Sarah, come here,” she exclaimed, pulling her daughter into her chest and rubbing her head. “I had no idea this would be so bad for you. I’m sorry.”

Tears starting to flow down her face, Sarah sank her skin into her mom, as if trying to hide. Her mom lifted her chin, and wiped under her eyes. Then, she reached in her purse for a compact with powder, and lightly dusted her face to hide her tears.

“Thanks, Mom,” she released from her mouth, her voice uneasy and shaky.

Her mom nodded her head, turned around and walked out of the bathroom. Sarah took one last glance in the mirror, breathed deeply, and then pushed open the door into the reception area. She made her way down the hall, feeling queasy and light-headed from the stench of the funeral home. She made it to the doorframe, looking in the room at the somber stares from family and friends.

Her mother motioned for her to come up. She moved sluggishly towards to front, dragging her feet along the runner that traced the aisle. When she got within reaching distance of the box, she looked inside.

The doctors had told them she died of complications in her heart. No one saw it coming. Everyone knew it had been hard for her to live alone, even if it was only for those few years. That’s what Sarah had always regretted –that she had to live alone without the love of her life. But still, she had had family and since his death, it had been better for the whole family.

She drifted back; remembering days before, when she had found out her grandmother had died. Her mom had been making dinner when the phone rang. Sobbing, her mom slid down the wall until she was on the ground, holding her legs like a child. The phone fell out of her grip and it hit the floor and startled Sarah, who hadn’t moved since she heard her mom gasp. The news had shocked the entire family.

A couple days later, they went to the bank to open the safety deposit box, which contained her will and letters to the family. Each of her family members cried and held each other as they read the personal letters they’d received.

Everyone except Sarah. Looking up and down her letter, she sat in horror, her hand griping the arm of the chair.

“Sarah? Sarah, what’s wrong?” her mother had asked.

Saying nothing, Sarah folded the letter and put it in her pocket. Tears started to flow from her eyes, as she looked at her mother.

“I’m just a little shocked. I need some fresh air.”

Since then –since she discovered more people knew than should –she had been uneasy.

Focusing back on the wake, Sarah looked down at the sunken eyes and hollow cheekbones, which were covered in colorful makeup to bring warmth to her face. Her eyes traced the familiar face that she once knew, searching for some bit of life in her features. Suddenly, she remembered why she was there and her stomach flipped. She grabbed her torso with her unoccupied hand and shifted towards her family.

After the wake, they walked down the roads of the cemetery following the hearse. Most of the group was silent for the walk but there were a few conversations here and there. Although her breathing had calmed, Sarah’s heart was beating loud enough for her to hear, as if it would jump out of her chest. She looked from left to right, scanning the faces to see if they could hear it too. It filled her ears and head, giving her surround sound to one of the things keeping her alive. She placed her hand over her chest and rubbed lightly, to soothe it back to silence. But it started to beat faster as they approached the family plot.

Slowing her pace, she trailed towards the back of the group. When everyone had left her behind, she squatted down to the earth and pushed the dirt around with her fingers. Her head began to get heavy, and she could feel her lungs beginning to struggle. Slowly her eyes started to fill with water and her breathing was loud. She stood up and gained her balance, and headed down the hill.

She stood at the back of the crowd, slightly to the side to avoid making too much noise. She could feel her heart beat through her body and her chest rise and fall. Feeling anxious, she reached inside her bag for more blue pills and shoved them in her mouth, dry swallowing them forcefully, regretting the decision to come today.

“Sarah?” her mom called, softly.

Sarah looked up, everyone staring at her, and searched for her mom’s face.

“Sarah, would you like to come up?”

Sarah looked to the side and then down at her feet. Instantly blood rushed to her head and she felt her neck drop and let her head hang. She rolled it up and allowed her eyes to focus, before moving through the crowd.

When the movement settled, she looked down at the plot. On the right, was her grandmother, who had been lowered and was covered in the letters that people wrote her. Sarah sighed briefly with a harsh breath that escaped her mouth. She looked up at her mom through watery-eyes, who nodded at her with a smile.

She looked to the left. There in the ground was a plot of land, and a tombstone marked with “Loving Grandfather”. Her heart beating faster, she walked over to it and placed her hand on its head. She put her other hand on her chest, which blocked her heart from pounding out of her chest. She gasped and yanked her hand back, aware of how unwanted her presence was. She didn’t want to think back to that night and what she had done.

She staggered, out of breath, back to the original spot and looked back down into the hole. Everyone listened to her struggle to breath questioning whether they should reach out and grab her, or let her carry on.

Finally, she reached in her bag and pulled out the letter. Although its contents were unlike the others, Sarah unfolded it and looked over the words. She dropped her bag on the ground and gripped the corners tightly with both hands. She swayed with the wind and lost her balance, tripping over her feet. The crowd gasped and reached a hand out, but she managed to pick herself up. With one knee on the ground, she braced herself with the other hand and re-read the letter. Her heart was beating faster and faster, louder and louder as she looked over the words. Her red hands crumbled the edges of the paper that had been torn from reading too much. She picked her hand up from the ground and placed it over her chest. Her head was swaying side-to-side, heavy from the blood. Each breath was harder and harder, as her eyes scanned the paper. She swayed, each beat pulsing through her body.

Thump thump, thump thump, thump thu—

Silence. Her eyes rolled backwards, and her body collapsed and fell into the hole. Looking in, her limp body laid on top of the coffin, with the open letter clutched in her hand.



Dearest Sarah,

I want you to know that I love you very much. I know that these past years have been hard for you, and I’m glad we were able to be so close. However, I’ve been keeping something from you, just as you’ve been keeping something from me.

I know what you did. You took something from me, something I can never and will never get back until now. For the rest of your life, I hope you live with the guilt, knowing I didn’t have to die alone.

Love,

Grandmom