Forgiveness in June

 

Revised: September 19, 2004
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Forgiveness in June

June 20, 1999

         “Dave, Hey, Dave! It’s Sandy on the phone, she is pretty upset.” Jason, the new art school intern was shouting and holding the paint spattered black phone up. Dave lifted his welder’s mask, shaking his head; sweat beading along his long, black sideburns.

         “Damn, she knows I have a deadline, I’ll never get this sculpture done!”

         “Take it; you have to take this call!” Jason pleaded, afraid to anger his new boss, yet shaken by Sandy’s incoherent sobs, her voice shaking.

         Dave threw the two-pound sledge at the half-finished steel frame, creating a clamor that echoed loudly though the converted garage. Dave crawled out of the huge metal sculpture and grabbed the phone. Not waiting for the din to subside, his voice carrying an irritated edge, Dave said, “What! Damn it Sandy, you know I’m busy!”

         “Dave,” Sandy was sobbing, “Susie’s dead… hit by a car. Dave, Saint Luke’s Emergency…the doctors,” Sandy’s voice trailed into incoherent convulsive gasping, “The doctors… couldn’t save her…Dave!”

         The blood drained from Dave’s face and a horrible gnawing feeling, like an eight-pound sledge slamming into his gut, caused him to drop the phone and fall to his knees. Covering his face with thick, heavy welder’s gloves, soot and tears smearing his face, he began to cry, “Oh God, not my little girl!”

         Susie Parker, a little angel, was the brightest spot in Dave’s hard, painful life. Dave remembered this morning, her soft delicate fingers playing with his earring as he kissed her cheek goodbye. He saw her golden hair flowing in tiny ringlets framing those beautiful, bright blue eyes. Dave began to wail again, his sentences unintelligible.

         Jason, frightened, unsure of what to do next, knelt down, and placed his arm on Dave’s shoulder, “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

         That was five years ago today, June 20, 1999, and Dave was where he always was on June 20th. Drunk, sitting on the grungy couch, alone in his apartment. Dave picked up the loaded 44 magnum on the armrest and took another pull from the bottle of Jack Daniels clutched in his tattooed hand. He never had the guts to pull the trigger even with the gun stuck in his mouth. Instead, Dave put the Smith & Wesson down and began to cry. He wanted the pain to stop; even a bottle of whiskey no longer dimmed the memory of his little angel. He felt a coward now, not brave enough to pull the trigger he knew would make the feelings go away. He felt nothing as the whiskey bottle smashed his lip ring, blood running down his chin. He chugged another drink.

         Suddenly there was a loud knock on the apartment door. “Who’s there?” Were the only words Dave could stammer. The banging continued as he staggered to his feet, knocking week-old pizza boxes off the filthy coffee table. Empty beer bottles clattered to the floor. He barely reached the door still standing, staggered backwards and then forwards as he unbolted the security lock without even bothering to use the peephole. Swinging the door wide with a false bravado, he had to grab the frame to keep from falling down.

         Standing before him was a beautiful woman. Dressed in pressed brown slacks, and matching blouse. Her long brown hair brushed to a healthy shine. Silver earrings offset a pretty, olive skinned face. He looked in disbelief at Sandy the woman that had killed his little girl and slurred the words, “What the fuck to do want?”

         Sandy’s bright blue eyes twinkled as she said, “Hi Dave, you got a minute?” She pushed past Dave and walked into the dump he called home, He caught a sense of her Cartier perfume, a fragrance foreign to his lifestyle. “Dave, I really need to talk to you. You know what day this is, of course, how could you forget?” Her stylish clothes and freshness were out of place among the empty bottles and grubby food wrappers. She turned and looked at Dave, his chest and arms covered with new tattoos A serpent spiraling up his arms from knuckles to shoulder, a dragon’s wings spread across his back. Sharp, reptile talons drew black blood from his neck. Her eyes focused on the real blood dripping down his chin, “Dave, are you all right?”

         Dave was stunned; his brain began to shut down from too much whiskey and the shock of seeing Sandy again. He leaned back against the wall and slowly slid to a sitting position on the floor. Blinking, looking at Sandy as if she were a ghost, the slide continued sideways until his head hit the floor, he wet himself and then was out cold.

         Dave awoke to the smell of frying bacon, he blinked and his head split open, the pain of another damn hangover, would he ever learn to stop drinking whiskey? Sitting up, he looked around the shabby room, the bottles, food wrappers and pizza boxes were gone, “How did I get on the couch?” He said aloud to no one in particular, “What the fuck time is it?”

         “Hi Dave. You awake?” Said Sandy, her voice familiar yet strangely confident and happy, surprised him from the kitchen.

         “What the hell are you doing here Sandy, get the fuck out!”

         Dave could not contain the rage he felt for the woman who had invaded his apartment last night. For five years, he drank and schemed a thousand ways to find revenge for what she did to his little girl. Dave would always blame Susie’s death on Sandy for getting high with her friends that day and not noticing little Susie going out the front door, chasing the neighbor’s kitten. Susie never saw the delivery truck speeding toward her as she ran across the street outside their Central Philadelphia row house. Now, Sandy had the audacity, after five years, to walk in on him! He was contemplating using the Smith & Wesson still on the armrest as Sandy walked into the room with a full plate of eggs, hash browns, and bacon, a fresh mug of coffee in her free hand. Dave lashed out again, “Get out of my house, Bitch”

         “Sure Dave, I will leave as soon as I say what I came to tell you last night.” She set the food down in front of him and the smell of fresh coffee and warm food made him forgot the gun and his anger, as he sat down at the now clean coffee table. “Dave, I don’t blame you for what you did to me that day, I only want you to know that I forgive you.”

         Dave’s face turned red with disbelief, he was not sure he heard her correctly. “You want me to forgive you?” his eyes fierce with anger. Then he noticed the long scar running along her left cheek and painful memories flooded back into his brain. The last time Dave had seen Sandy, she was lying unconscious in a pool of blood as he stood over her with a bloody pipe wrench in his hand. Dave had found himself in a fit of uncontrolled, drunken rage, blinded by her confession, the truth behind his daughter’s death. Here she was, clean, healthy, and serving breakfast, the most beautiful woman, and the best food he had seen in years, a confusing situation he did not understand, and again Dave could feel the pain he so desperately wanted to stop.

         Sandy began the words she had so carefully planned, “Dave, I came here to make my amends to you for what happened to Susie.” Before Dave could interrupt, she held up her hand to silence him and continued, “I was wrong that day, a terrible, unfit mother and did not deserve to have such a beautiful child. Dave, I am responsible for Susie’s death and I know that I am also the cause of your pain. I cannot bring Susie back nor can I fix your feelings about what happened. I am here to tell you that I was wrong. That it was my fault, and God knows I am the one to blame.”

         Oh, I get it now, Dave thought to himself upon hearing the 'G' word, she has gotten religious on me, a fanatic and the next thing you know she will want me to go with her to some damn church.

         Sandy continued, “Dave, I’ve had too much time to think about how I was five years ago. I am different now; changed in so many ways. Today, I celebrated five years of sobriety. Five years without taking a drink or drug, of any kind, not once since the day of Susie’s death.” Sandy walked over and knelt in front of Dave and took his dirty face in her slender hands and looked him squarely in the eye, “Dave, I was wrong that day, I know I caused you a life-time of pain and for that, I am truly sorry.”

         She pulled Dave close and kissed his cheek. He was speechless, his emotions mixing inside like a blender. What should he do now? He looked at Sandy and saw her clear, blue eyes, and knew she was telling the truth; she was clean and sober. He thought she was different, calm, understanding, and genuine in her apology as if she really understood how he had felt these last five years. He had always wanted her to suffer for what happened to Susie, not come waltzing into his life and apologize!

         Sandy turned and walked to the door, leaving Dave standing in the middle of the room, breakfast still warm on the table, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. “Please, wait a minute Sandy.” Dave set the coffee cup down and walked to her. He could not believe the next words that came out of his mouth, “I would like to talk some more. Please, sit down, and have a cup of coffee with me before you go.”

         Sandy smiled and turned back and gave him a warm hug. “Thank you Dave.” She was truly happy he had given her some more of his time.

         Suddenly, Dave began to feel uncomfortable again in a different way. He was feeling guilt and shame for the way he had treated Sandy, for hurting her and then turning his back when she needed him most, during her grief over loosing their little girl. He could not believe that she was not asking him to apologize for putting her in the hospital that last night they were together. “Sandy, you have changed. Have you gotten religious on me and started hanging out with the preacher-man these days? Dave continued, feeling more uncomfortable and having trouble finding the right words, “How is it that you are so…well, together after all that’s happened?” He was looking at the floor now, not sure of himself or where this conversation was going. “Well, if it isn’t religion then what gives?” Dave said, fearful that he would soon get an earful of preaching.

         “Not religion Dave, I have been given the precious gift of sobriety.” Sandy said as she held up the coffee pot and offered to refill his cup.

         No one had been this kind to him for as long as he could remember. “Sandy, I’m…well, sorry or I apologize for hurting you.”

         Sandy looked at Dave and said, “No, I said I was wrong. I've made too many empty apologies in my life, apologies for my crummy behavior and repeated the word “sorry” too many times, with no intention of changing. What I said back then didn't matter, I just continued to do whatever I wanted.” Sandy continued, “For five years, I have been learning to forgive myself for what happened to Susie, something you wouldn’t understand right now.”

         Dave was confused. Thinking it just wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair at all that he could not hate the woman standing before him like he had hated her when he was plastered to the bar stool, drooling in his beer and crying on the shoulder of any woman who would listen. Wasn’t fair that she was happy and content with her life and he was so miserable. Almost in tears now, Dave said, “Sandy, how is it that you are so peaceful and calm after all that’s happened? Help me understand, what am I doing that’s making my life so miserable?

         Sandy smiled, “Dave, we’ll have plenty of time to talk, the eggs are getting cold. If you want, I am going to a meeting tonight at eight down at Holy Trinity Church. You’re welcome to come and meet some good friends that help me stay sober.”