awk•ward

 

Rena Mason

3 a: lacking dexterity or skill (as with the hands)

A dinner plate slips through my soapy fingers, falls into the sink, and breaks into several pieces. I gather up the shards, careful not to let them go down into the garbage disposal. A milky fog is billowing just outside the open kitchen window. There is a faint glow to it and then I remember the front porch light is on. A chill blows in and spreads across my face like a sheer, icy curtain. It’s strong enough to make me wonder why I’m washing the dishes so late at night. I turn around and step toward the wastebasket, then drop the broken pieces into it. There’s a muted clang as they hit the metal sides covered in layers of wet, discarded potato peels. I turn back to the sink and gasp. My younger sister, Tiffany, is reaching through the open window. Her upper body stretches through the large frame and her arms are extended out over the sink. She looks enormous and disproportionate somehow.

“Tiffany! What are you doing?” I say in a loud whisper, afraid I’ll wake our mother.

“Let me in,” she says. “I forgot my key.”

Something about her doesn’t seem right. Her hair is wet, droopy, clinging to her face the way moss hangs from the bark of a tree. Her skin is also the palest shade of green. The fog reflects white in her eyes.

“You don’t look so good. Are you okay? I didn’t hear your car.”

“Would you please just let me in? It’s freezing out here.”

“Fine, then. Go around and meet me up front. And you better be quiet. Mom’s asleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.”

Rushing out of the kitchen, I hurry past the bottom of the stairs to the foyer, grab hold of the two brass levers and pull open the double doors. Some of the fog rushes in, but my sister is nowhere in sight. “Tiffany!” I call out into the thick swirls of endless white.

“What are you doing?” my mom asks from the hall.

“It’s Tiffany, Mom. She forgot her key.”

“Oh. No!” A look of horror seizes her face. “She’s dead… She’s dead, and you can’t let her in. Sometimes they forget and, if you let them come back home, they won’t ever leave.”

Feeling numb and despondent, I turn back to the open doors and stare at the empty fog. What have I done? I slam them shut, rattling the glass. Then a phone rings.

I wake with a start, bolting upright in bed. The phone on my nightstand is ringing. Part of me is relieved I was only dreaming; the other part is disturbed by its subject. I answer the phone, wondering if I’m really awake.

My older sister, Faye, uses strong words full of electricity that seem to surge through the receiver and give me a shock. The phone falls from my hand and crashes to the hardwood floor. Shona leaps from her side of the bed, ready for an attack.

“What? Who’s that?”

“It was Faye.”

“Faye who?” she says. “What are you talking about?”

The alarm clock on my nightstand glows an eerie, red 2:30 a.m. I reach up and tap the light switch.

“Do you mean Faye, your sister?” she says, relaxing her stance alongside the bed. She uses her hands to shield her eyes from the bright light.

“Yeah. Her.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Tiffany’s dead.”

“Your little sister? Oh, my God, are you sure? Talk to me! Tell me what happened.” Shona stumbles around to my side of the bed, then kneels in front of me. I take her hands, peer down into her soulful eyes, then take in a long, deep breath. Tears trickle softly down my cheek. As if an emotional dam breaks, a steady flow ensues. I tighten my grip on her hands.

“Faye told me that Tiffany died in a car accident earlier this evening.”

“What? When…why did she wait so long to call?”

Hungry for air, I gasp for breaths between sobs. “Please, Shona. Let me finish.”

“I’m sorry, but how did it happen? Was anybody else hurt?”

“The police think she was speeding around the back roads on her way home. Then maybe swerved off the main road, rolled down the hill and hit a tree before sinking into the old pool. No one else was hurt. Apparently, she was alone.”

“Oh, my God, that’s awful. I’m so, so sorry. What can I do? Is there anything I can do? Can I get you something?”

“Come with me?” I whimper. “I have to go back and face the family that abandoned me—us.”

Shona gets up from the floor and sits down on the bed. She puts her arms around my shoulders and pulls me close. I rest my wet, swollen face against the base of her neck. “Of course, you know I will. You didn’t have to ask. I’ll call work and let them know. I’ll contact your supervisor at the hospital for you, too.”

I nod my head into her shoulder and mumble, “Thank you.”

When my crying slows, Shona releases me, helps me lie back down, then returns to her side of the bed. “Let me get my laptop and start checking flights,” she says. “Try and sleep. Breathe. I’m right here.”

Unable to close my eyes, I stare up at the ceiling and try to conjure my last memory of Tiffany. Shona in my peripheral vision distracts me from retrieving it. I can see and hear her fingers clacking at the keyboard. “Relax,” she says.

I take in a deep breath and fill my lungs until they burn. “You know I can’t.”

“I’ll take care of it. There isn’t much you can do in your state, anyway.”

She’s right. I exhale hard, letting the back of my head sink deeper into the pillow, then attempt to ignore her. Like the plate in my dream, I lie here broken, watching her gather up the shards of me. It isn’t until now that I think about the strange dream and the possible significance it might have had.

“I dreamt she died.” My voice is low and raspy.

Shona lifts her fingers from the computer keys, then turns to face me. “What?”

“Tiffany—she died in my dream—or she was already dead, I don’t know, but I let her in. I let her in and I wasn’t supposed to. I’m not sure I did the right thing.”

“Stop it. You’re creeping me out.” She reaches over and puts her hand on mine. “Try not to think about it now. You told me that you and Tiffany were close, up until…”

“You’re right.” I interrupt, not wanting her to continue probing a sore subject when she’s trying to help me. I turn my palm up and weave my fingers through hers. This will be difficult for us both.

~

While the plane taxis down the tarmac, I look out the window and stare at the steep white snow banks along the runway. The gray day reminds me of when I met Shona nearly three years ago. I was a senior at nursing college. Denver roads had been accumulating snow for over two days and I didn’t want to risk driving, so I took the bus. After waiting at the stop for less than five minutes, it arrived, entirely dusted with fine white flakes and a heavy brown undercarriage of collected dirt and ice. When the door opened, I stepped on and immediately realized I wasn’t the only one with the bright idea. All the seats up front were full.

I made my way toward the back, grabbed a handrail, and stood across from a woman wearing a heavy North Face jacket, rugged mountain boots, and a hat with earflaps made from shearling. She was beautiful in a tough way, with dark eyes and black curly hair that formed a near perfect ring around her neckline. I was in awe of this woman. She looked like someone who belonged on the pages of National Geographic. I wondered why she was riding the bus and not snowshoeing wherever it was she had to go. Then the bus hit a patch of black ice, slid across the road, and slammed into a parked car. I was thrown to the side and fell right into her. She caught me and we both laughed.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No problem. That’s what I’m here for.”

“What do you mean?”

“So you don’t fall.”

“Oh,” I said with a silly grin that wouldn’t stop. “Thanks.”

And she’s been preventing my falls ever since.

After a few months of dating Shona, I came out, and told my mom and sisters we were moving in together. My mom went ballistic, verbally disowning me over the phone for not being the daughter she thought I was. I’m sure my sister Faye, who’s always been my nemesis, only made matters worse for me by talking my mother into going against me. Poor Tiffany didn’t have much of a choice but go along with them. She always knew I was bi, I think, and it never bothered her, but she was living at home, just starting college, and was financially dependent on my mom for everything. It was the last time I’d spoken or heard from any of them, except for an occasional letter from Tiffany.

I wonder where I put those…

4 a: lacking ease or grace (as with movement or expression)

It’s sometime in the afternoon. The plane has landed. Shona pulls me through a forest of travelers toward the baggage carousel. I don’t remember getting dressed this morning, if I brushed my teeth or did my hair. I’m lost, still trying to process what Faye told me over the phone. Wondering if I heard them right. But even in this alternate universe where Tiffany no longer exists, I can feel the stinging sear of Faye’s presence. She’s a solitary figure standing next to a sign that says unclaimed luggage. She looks exactly as I remember—shoulder-length dark hair and brown, almond-shaped eyes—just like me, my mom, and Tiffany. How did she know we would be here? Shona must have called and spoken to her. But when?

“I’m glad you made it,” Faye says. She steps toward me with her arms open for a hug.

I move forward, trip over my foot, and tumble into her. Shona grabs my arm and helps me regain some balance. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little out of it,” I say. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Faye snaps her coat collar up, then flips her hair back. She reaches out to Shona for a hug. I notice she doesn’t pull her in as close and pats her on the back like a good dog. Maybe I’m just looking for it, but I have the feeling it’s going to be a long drive from Sacramento to San Francisco, the earliest flight Shona could find.

Faye enters the highway and stays in the slower traffic lane. I see her grip the steering wheel. She’s got something to say. “When I called you last night, I didn’t exactly tell you the whole story.”

And there it is.

“What is the whole story, then?” I say.

“Tiffany actually died about a week ago…they think.”

“What? Wait a minute. Who thinks?”

“The police do.”

“What! Can you, please, just start from the beginning?”

“Fine, I will if you stop interrupting.”

I feel Shona’s hand on my right shoulder, gently holding me back against the seat. “Okay.” I exhale loudly. It’s meant for both of them to hear. Shona moves her hand away.

“About a week ago, Sunday night exactly, Tiffany never came home. We thought she was just out late with her friends, then decided to sleep over at one of their houses. Well, Monday came, and she was supposed to start a new job at Java Go, but she never showed up. The manager called and asked for her, but we had assumed she’d gone to the job without coming home first. We started calling all her friends after that. No one had seen her since Sunday night. Then we phoned the police and filled out a missing persons report. We made up posters and hung them everywhere.”

“Wait. Why didn’t anybody call me when she went missing?”

“Because we thought she was with her friends. She always spent time away from home with them, sometimes for two to three days at a time. We didn’t think anything of it. We expected her to come home.”

“So, then what happened? I mean, when and how did they find her?”

“Two surveyors were out plotting the wooded area southeast of the house. They saw the car upside down in the old pool, but didn’t report it because one of the surveyors wanted to come back later and take the bronze tire rims. When he returned and got in the water next to the car, he smelled something rotting and called the police. Officers went to the scene, tracked the license plates, then contacted us. They pulled her from the car last night and made a positive ID, using the driver’s license they found in a purse next to the body. That’s when I called you.”

“Jesus,” I hear Shona mumble from the backseat.

“Wait a minute, though. You said the police ID’d the body using a driver’s license that was in the car?”

“Yes.”

“But how do you know for sure it’s her? Maybe it was someone else’s purse. Have any of you seen the body?”

“No.”

“So there’s a chance.”

“Well, maybe. No, not really. The police are certain it’s her. They’re waiting for the dentist to fax over X-rays and records, but that seems to be taking forever.”

“What a nightmare. How’s Mom handling all this?”

“Not so good. She made me call you last night. She doesn’t believe the body’s Tiffany’s. She wants to see it, but the mortuary doesn’t think it’s a good idea because it’s so decomposed. Even if the dental records positively ID her, Mom won’t let it go. I don’t know what to do. I’m so glad you’re here…”

Whatever she says next is unintelligible. For the first time since we were little girls, I see her cry.

4 b: lacking the right proportions, size, or harmony of parts

We’re zombies in our own horror show gathered in the mortuary lobby, waiting to speak with the manager. Faye, and her husband Dan, my mom, and her close friends Bill and Mary. Even Tiffany’s best friend Kim is here. Everyone has on navy blue as if they were going to job interviews, except for my mom, who’s wearing an ivory trench coat. Her hair is pulled back with a clip, but it’s still a mess. Their faces are pale and nondescript—a group of anybodies, nobodies waiting for anything, or nothing in particular.

My mom looks somber and lost. As do the rest of them, but I understand now why they called me. I’m here to be the pillar—the rock. I haven’t been as close to the family these past few years, so it shouldn’t upset me as much. I’m a nurse who sees death often and it won’t be as hard for me. And maybe, because they think I love differently than them… No, I doubt they’re that cruel.

The manager couldn’t be any more obvious in his dark blue suit and ready-to-wear look of sincere condolences. Before he reaches us, I walk toward him, meeting him alone, halfway down the hall.

“Good morning. Mister Harper? We spoke earlier this morning on the phone, the Miller family?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. Please, call me Mike. You must be Trina. First, let me convey my utmost sympathy for your loss.” He takes my hand into both of his and gently squeezes. I can’t help but feel the cheesy salesman charm ooze from him. “I’m really sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances.”

“Yeah, me too, but this is really important.” I slide my fingers from his warm hand-sandwich.

His demeanor changes from canned kindness to obvious irritation. “I understand, but let me warn you that the body has been submerged underwater for nearly a week and is still rapidly decomposing. This isn’t a normal request. I strongly urge you to reconsider.”

“Thank you for your caring words and advice, but this is a matter of peace for my family. You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“Well, I’m sorry you won’t change your mind. The staff here has done their best to conceal anything that may be upsetting. There are people waiting on standby if there are any problems.”

“Thanks again for your help, Mister Harper, but I don’t foresee any problems.”

“Please, follow me.”

“Give me a second to tell the others about what’s happening.”

He stops, but doesn’t look back at me.

I walk over to them and see that they’re all waiting with wide eyes for what I’m about to say. “I’m going in alone to view the body now. If I come out and say it’s okay, then everyone else can come in, but if I say it’s not, then I expect everyone to respect my decision.” I stare directly at my mom and she nods in agreement. My last look is at Shona. God, give me her strength.

Mister Harper stands back about ten feet and points to a set of double doors. “I won’t be joining you, but there are people standing by, if you need anything.”

“That’s all right. Really, I’ll be fine, but thanks.” What is it with him and the people he has “standing by”? Do they think we’re going to steal the body? Desecrate it in some way? I’m sure he thinks we’re morbid. I can’t wait to be out of his sight. I push open the double doors, step through and wait until I hear them close behind me. Half expecting to see the people on “standby,” my eyes do a quick sweep of the room. There’s no one else in here. Good.

It looks like a church on one side, with pews, a podium, and a large wood cross high up in the back of the room. I step forward and hit a wall of odor. The putrid smell of decay is suffocating. I’m beginning to understand Mister Harper’s insistence that we finalize our plans. In the back, to the right, there’s a large, rectangular table draped with white linen. The sun’s rays shine in through beveled glass windows onto the sheets covering my sister’s dead body. She’s surrounded by an ethereal glow, scattered with little rainbow starbursts. I move toward the table, but I can’t feel myself walking. Suddenly I’m standing against the table looking down.

The face is purple and bloated, but it’s undeniably hers. Tiffany’s. There are hospital sheets draped across the top of her head and just below her neckline. Everything is covered in white. Underneath the crisp linens, her body looks like it weighs five hundred pounds—a human hill covered with snow. Physically, it shouldn’t be her, but instinctively, I know it is. Then the memory of my dream comes and I see her reaching in through the kitchen window with this body.

On the verge of a mental breakdown, but refusing to call for the people on “standby,” I think fast. Our favorite movie was Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. We watched it over and over until the VHS tape broke. I look down at her again and she suddenly reminds me of the blueberry girl who stole the gum. Any minute now, the Oompa Loompas will come in and roll her away to the juicing room. And this would in no way shock me, because I know she’ll be back. Since I opened the door, I’m not sure she’ll ever leave now.

At least her eyes are closed. I lean in for a better look and see the sutures keeping her eyelids together. Hmm…maybe the rest of them won’t notice…

A curtain behind the table swings open. “Jesus!” I shout and jump back, clutching my chest.

“Sorry, ma’am, just making sure everything’s all right.” A young man says through a window from an adjoining room.

“I was fine until you scared the shit out of me. You could have told me you were there.”

“I just came in a minute ago, peeked out, and noticed you standing over the body.”

“Don’t do that when the rest of my family comes in, or I can guarantee you’ll have more than one body lying in here to deal with.”

“More people are coming in?”

“Yes, the rest of my family. They’ll be all right. I don’t think she looks that bad. Thanks for covering her up. You guys did a good job of that.”

“I’ll keep the curtain closed, but still be here if you need any help.”

“That might be a good idea. Thanks.”

I turn around and walk back the way I came in. Then right as I’m about to open the door, he calls out. “Hey, wait. Um, after they see her, then can we cremate the remains?”

With my hand on the door and without turning around, I answer him. “Yes, and thanks again for keeping it out here so long.”

3b: exhibiting a lack of expertness

My mom is the first one waiting outside the entrance. Everyone else pushes in around her and pins me against the metal bars keeping the doors closed. I have to hold them back with my hands like a street cop that’s lost control of rowdy crowd. Before I can react, the latches release and the doors swing open behind me. To avoid the stampede, I cling to the metal handle and move back with the door. The others only take a few steps forward before they stop dead in their tracks. The overwhelming stench commands their instincts to stay back.

My mom alone makes the long walk to my sister’s body. All eyes are fixed on her tiny frame moving in front of the snow-covered hill. She looks like a weathered sprite floating into a blizzard. When she gets as close as I was to the table, she stops and takes in a deep, labored breath. It’s a familiar sound. The same desperate wheeze someone dying makes when they gasp for their last bit of air. Certain what happens next, I let go of the door and run as fast as I can to my mom. The others part to make way and then stumble in behind me. I’m too late. Before I get to her, she lets out the highest-pitched, blood-curdling scream I’ve ever heard in my life. Every hair follicle on my body freezes. Shockwaves of electricity blaze up and down my spine, then explode through the top of my head.

Finally there, I grab my mom and pull her back against me. She violently yanks her hair, then reaches out for my sister’s body. She howls incoherent words and wails in between gasps. Bill comes around and takes her from me. He picks her up and carries her out of the room, still kicking and screaming.

I’m not sure how much time has passed since I’ve been standing and staring at the door when I feel Shona’s hand on my arm. I turn around and see the rest of them examining my sister’s body. Faye and Dan walk by me to leave. “Smooth move,” Faye says as she walks past. “I can’t believe I actually thought you knew what you were doing.”

Shona’s hand squeezes down.

“Maybe that was a mistake,” I say with a heavy breath. “Why do I keep doing the wrong thing?”

“It’s okay,” Shona whispers.

When they’ve all gone, I fall into Shona’s arms and cry helplessly in front of my sister’s body, God, and the guy behind the curtain.

5b: causing embarrassment

My mom keeps mostly to her room after what happened at the mortuary. Everyone tends to themselves and stays quiet. The day of the funeral, Shona and I ride with Mary and Bill. They walk ahead of us in the parking lot, then stop to talk to people I don’t recognize. A black sea of funeral-goers surrounds us. It’s easy to get lost among them. Mary and Bill are nowhere in sight by the time Shona and I get to the door. I’d wanted to wait for them, but others are crowding in behind us. Shona pulls me forward by the sleeve of my silk blazer. An older, rough-looking man ushers people in at the entrance. He looks somewhat familiar, but I can’t seem to place him.

“Ah, I remember you,” he says. “You’re the one with the Playboy lips.”

Shona gasps. “What?”

“Beg your pardon?” I say. The people behind us step back and there’s a sudden hush among them.

“You don’t remember me, do you? I’m Dan’s dad, George. Geez, the last time I saw you, you were only waist-high, but I always knew you’d be a looker. Is this your girl friend?”

Everything comes back to me at once—this idiot, my sister’s body, my mom screaming, Faye’s ungratefulness—a burning anger rises from within, and I’m about to let loose all my frustration on this man, but before he says another word, Shona nudges me into the foyer of the funeral home.

I can breathe again. “Did that really just happen?”

“It was surreal,” Shona says. “Your family is completely certifiable.”

My mouth opens as if I should speak out against her, but there’s nothing to defend. She’s never been more right. I’ve never felt so crushed.

5a: lacking social grace and assurance

A countless number of ghosts haunt this place, but not a single one is Tiffany. Strangers roam through the house I grew up in; I am the most estranged among them. Shona’s seated in a family room chair and I’m at the kitchen table, pretending to eat food brought by people I don’t know. I’m sure everybody here knows about Shona and me, but nobody really knows us, knows what to say or how to act when we’re around. So nobody talks to us. It doesn’t matter. I’m in no mood to make light conversation with people I’ll probably never see again. Shona’s usually the more sensible one, but even she looks haggard and undone.

Still wearing our black slacks and blazers, we decide to hike down to the old pool, which is about a quarter mile southeast of the property. The temperature outside has dropped as fog rolls in from the bay. My sister’s car had long been pulled from the murky, stagnant water, but we notice damaged trees on the hillside. The pool had been empty for years. Although the boggy stink of it occasionally wafted up to the house in the summer, there was something in the air now that reminded me of the funeral parlor. “Do you smell that?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready to go back up whenever you are.”

~

At the house, my mom was running around closing all the windows. The scattered guests that remained paid no attention to her. Or acted like it anyhow. I caught up to her in a corner of the dining room. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“She’s in the water now and when the fog comes in, she comes with it.”

I turned around and looked at Shona standing behind me. She had a look of fright on her face, but I wasn’t sure if it was because she was scared by what my mom had just said, or because she thought the old woman had lost her mind. “Help me,” my mom said. “Go and close the ones in the library and make sure that side door is shut.”

Shona went with me. When we stepped into the room, we noticed the side door was open. The mist from outside blew in. We hurried over to shut it and were struck by an icy-cold odor of decay. Shona gagged. I held my breath and pulled the door shut, but felt the presence of my sister in the room. The frigid draft moved like a living thing past us. We followed it into the living room, where my mother was. She turned around and looked at us. “You let her in, didn’t you?”

Shona grabbed my hand and then quickly walked me over to some chairs. We both sat down. Now that we’re here, I can’t remember anything about the funeral. People were there, I remember that, but their faces are blurred in my memory like ghosts. That’s how they’ll remain.

6: not easy to handle or deal with: requiring great skill, ingenuity, or care

Several days after we get back to our home, life begins to resemble something normal. Shona’s already back to work, but she made sure the hospital gave me two full weeks off.

The doorbell rings and I pause, remembering the dream of my sister. What if?

It rings again and I shake the thought, opening the door to an enormous bouquet of the most beautiful, vibrant flowers I’ve ever seen. A light breeze fills the foyer with a soft floral aroma.

“Please, come in. You can set them on the entry table right there. Thank you.”

Shona’s really outdone herself this time. The deliveryman leaves after I sign and give him a tip. I close and lock the door. Before pulling the note card out, I grab my cell and text Shona. The flowers aren’t nearly as beautiful as you. I love you.

Then I take the envelope and tear it open. It’s a letter in my mother’s handwriting:

I wanted to thank you for everything. Don’t ever regret letting me see your sister. It’s what I needed to know. That it was truly her. You gave that to me, and I’ll never forget it. I’m not ashamed of my reaction. I’m a mother. Maybe someday you’ll understand.

I’m so proud of how much you’ve grown and matured. Please thank Shona for me, also. I hope you’ll both make it out for a visit this year at Christmas. I would like nothing more than to see the two of you again. And don’t worry about what I said regarding letting her in. When she comes in the fog now, Tiffany smells like flowers.

Love, Mom

It’s hard to tell if my cell phone is vibrating in my hand or if it’s just my hand shaking. Shona is texting me. Flowers? Not from me. What’s that about?

I smile and cringe and text her back. Love…that’s all. And we’re going to my mom’s for Christmas.

If this is the result of letting Tiffany in, she’s more than welcome to stay.