The Things We Tell Ourselves

Something wasn’t quite right. The light a touch too bright, the colors a little too vibrant. Janis moved nothing but her eyes, waves of vertigo and disassociation flooding her body. Nick still snored softly beside her, puffs of morning breath assaulting her nostrils. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but something was wrong.

Glancing at the alarm, she sighed, 6:58, two minutes before it would screech its morning war cry. No time for morning meditations or unease. A clumsy hand flung out to flick off the alarm. She borrowed energy from sunlight drifting through the windows. Human photosynthesis, forcing sleep stiff muscles into seated position. Janis gazed at Nick and felt a longing to cuddle her nose to the nape of his neck. She ran the pink pad of her finger along the stubble across his cheek. Soft against rough grounding her to reality. Under her soft touch snoring ceased, an incantation casting peace.

Casting aside blankets and yearnings, she slipped out of the room. Sweet solitude of a house newly awakened tickled senses. Ears perked at the beginning sputters of a coffeemaker fulfilling pre-programmed destiny. Her pace quickened in anticipation, taste buds weeping for a first hit. A small noise, the shuffle of an imp, dashed dreams of dallying over a cup of Joe. Janis turned, and the world blinked.

“Mommy?”

She leaned against the wall, catching her balance as the world returned to equilibrium. Forcing down a swell of nausea, she feigned a smile for her son.

“Go wake your Dad, buddy.”

Branson regarded his mother with a sleepy seriousness only available to a six-year-old. He wore his father’s face, each feature and every mannerism a precise of copy. The child resembled his mother in only a certain stubbornness. Gripping his most trusted a companion, a green blankie a little tighter, he ignored his mother’s directions.

“Do you need breakfast? I need breakfast,” he said, placing a small hand on his mother’s arm.

A genuine smile settled on her features as she patted the boy’s night-stricken hair. The genius of children always amazed her. He was likely correct, her dizziness just a side effect of hunger. She could no longer hear the burbles emanating from the coffee machine, although its nutty aroma still beckoned her.

“Maybe, if you are really good, Dad will have time to make pancakes before school. Now, go get him before I eat YOU for breakfast.”

Dramatically loud chewing noises chased his giggles down the hallway, green blankie highlighting his escape path in the dust. Freed from the pleasant of trap of Branson’s attention, Janis resumed her mission towards the kitchen. She gathered porcelain mugs, stained from mornings bygone. She was pouring a measure of milk into each cup when “brzzzt,” the doorbell rang. Milk startled from its path, splashed against green Formica. She stared at the mess, momentarily confused by the intrusion. It was early for visitors. With a sigh, she left both mugs and spill behind. Janis opened the door to find nothing but a box just bigger than a sleeping cat resting on the doorstep. It was wrapped in stiff brown paper; the kind favored by little old ladies wrapping over-baked cookies into care packages.

“What did you order now?” She called inside, bending to retrieve the parcel. Oddly, no label marred the clean surfaces. Looking up and down the street for signs of who had delivered and dashed, returned no clues. She frowned, only the faint smell of wood fire met her senses. Running her hands over the smooth packaging, the feeling of something odd loomed once again. She nearly dropped the package when Nick touched her shoulder.

“Probably, that nightlight I ordered for Branson. Damn, is it smoky out here? It’s been so dry I hope there isn’t a fire. Come get coffee. I have been informed I am making pancakes.”

He raised a wry eyebrow at her, taking the package and guiding her back inside. Forgetting about the box, the three fell quickly into the step of modern domestic life. Nick heated a non-stick pan while his doppelganger watched cartoons on a tablet. Janis at last poured two mugs of steaming coffee. She leaned against the pure white counter-tops, watching Nick move deftly through the kitchen. The nutty flavor was a balm on her soul.

It was a phone that shattered the scene this time. The ringing stopped by the time she found her cell on the nightstand. Frantically, it shrilled again before she even entered the passcode.

“Janis, Janis, can you hear me?”

It was her best friend and neighbor, Sandra. The normally chipper voice had shards of panic in it.

“Have you been online? They are evacuating our entire area, forest fire started near Bain Park and spreading quickly. It’s says if you have nowhere to go outside the South area to get to the arena. I hear houses are already burning”

Looking out the window, Janis could see more smoke clogging the air. Breath caught in her chest. Fear captured her words and held them hostage. The world seemed to blink again, only this time the cause was fear.

“Janis, I’m coming over.”

The phone went dead, and she launched into action. Her voice grated her ears as she shouted to Nick. He came into the room, frying pan in hand, expecting one of the minor emergencies that routinely faces every family. He, too, made a quick study out the window before dropping the frying pan and his smile onto the bed. Neither noticed hot butter leaking onto the sheets as they dampened towels and prepared to leave.

Branson was crying when they met Sandra in the driveway mere moments later. Smoke hung heavy and ominous in the air. Cars with frantic drivers already filled the streets. Janis spotted harried people scuttling across lawns loaded with various belongings. Branson's young face winced as she pulled his seatbelt strap tight.

“My blankie is gone,” he howled into the air.

She looked into his eyes, filled with fear he couldn’t understand, bereft of his blankie and explanations. She looked nervously into a sky tinted yellow and brown. Hands shaking, she grabbed Nick’s arms as he tossed bottles of water into the car.

“Nick, can you get his blanket, and maybe the computer, all of our pictures are on it. We can’t let it all go.”

He watched her, sleep still caught in his hair, despite the flurry around him. He kept his emotions behind a façade. Sandra, who had been trying soothe Branson during the brief exchange, held her car keys up to him.

“Get what you need and take my car. I’ll drive your car with Janis and Branson. Just hurry.” Nick snatched the keys from her hand. He kissed his neighbor firmly on the forehead before doing to the same to his wife. Kneeling in the car door, he hugged his son, cooing promises to bring his blankie if he would be good and quiet.

Janis watched checkered pajama pants jog across the yard, back through the open door of the house. The world blinked again. Her voice sounded fake in her ears.

“I am going to stay and help him, take Branson and go.”

Nothing felt real. Conscious thought floated above, her reactions muted and false, as if she was playacting. She felt, more than heard the car speeding away, carrying her son and friend to safety. Woodenly she trudged across the lawn, dread mounting with each footfall. As she entered the house, she heard fire approaching, a roar that consumed everything but fear. Glimpses of Nick racing from room to room streaked across her vision. Curiously, her mind was blank. Entering the kitchen, her eyes caught the paper-wrapped package on the table. She was still staring at it when she heard Nick’s voice behind her. All sound had died away, the fire, the car horns, even her own heartbeat.

“You must let go. I am supposed to be here, and it’s not your fault.”

His voice caressed her mind. She tried to hold on to the sound, her brow furrowing in pain and confusion. She reached for his hand and it came up empty.

“I love you,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” she stammered.

The world blinked, longer this time, and when the scene returned, Branson small and pajamaed stood in Nick’s place.

“Open the box, Mommy,” his childish voice implored.

She looked down at the brown paper package suddenly in her hands. Effortlessly she tore off the paper, and setting it on the counter, opened the box to peer inside. Nestled there, like an animal sleeping, lay Branson’s green blankie, stained from his first days on earth. An acrid aroma rose from the box. Half of the blanket was black with char. Janis felt her mind clench. Something tried to break through her fog.

The room faded away. Counters and kitchen, walls and home evaporated. She stared into the whiteness of eternity. A small man, sterile and clinical in appearance, hovered before her. She almost recognized him, but memory shied back.

His voice filled the void.

“Janis, I know you are confused. As the drugs wear off, you will know that this is part of your treatment. When your memory returns, we will remove the virtual reality device. Reliving trauma is always tough, but it is important. I will be here to guide you and to listen. It is time to stop blocking Nick’s death. We need you to remember, for your sake, for your son”

Janis remembered. She remembered that morning, so carefully avoided until now. She had never returned to the house that fateful day. She had traced his path from the passenger seat as her friend drove the car to undeserved safety. Nick, disappearing forever on an errand she had sent him. She remembered news of fire engulfing their home not fifteen minutes later. She remembered a tired a firefighter explaining unpredictability. She recalled days on end without her husband, numb to the pain, ignoring her son, ignoring herself, ignoring the grief. For the first time, Janis remembered it all, and for the first time, hot tears slid down her face.