The Anchor

Jello. I feel like I am pushing through unflavored Jello. Not the red kind, cherry or strawberry, but the old fashioned kind that promised lots of protein for healthy nails. Suddenly I remember that I used to bite my nails as I keep pushing through the clear gelatin that now is tinted silver because of the streaming light rays flowing from the drain. I am not ready yet. Not ready to fall down the drain. I laugh at my own joke because it is really up, the drain, but it isn’t really a drain. Then what is it? My body is stretching and pulling as if an unseen driver holds the reins, the same driver who pulled the plug in the upside-down drain. I am drifting the wrong way. Down, I need to stay down.

And I do it. It is easier after I slide behind the blond wooden table set between the seats like a booth in a restaurant. Richard and I both liked the idea once. Now, the table makes a good anchor, it helps to anchor my thoughts too. I rub my fingers across the darker wood where the grain is rough, where plates of fried chicken and cups of coffee and bowls of stew have been placed. There, to my right is the dark ring stain from the hot chili pot Janie set on the table. My mental balance sways as I reach my hand over to the burnt stain and remember her young, white face, red with tear streaked cheeks, the burnt varnish odor, and emotional young cook. I catch myself drifting once more as the bumps of burnt wood threaten to throw me backwards into memories, but I stop the memory. It has almost melted the thick jelled air in which I move. No, I have business to tend to, I must keep holding on.

I turn away from the stain determined to keep my mind in the right direction. I face forwards, towards the newspaper and the man behind it sitting across from me. A cup of coffee and saucer with dry toast on the wood table. His spot, I see now, is also worn with wear. I don’t know why I never noticed such details before. Perhaps it is the jello or the silver light that intensifies everything. Never mind. Remember why you must hold on. I do try to hold on.

“Did you sleep well?” I sent across the table, but my words, as if printed on a piece of plastic wrap are caught in the upward breeze. They drift away in a parabolic curve up towards the glittering drain.

Not everything flows up to the drain, light streams down through it like narrow ribbons floating on frosting, curled at the tips. The kind of ribbon that curls into ringlets with scissors, ringlets like they used to put on little girls heads long ago. I used to do Janie’s golden hair. The light glows iridescent at the edge of each ribbon converting the thick air into a wonderland of dancing light. I catch my thoughts back. No time for wonderland right now.

My hands rest neatly just above the table surface and I watch as a string of silver light streaks across the table into my trembling fingers, curling around my wrist as if to pull me away. As if gravity is lost for the moment. Gravity turned wrong, pulling the other way. I smile at my thought, but I keep my eyes on the white paper with its trivial, printed ink words.

Suddenly the newspaper is laid flat on the table. Richard, white hair uncombed, mussed and out of place, gives out a whole body sigh then lifts his coffee cup to his mouth for a drink. I watch his hands grip the cup just as I watched them for thirty years. His eyes have that same intensity of thought, the same wrinkles that give him a squint, his deep hazel eyes and rough eyebrows that always look like a frown.

I must speak and this time I gather up all my strength so my words will be more forceful.

“I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault.” I yell into the thick air only to watch my words slowly float across the table and bounce off his cheek. Some slide off and past his left ear which gives me hope. “I love you.” I say but the words flatten out and go nowhere before they disappear.

His eyes take on a glassy, staring look. He seems to look right at me but does not reply. He sighs once more as his shoulders droop. His eyes forget to blink.

I know this isn’t possible. Eyes always blink. I know it is a reflex and we humans must always blink, but Richard’s eye lids do not move. He is staring directly at my face while his eyes do not blink.

Once more I ask, “Are you well?”

I have spoken to softly and lovingly because the letters that form my words float down falling onto the printed news paper page that faces up on the table. I look down as if I could catch the letters back with my eyes but they have fallen near my name printed in small, bold ink letters. Now they lift and float away towards the sky drain and my eyes follow the words up because I have no interest in the small paragraph that portends to display my life in quick form.

A single life distilled and inked onto wood pulp. But the memory of the accident came back suddenly. A memory of myself confined inside a body that refused to move. I heard the medic say “Probably paralyzed for life.” My eyes were glued to Richard face bent above mine, his eyes looking deep into my own with fear and rain and steam forming a halo around his white hair. I would have spoken to him then, but could not.

I must speak now. So little time. I sigh and push my head forward towards Richard, but a soft ribbon catches my eye and my sudden turn almost pushes me to far to the right. I am able to clutch the table if I move slowly and use it as an anchor for a moment, though the table too is made of hardened gelatin and would melt at my touch if I squeeze too hard. I loosen my grip.

That night his eyes looked just as they do now, fearful as he looks across the table at me. Has he blinked yet?

Forgetting, I reach my hand out to ease his sorrow and mental turmoil. The sudden movement has pulled me from the table anchor and I watch in horror as the palsied, green seat covers get smaller and move down and away. I am rising, lifting towards the blue, sky drain. I can hear bells tinkling or soft whispers calling? Not yet! My anxiety increases into a crescendo of fear as I drift further upwards. I reach for the table but it has moved too far from my grasp. Anchorless I panic until I close my eyes against the drift. This slows me down and I notice that my movement has sent me on a collision course with Richard’s right shoulder.

Yes, this will work I think as I brush against his side. My lips push through the clear gelatin and brush against his ear. Now I throw my voice into his ear canal with all the force I can summon up. “I love you,” I yell, “I forgive you.”

Oh, yes, this is what I needed to say.

Richard’s head twists around and turns my way as I float upwards towards God’s blue sky. I see shock mirrored in his eyes and his mouth opens. He blinks and looks in the direction of the kitchen ceiling where I am heading.

“I love you.” I hear him say as I move further upward and far from his reach.

The gelatin has thinned and discolored turning milky silver and blue. The sky drain pulls at my thoughts to scatter them in disarray, but not before I have time to roll my words down a narrow curling, twist of ribbon. “Good by my love.” Paradise awaits.”

The end