Feeling This (7 page)

I turn on my heel, knowing I’m going to be
late if I stand here any longer. She calls out apologetically, “Kimber, I’m
sorry I didn’t mean it…”

I turn around smiling, “Yes you did. It’s
fine. I understand but I don’t have a choice, you know that. If you aren’t
already too busy with a boy toy, you know where to find me.”

I add, “Oh and did I mention, I get to sing
on Friday nights now.”

Abruptly I turn and walk down the hall
silently hoping I don’t run into Andrew.

She calls out behind me, “Damn Kimber, you
would wait until now to tell me. I want to hear the deets, okay I’ll be there
tonight, but just this one time. “

A smile spreads across my face as I
continue walking. I knew she’d come, guilt has a way of doing that to my
bestie.

The walk to my car is quick. Andrew doesn’t
make an appearance which I’m thankful for. To top it off the car starts right
up. My hand automatically goes to the dash and pats it gently, saying a quiet
thank you for not giving me a hard time. The ride to the Bruins goes pretty
quick for a twenty-five minute drive. They live outside of town on a sprawling
two hundred acre ranch. If I were smart, I would take up helping Mr. Bruin out in
the fields. I’d probably earn more but hard labor really isn’t my thing. 

Pastures of brown grass reach out on either
side of the two-lane road. Once I approach the drive a wooden sign above the
gate greets me, Bruin Ranch is scrawled across it in western looking letters.
The dirt road twists deeper into the property through a canopy of white ash
trees, my favorite part of the drive. Finally, I pull up to the grey two story
house stretching to the south. The front porch runs the length of the house. I
step out of the car, trying to shake the uneasiness that seeing Andrew caused.

As I climb up the front steps, Mrs. Bruin
comes out of the screen door wiping her hands on a towel. Her light brown hair
is pulled up into a bun with wisps of gray falling down framing her face. She
is dressed in a long cream skirt topped with a chambray button down shirt with
her sleeves rolled up. Her blue eyes crinkle with age at the corners as she
asks me with concern lacing her voice, “Kimber, is everything okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bruin, everything is fine. I got
a late start today.”

She nods, “I was getting worried, afraid
somthin’ happened to your Momma.”

I chuckle more to myself than to her, “No
maam, she’s still alive and kickin’.”

She looks away at my dry humor. She is so
good to me. I know I shouldn’t show any disrespect, even if it is to my momma
who isn’t even here, but sometimes I can’t help the words that come out of my
mouth. Usually she ignores me as if I didn’t say anything; other times I’ll get
a disapproving look from her.

I climb the last few steps and follow her
into the house. As soon as my foot hits the wooden floor, Michael and Martin
run up, each grabbing a leg, squeezing me to death. They both have buzz cuts
and blue eyes that mirror their mother’s.

“Whoa there boys, you’re gonna squeeze me
to death.” And I fall to the floor dramatically as if they squeezed the life
out of my legs. Both boys disengage themselves and burst into fits of laughter.
I lean over and grab each one in the chest, tickling them.

The laughter gets louder with lots of
squirming and pleading, “Kimber, no, no, no.”

After a few minutes I stand up, reaching
out to each of them ruffling their hair.

“Hey guys, I’ll be back in to play a game
right after I help your momma, okay?”

Both boys nod and turn back to the T.V.
showing the latest and greatest in cartoons. I can’t even keep up with all the
shows these boys watch.

Michael and Martin are twins that the
Bruins had only five years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Bruin are a little old to be the
parents of five year olds. She told me the doctors broke the news to them that
they would never be able to have kids and they accepted it for a long time. But
one day, right after her forty-fourth birthday, she discovered she was
pregnant. 

Before the boys she would visit with my
momma every week and bring food over. After the boys though, she had a harder
time coming over each week. When Jenna left she suggested I come over here
instead. I think she knew that momma was getting worse and she wanted to save
me a little. It works for me, I adore those boys and she’s not bad company.

My home on the other side of town is
nothing compared to this one. Momma and I live in a small two bedroom bungalow
style house. One day, I keep telling myself, I’ll be able to live in a house
like this one. It’s old and full of character that tells stories. The rickety
staircase leading up to the bedrooms and real wooden floors full of scuff marks
are only a couple of the things I love. Mr. Bruin has updated the kitchen with
all the newest modern styles like granite countertops and new appliances. As I
step into the room, I can tell Mrs. Bruin has her mind on things. She is
concentrating on something and not acknowledging that I’m here. The counters
are strewn with ingredients and she’s leaning over what looks like a recipe
card.  

She turns around suddenly aware of my
presence, “Kimber, can you get the flour and milk? We’re making pies today for
the ranch hands.”

I want to ask what’s on her mind but she
seems busy. It’s best not to pester her at the moment. I know she has a lot of
things going on with running a ranch this size.

Jordan

The sun beats down relentlessly on the back
of my neck. I stand stoically taking anything it has to dish out. This is not a
comfortable event and I deserve every bit of discomfort doled out on me.  My
mom has her arm wrapped around my back as if she knows I need her to hold me
up. Susan’s mother whimpers on the other side of her, encompassed in Dan’s
arms. My eyes focus unwavering on the long, white, smooth coffin hovering above
the hole in the ground, waiting to swallow it up. As the priest utters his last
prayer he turns and meets my glare. I take a deep breath and force my feet to
move forward. As if not in control of my actions, unfeeling, I raise the white
rose to my lips, kiss it and place it at the head of the coffin. As I back up,
an onslaught of people including my parents and Susan’s walk forward mirroring
my actions. I stand in my spot numb to reality. The only thing I can focus on
is that my life is over. My Susan is gone, and it’s entirely my fault.

***

After the funeral Susan’s parents host a
gathering. It’s tough coming here, knowing she won’t come barreling down the
grand staircase to see me. When we came back home from college, I found an
apartment in the city. Susan’s mother, Rebecca, felt it was more appropriate that
she live at home for the time being. I knew at some point she would move in
with me, she was practically staying at my place every other night as it was.
When we first came back though, I had to go through the motions of dating her.
I would come over and wait while she finished getting ready. She would come
down those stairs as fast as her little feet could carry her and just about
plow me over every time, happy to see me as if it was the first time we laid
eyes on one another. It was her way of rebelling against her controlling
mother. She would do things subtly here and there to let her mother know that she
was really the one with all the power. Staying at my apartment as often as she
did, proved that. My breath catches realizing that she really wasn’t in
control, at all.

I avert my eyes from the stairs and make my
way into the back parlor where the bar is situated. Dan, Susan’s father, is
standing next to it staring out the wide picture window across the acres of
grasses and gardens spanning the backyard.

I turn to leave the room before he can
notice my presence but I hear his desperate voice before I can get away,
“Jordan?”

I turn on my heel and pocket my hands,
staring at the cream tile under my feet.

“Jordan, son, can we talk a little?”

I look up and meet his pained expression,
“Sir, I don’t…I’m sorry, I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.”

He nods, acknowledging my apology, but
waves me in changing his tone, “I understand. Come have a drink, I know that’s
why you’re in here.”

 I slowly walk forward and grasp the drink
he hands me a moment later. I lift the glass to my lips, savoring the sharp
taste of whiskey and swallow the rest in one short gulp. He holds his hand out
for my empty glass and fills it back up. This time I sip it, cradling the glass
while the numb feeling the alcohol offers, begins to spread. I welcome it. Dan
turns back toward the back yard as if searching for something just out of his
gaze. I realize at this point we are all lost and searching for something that
will never again be present in our lives. My heart aches for her.

As the night rolls on, a barrage of friends
and family utter their condolences. After a while I get tired of trying to play
the part. Whatever that part is I’m supposed to be playing. I frequent the bar
until my dad finally finds me alone in the room endearingly named the library,
by Susan when she was a little girl. It has two full walls of books from floor
to ceiling. Centered above the leather settees is an amber chandelier which
gives the room an incandescent glow.

He comes to a stop in front of me, and
slowly lowers himself to the edge of the brown leather couch across from me,
“Jordan, I came to let you know that I’m taking your mother home.”

I nod and look away taking another swallow
of my almost empty glass.

“Son, come with us, come home for the
night. I’ll bring you back in the morning to get your car.” His voice is almost
cracking, while pleading with me.

I consider his request as I peruse my
options; the empty apartment with reminders of Susan everywhere or my parent’s
where there are people, where I won’t be alone.

I push myself up out of the chair and
momentarily lose my balance. My dad scurries to his feet as I stumble and
secures me before I can fall. I set the glass down on the low, round table and
gesture to the door, “Let’s go.”

My words sound a little slurred to my ears.
Better this way though. It keeps my mind numb unable to focus on anything for
long periods of time.

Kimber

Mrs. Bruin was in her own world this
afternoon. I was concerned, but it ended up being a blessing in disguise. The last
thing I wanted to talk about was Momma. Lately that seems to be her topic of
choice. I know she means well, making sure Momma is getting her meds and the
bills are being paid, but it’s too much sometimes. One of the main reasons I
stay away from home as much as possible is to avoid all the hassle and fussing.

After making the pies and helping Mrs.
Bruin gather lunch for the ranch hands, I played at least six rounds of Candyland
with the twins. They beat me every time. When lunch rolled around Mr. Bruin
came in to get the food we made for all the ranch hands. I know she likes
having me around, but she could do all this stuff on her own. It makes me feel
like a charity case sometimes and all I want to do is leave. I stay though, for
Momma, even though it makes a serious dent in my pride.

When 4:30 rolls around I reach for the
handle of the Jetta. My phone rings in my back pocket so I grab it, noticing
Heidi’s dimpled face and bright hazel eyes lighting up the screen.