Remembering

The sun shone brightly through the massive oak trees that surrounded the house. The green leaves cast shadows on the driveway that resembled a Dalmatian’s spots. Bees hovered in the flower garden gathering pollen from the brightly colored flowers planted on either side of the front door. Birds flew around and landed in the grass, searching for food or materials for their nests.

It was a hot summer’s day in July, but Melanie didn’t care. Her attention was on the house, and the fact that what could have been a place of happiness, could never be the same to her again. A flood of memories and emotions welled up inside of her. As the tears came, Melanie stood in the driveway of the one story soft peach house with her suitcase beside her, and her Chevrolet Trailblazer crammed with all her belongings parked in the driveway. “I just can’t live here anymore,” she said. “It hurts too much.”

As the minutes passed by, Melanie allowed herself to be transported back to the day, three years prior, when she and her fiancé Peter decided that this was the house for them.

~~~~~~~

The sunshine streamed through the living room’s picture window of the newly remodeled one story house. Sally Thompson of the local Remax office was giving Peter Williams and the future Melanie Williams their first walk through. They were going to be married three months later.

“This is a perfect starter house for a young couple,” Sally told them. “The previous owner installed state-of-the-art windows throughout the house. They’re lightly tinted, so at night if the curtains are opened, you can see out, but it’s harder for people to see in.”

Twenty-five year old Peter had recently graduated law school and had opened his own firm. Twenty-four year old Melanie was a student at the local technical college where she studied massage therapy. Her parents were not thrilled when she told them after graduating with a Bachelor’s degree in Accounting that she was going into massage therapy. Peter and Melanie listened in awe as the real estate agent gave specific descriptions of the two bedroom, two-bath home. The hardwood floors throughout the house had recently been varnished, and the smiles on the faces of the future Mr. and Mrs. Peter Williams reflected in them.

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll see the kitchen.” They followed Sally into a spacious kitchen just off the living room. Two of the four walls were equipped with white oak upper and lower cabinets. To the left, there was a space for a refrigerator.

“Oh, wow!” Melanie exclaimed. “I love it!” Peter followed her gaze to the window over the sink, overlooking the side yard.

“The previous owner loved that window, too,” Sally said. “You should see how pretty it is at dawn and dusk. I think you’ll be just as pleased with the rest of the house.”

After walking through the remaining rooms and seeing every closet, nook, and cranny, Sally heard the words that she loved most: “Where do we sign?”

Two birds started chasing after each other in front of Melanie, bringing her back to the present. “We had so many dreams and plans, didn’t we, Peter?” she said out loud, still standing in the heat. But Peter didn’t answer her, and he hadn’t for the past six months. Images of painting the rooms filled Melanie’s mind. In spite of her unhappiness, she chuckled at the memory of the paintbrush fight that Peter started while painting the master bedroom. Melanie had walked into the bedroom to finish the wall she was working on when Peter casually took his paintbrush and painted her left cheek a deep maroon. With a paintbrush in hand, Melanie turned to him, and the entire front of Peter’s face became maroon in one even stroke. They had chased each other around the room for fifteen minutes before Peter gave in. “You had so much paint in your hair, you were afraid it wouldn’t be out in time for the wedding,” Melanie said as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

More images moved like a newsreel through her mind. She saw Peter cutting the grass and then running from a bee after he pushed the lawn mower too close to the cluster of white orchids that it was feeding on.

Her mind went back to their wedding two and a half years ago. The church was adorned in white and yellow roses. Her four best friends were dressed in soft sunshine yellow spaghetti strap bridesmaid dresses, and the four groomsmen were dressed in black tuxedos with matching yellow ties and a single yellow rose buttenere on their lapels. Her dress was pure white ballerina style with roses inlaid along the hem and train. She remembered Peter’s smile as the door to the back of the sanctuary was opened and he saw her for the first time. The closer her graceful figure got to the altar, the bigger his smile got. Still standing in the driveway, she heard every word the preacher had said, from “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today”, to the vows, and to his final remark of “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Williams.” The wind blowing through the trees sounded like the applause that had erupted from their family and friends at the church.

For the hundredth time, she relived the moment when she got word of her husband. After class let out, she had decided to go to the mall as a reward for getting a perfect score on the new massage technique the instructor had taught them the week before. It had been an ideal day for shopping. Every piece of clothing she had bought had hidden sales attached to them. The price tags said “Save 40% on original price”, but when she went to pay, the register took off an additional 10% per item.

Melanie was leaving Foley’s when her cell phone began playing the theme song from 'Friends'.
“Who’s that?” she asked out loud as she looked at her caller id.

“Hello?” Melanie said as she stopped outside the store to search for her car keys.

“Mrs. Williams?” a male voice said.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Mrs. Williams, this is Officer Boranski of the Zachary PD.”

“What happened? What’s going on?” Melanie asked, becoming overwhelmed with fear.

“Mrs. Williams, you need to get to Lane Memorial. Your husband is there.”

“What happened? Is Peter okay?”

“One of your neighbors saw him collapse outside your house. She grabbed the cordless phone and rushed over. By the time she got to him, he was in the grass having a seizure. She called 911. He was stabilized and rushed to the hospital. She followed the ambulance there so neither of you would have to be alone. She’s there now."

The line was silent. “Mrs. Williams? Mrs. Williams, are you still there?” the officer asked.

“Which neighbor?” she asked distractedly.

“A Ms. O’Brien.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m on my way.”

Melanie pushed the ‘end’ button, tossed her phone into her purse, found her keys, and ran across the parking lot to her SUV.

The drive to Zachary seemed to take longer than usual. Every light turned red before she could cross the intersection, and no matter how many times she changed lanes, she stayed behind slow drivers.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she pulled up to the hospital. The emergency room waiting area was packed with people. She ran past them to the admitting desk.

“I’m Mrs. Williams. I’m looking for my husband, Peter Williams,” she said to anybody that would listen.

A doctor who was standing nearby overheard. “Mrs. Williams, I’m Dr. Kennedy. I’m treating your husband.”

“Is Peter alright?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.

“Let’s step over here so we can talk,” he said, leading her to the side of the hallway.

“Your husband suffered a seizure in the ambulance, and two more after he got here. Now, the brain scan we did showed that there is still brain activity, which is hopeful, but his brain was deprived of a lot to oxygen, and we don’t know what the effects will be.”

“What caused it? He’s only twenty-seven,” Melanie said through tears.

“We’re not sure. We think it could be something in his blood sugar. When the tests come back, we’ll know more.”

“Can I see him?” Melanie asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Sure, but let me prepare you for what you’ll see. He looks like he’s sleeping, but he’s in a coma. He’s hooked up to monitors to observe his brain activity, breathing, and heart rate. There’s a tube in his throat to help him breathe. There’s also an IV in his arm giving him fluids.”

“Okay,” Melanie said, clutching her purse to her chest.

The doctor led her down the hallway to a corner area. “He’s right in here,” Dr. Kennedy said as he stepped aside to let Melanie go into the room. She walked quietly to the side of Peter’s hospital bed and sat down in a chair that was already in place. She took his hand in both of hers, and gave it a tender kiss.

“Can he hear me?”

“I believe he can,” Dr. Kennedy said from the foot of the bed. “I’ll leave you alone. If you need me, I’ll be right outside.”

As Melanie listened to the heart monitor beeping, the tears began to flow freely. She positioned herself in her chair so that she was able to rest her head on her husband’s chest.

“Oh, Peter. I love you,” she said as she stroked his hair.

“Melanie?” a soft voice said from the door.

“Yes?” Melanie asked, as she pulled herself from the bed.

“It’s Bridget. I saw the doctor bring you in here.”

Melanie stood up and went to her neighbor. As they hugged, Melanie’s violent sobbing shook them both. After a few minutes, they released.

“How is he?”

“The doctor is waiting for the test results. He said the brain scan looks okay, considering what happened. They don’t know what the long-term effects will be. He had three more after you called the ambulance.”

“I’m so sorry, Melanie. Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so. You saw him collapse. I’m grateful that you were there.”

Suddenly, the monitors that were connected to Peter began a chorus of shrill beeps, and Peter started shaking in his bed.

“Peter! Peter, no!” Melanie screamed as she ran to Peter’s side.

Bridget rushed to the door. “We need some help in here!”

Within seconds, the room was full of doctors, one of them being Dr. Kennedy, and nurses.

“Please help my husband,” Melanie said through tears.

“Mrs. Williams, please step aside so we can work,” Dr. Kennedy said.

Bridget stepped forward and grasped Melanie by the shoulders. “Come on. Step back here with me,” she told her as she guided her to the wall facing the foot of the bed. “Let’s let them work.”

Melanie watched in a daze as the doctors shouted orders to the nurses. Dr. Kennedy kept asking where the test results were.

Finally, the seizing stopped, and the heart monitor gave a long, steady beep.

“Get the crash cart. Charge the paddles to 300,” Dr. Kennedy ordered.

“What happened?” Melanie screamed.

“Your husband’s heart stopped beating. We’re going to try to start it again,” Dr. Kennedy responded. "Why don't you step outside?"

"No. I want to stay." Melanie watched the doctors shock her husband, perform CPR, and order more drugs like it was a dream. With each shock, Bridget’s tender hold around Melanie’s shoulders got tighter and tighter. Then the doctors and nurses stopped using the paddles and giving him life saving drugs.

Dr. Kennedy looked at the clock by the door. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Time of death: 4:52 PM.”

“NO!” Melanie screamed. “No, no, no!!” She broke free from Bridget’s hold and ran to the bed. “Peter, Peter,” she sobbed as she laid her head on his chest.

“Dr. Kennedy,” an aide said from the door. “I have the test results back on Mr. Williams.”

The doctor took the papers and looked them over. “I don’t believe it. Mrs. Williams, did you know that your husband was diabetic?”

“What? No. He was very healthy.”

“Well, his blood sugar is unusually high for a person in his age group. That’s what caused the seizures."

The next few days all passed by as if Melanie was watching it happen to somebody else. She wasn’t sure how, but she made it through the wake, funeral, and burial. She found herself going to his gravesite every day after class and sitting for hours. She went through the motions of family and friends making sure she was okay. As much as she appreciated it, she also just wanted to be left alone. She grew tired of the way they touched her arms and said things like: “In time it won’t be so hard,” and “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” She knew they meant well, but every comment, every sympathetic hug, arm touch, and grim shake of the head, made it that much harder. Shortly after Peter’s death, she finished school and became a certified massage therapist.

Before she knew it, six months had passed, and she found herself standing in the driveway, starring at an empty house, and crying.

“If I don’t go now, I never will,” she told herself.

With tears in her eyes, she turned and walked to her SUV. After putting her suitcase in the back of the vehicle, she slowly walked to the driver’s side door and got behind the wheel. After turning on the engine, she had to will herself to move the gearshift from “Park” to “Reverse.” Stopping at the end of the driveway, she allowed herself one last look at the house that, only three years ago, held so much promise of a perfect future. Her eyes found the Remax for sale sign with Sally Thompson’s name and phone number.

“Better luck next time, Sally. Goodbye, Peter, I’ll always love you.” She backed into the street and didn’t look back as she drove off.