A Place to Stand Read online

  “For crying out loud! What the hell are you doing to her?” Jess stops mid-spin and starts laughing.

  Another one of our adopted sisters, Red, has arrived. Red is really Amber. We have called her Red for forever on account of that hair. She keeps it short. Almost pixie-like. I have known Red since I was thirteen years old. She is my rock when Jess and Liz got into this country shit. I’m such a rock girl. Red is only slightly older than me. She took me under her wing and taught me what great music there was in the 80s. I mean, Red gave me The Smiths, Elvis Costello, The Cure—the good stuff. My parents raised me on the 60s’ greatest hits.

  Later Red and I would discover 90s’ alternative rock together. She always got a kick out of Ryan and I, too. She enjoyed that he had introduced me to 70s’ classic rock, and progressive rock from every generation. I never heard Pink Floyd or Led Zeppelin before Ryan. Then there was Rush; his absolute favorite band. He was a guitarist and loved every technical aspect of playing progressive rock. He was so good at it too. He had magical fingers. I sigh. Before I can start feeling anything again, I turn my attention to the sisters.

  “Country’s greatest, Jess? Really? As if she isn’t going through enough, you torture her with this shit.” Red is displaying faux frustration with her hands on her hips and fighting a smile.

  Jess can only laugh. Liz and Jess are three sheets to the wind. They are beyond caring what Red’s saying.

  They all continued to trash-talk each other for a long time. I suspect that some of it is forced for my benefit. The longer they can keep me numb and distracted the better, and they know it. Surrounded by their laughter and shitty banter, I lay back on the bed and fall asleep.

  Funeral

  I wake the next morning spooned against Jess’s back. I tilt my body to try and stretch when I bump into Liz. “Bitch,” she murmurs in her sleepy stupor. Lord, it’s her favorite word. Everyone is a bitch. Bitch is a multi-functional word for her. It is a noun, pronoun, proper noun, verb, adverb... you name the part of grammar, she uses it in that context. I love her for it, too. That girl has been looking after us for nearly fifteen years and she’s still here. Cuddling me through this pain like she said she would.

  I look over and see Red passed out in an arm chair. She is small enough to ball her whole body up in the damn thing. I wish I was a petite, feisty red-head. She is so fun. No one gives her shit. She hands people their asses and is my mentor in sarcasm. I take in the scene around me and know I can’t ask for better people to see me through this. Sisters all around me. Every last one of us. But where is Marie? I have a momentary ache of concern. I sigh in resignation and shake the thought.

  Very carefully, I inch toward the end of the bed, sliding out of the middle. Jess flops on to her back and stretches, while Liz does the same on her tummy. I grin and make my way to the bathroom. I have to pee so bad I think my bladder is going to jump out. I am washing my hands and consider using Jess’s toothbrush when I accidentally look up into the mirror. I freeze. I don’t recognize myself. My eyes are puffy and bloodshot. Dark circles reach deep under my eyes. I’m ghostly pale, yet my nose is bright red. My hair is sticking out in every direction possible. I am a hot damn mess.

  I decide to take a shower even though I don’t have clean clothes. I run the shower and get in. The water is hot enough to melt skin. I wash my hair and soap my body. Then I stand under the water letting the heat numb me again. That is all I want, numbness. I don’t want to feel or deal with anything. Can’t Jess and Liz sign papers and make phone calls? Red can certainly deal with life insurance and payoffs on stuff. They can get the death certificate.

  Death certificate. Yeah. I have to have that now, too. There is actual documentation that certifies Ryan is gone. Dead. Somehow, I slide down to the tub and rest on my aching knees. I guess that sting is all the scrapes from yesterday. Then I remember how southern people handle death. People are going to be coming over all day. I shake my head and try to forget that part. I really dislike people, in general. At some point I start crying as I’m thinking through all the details of the coming days. Ryan always did the right, social things. He always held me up, an arm around my waist, and helped me do the right things. I was always so awkward in a crowd of people. He was a superstar. People loved him. He was warm and genuine. Just laid back all the time. Easy going.

  My throat aches and my back hurts. I’m shaking all over. I don’t notice the water is running cold. I have no idea how long I sit under the cold streams crying when they’re finally turned off. I look up and Jess is holding open a bath robe. I stand and wrap it around me. I try to wipe the tears and water from my face. Maybe she can’t see the tears.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll help pay the water bill.”

  “Are you crazy? Don’t worry about that. Let’s get your hair combed out before it knots up.”

  My hair is the same as hers—long, black, curly. It knots up easily. Jess sits me on a stool at her vanity. She is a classic southern belle in some respects. She has her vanity and her tools of torture…I mean brushes and combs. I’m sure, if I dig around, I’ll find the flask she keeps in her bra at social events. Not to mention the piles and piles of makeup she is so adept at applying. Compared to her, I am a plain girl. I don’t get so much into the aspects of being presentable and beautiful at all times. Ryan had loved me anyway. I was just his type of “no fuss” girl. God, I miss him. He would have laughed endlessly at her primping me the way she does.

  She decides the heat is just too much. Flat-ironing my hair would look amazing at the funeral, but she decides against it. Sweat is worse for forced-flat hair than humidity. I sit still like a child. She oils my hair, combs through it as gently as possible for her, which isn’t gentle at all, turns out. I can’t look in the mirror while she works. We look so much alike that seeing us together in that mirror would reinforce just how horrible I look and feel right now. I just sit with my eyes closed and focus on not thinking. When she finishes, I know better than to mess up her work, but I can’t help the desire I have to climb back in bed. Once I’m there, I become aware that Liz is gone, and Red isn’t in the chair.

  “Where’s Liz?”

  “Making breakfast. You scared us when you got up like that.”

  “Where’s Red?”

  “She and Connor went to get your car from the funeral home.”

  I nod, and then something she said comes back to me. “Scared you?”

  “Yeah. I’m not saying you’re not capable, but you don’t know how to live without him. We are seriously concerned. Don’t be mad, but that’s why we all slept here last night. You needed us, but we needed to be sure you wouldn’t do anything...drastic.”

  Ouch. That hurts. It’s just Jess being Jess. Honest and straightforward. That’s her way. “True. You can trust me. I’m not stupid. I couldn’t do that to you or dad.”

  “You can’t. Do you hear me?” She lowers herself until she’s eye level with me. Nose to nose. “We can get you through this. But you have to agree to keep living.” I stare into her emerald eyes; they are just like Mama’s. Her worry is evident.

  “I know. Didn’t your dumb ass hear the shower running? That should have let you know where I was, and that I was okay.” I try to lighten the mood.

  “I did, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t... You could have...never mind...”

  I absorb her words. It’s shocking that she thinks I could do that. “Jess, promise me one thing.”

  “Anything.” She is rubbing my back now; a sure-fire way to put me to sleep quickly.

  Sleepily and through a yawn, I manage to make my one request. “Don’t let me feel anything. Okay? Promise?”

  She doesn’t answer immediately. Finally, she says, “Promise.”

  I can count on Jess to hold up her end of the deal. She will be my buffer. She can get me through this. We have always gotten each other through the tough stuff.

  When Mom was sick, my sisters and I learned to lean on each other pretty hard. Two long years of watching h
er health decline. We promised each other not to cry in front of our dad. There were a lot of tag team walks when one of us just couldn’t handle anymore. Jess and I were always the strongest together. Marie isn’t as strong as us; she always wears her emotions in plain sight. She never understood why Jess and I didn’t. How could we? How would we get Dad through that if we did? I’m overly competitive and sarcastic. My voice carries for miles when I’m talking or laughing. I can’t whisper.

  Once, my mother had been called to the school to see the principal because they were concerned about my hearing. My mother gave them permission to test me. Turns out I could hear fine. My mother eventually explained, “She’s a middle child and competes for attention.” After that, I was left alone and only reminded to use my inside voice. My mother was fantastic.

  She died at home after declining dialysis and requesting hospice care. I never saw her body before the cremation. In my mind, she is alive somewhere; still breathing, still making jokes, still laughing. The same way Ryan is in my mind. I never went to see him in the hospital morgue. My dad and Ryan’s mom did the identification. Plus, he had his driver’s license in his wallet. I don’t understand why someone had to go do that. I think Ryan has good company up in heaven. Hopefully Mama is showing him the ropes.

  I didn’t even make decisions at the funeral home. My dad and Jess picked the casket, the plot, the order of service, and called our friend, a pastor, to lead the services. I heard all the whispers about me losing it because I was the decision maker. Always. I knew what was supposed to happen and when. I lived by an agenda down to the fifteen-minute mark. In this, I couldn’t. I was losing it. I did shut down. No one seemed to believe I was capable of a shutdown. I wouldn’t have believed it either. It was like my mind was doing self-preservation and shut itself down.

  The more I think about my sisters and immediate family, I’m glad Jess is the one getting me through this. One day I would have to remember to let her know how appreciative I am for everything she’s doing for me now. It isn’t over. There’s so much to get through.

  “Did I hear Marie downstairs?”

  “Yeah. She got here a couple hours ago. She’s fielding visitors and accepting casseroles.” Damn. Southern women try to feed every emotion.

  “No Jell-O salads, please.”

  “You know Mrs. Virginia brought a damn Jell-O salad.”

  “Gross. Tell Marie ’Thank You’ for me. I know we haven’t been getting along, and I know she can’t handle things like a normal human, but I appreciate her being the one to handle all these people for me.”

  “Honey, she was built for that shit. She can handle those fake bitches better than you or I can. She knows how to thank them and send them on their way without letting them up here. It is her greatest skill. Southern hospitality.”

  “At least one of us got that trait.”

  Jess laughs at me and rubs my back until I’m nearly falling asleep again. The only thing I’m worried about is my hair being a knotty mess when I wake up. I’m glad that is what’s going through my head. I can’t think about Ryan anymore, or my poor lonely daddy, or the mother I’m still grieving four years later. I need to keep things surface-level for the duration of at least one nap. I can deal with everything else when I wake up. Whenever that is. If I wake up. I can’t care.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Hmmmmm, no... should I be?”

  He slowly wraps his arm around my waist. He snuggles into my back and tugs me into his body. I feel a wave of aggravation because he stole half my pillow. I groan and turn my head until I can see his face.

  Smiling, I ask, “Any reason you want me to be awake right now?”

  “Well, I have to go meet Connor. We’re re-wiring the cables in their house to improve their Wi-Fi performance on DSL to the stereo system in the living room.” I shut him up by kissing him. Boy, when he gets on a roll with that stuff. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hot, but irritating sometimes.

  “...And...?” I ask as I let go of him.

  “And... I was hoping you might want to see me off.” I can hear his smile as he runs his nose down my neck.

  “Mmmm, are you going to make it worth my while?”

  “I can try.”

  “There is no try, only do.” I smile at him and he laughs.

  I roll over and look directly at his sweet face. Ryan’s eyes are a very light green with a touch of blue. Not your typical emerald green. Oh, and he smells delicious. I just want to sniff his neck all day. I lean in to nuzzle him.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” he laughs lightly.

  “Yes. Mmmm, yes.” I kiss around his throat and down to his chest.

  He wraps me snuggly in his arms and trails his hands over my body. I kiss up his neck then tug on his earlobe, and he lets out a groan. I know that’s one of his things. He slides my tank top off and kisses down my chest between my breasts. He moves one hand to my left breast and his other to squeeze my rear end. I throw my head back, enjoying his explorations of my body. Ryan kisses down my body, leaving a heated trail of tingling goosebumps from my breast down to my hip. I lift off the bed in an arch as he kisses my inner thigh. “Ryan! Don’t... Oh, my...yes.” I hear him laugh. Oh, he loves doing that.

  I look down to see him, determined to stop him so I can get a few more kisses in. I see his light brown hair and reach down to find the edge of his jaw with my fingertips. “Wait, up here,” I try to stammer out, and then try to tug at him to get his attention. When he looks up at me, all I can see is blood. It is dripping down his face. There’s a gash on his forehead. I look, and it is everywhere. It is on my body and smeared across our sheets.

  “Help me, Rhae.” He reaches his hand out to me. I try to grab it and it slips away from me. I try over and over again, but I can’t seem to get a grip on him. He’s slipping away from me. His skin is gray and sickly. “Ryan! Oh my God! Ryan!” I’m screaming and trying to grab him again, but he is gone.

  “Rhae. Rhae... Rhae! Wake up. Stop screaming.”

  Jess? “What?”

  “Are you okay? You with me?”

  I can’t seem to shake that dream. The tremors seem worse now that I’m awake. I look around the room, searching for Ryan. Where is he? He was just here, where did he go? I grab a pillow and pull it to my face. The tears come fast. I sob until I hurt all over. Jess smooths my hair down. Then she apologizes. “I’m sorry I had to wake you up. Were you dreaming?”

  “Something—” Sniff. “—like that.”

  “Nightmare?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “No. Definitely dream. Well, mostly. Until the end.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “It was the last time we…” I stop.

  The corners of her mouth turn down into a frown before she says, “Oh, you’re still not comfortable talking about sex with me? You have been married for five years, but won’t talk about sex?”

  I smile at her. She knows me so well. I just have no idea how to have that conversation with someone. It feels like I’m betraying a private moment with Ryan if I do. “I could tell you, but I’m not sure what would happen. Would you get grossed out? Would I laugh? Would I...break...down...” I am breaking down. I can’t even joke with her about it right now. “Jess… I can’t do this,” I say through sobs. It feels like I’m drowning. I can’t catch my breath despite the anger I feel for letting anyone see me like this. I know it’s Jess, and she promised to take care of me.

  “Rhae, breathe honey. Deep breaths. Close your eyes. You are okay and strong enough to get through this. I promised to get you through this, and I will. Try to calm down. Get in the shower. Wash your hair again. I’ll be back in a minute. You’ve had a nice nap, but we have to get you ready.”

  She’s right. I know she’s right. I take deep breaths; each one feels like it’s stretching my ribcage. Finally, I start to feel myself calm, and I make it to the bathroom to do what she told me to do. What time is it? What day is it? How long have I been asleep? I avoid t
he mirror and get undressed and into the shower. I run my hands through my hair. I haven’t been asleep long. Just long enough for it to dry looking crazy. A shower is a good thing. I try tune out all emotions and feelings. I try not to think. I just wash like a robot and get back out. When I step into the bedroom, I see that Red, Liz, and—oh shit!—Marie are here.

  “Hey. Where’s Jess?”

  “Right here,” she calls as she comes back up the stairs. “Here. Take this. Drink. Sit down at the vanity. Red, go into her bag and get her something to wear to the funeral.”

  When did I get a bag? Damn. Today is the funeral. I don’t want to do this. As I think through what Jess is saying, I feel the panic rising in the back of my throat. I feel her stroke my hair. Styling me. I know she can tell I’m shaking and breathing crazy again, but she just lets me work through it on my own. Continuing to give orders, I hear her tell Marie to bring me something to eat. She gives very specific instructions, “Bring her something with protein but will sit light on her stomach. Only bring enough to keep her from passing out.” Marie hurries out of the room to execute Jess’s orders.

  Liz sits on the bed and starts to make jokes about casseroles and crazy ass southern women trying to feed everyone until it goes away. “It’s why we’re all overweight. Bad habits handed down by many generations.”

  I think she has a great point, but Jess tells her to shut up anyway. Who cares about being fat today? It is what it is. God love Jess; always practical and just taking care of what has to be done in the current moment.

  “Okay, babe. Stand up and get dressed.” Jess is ordering me now, I realize.

  I stand and turn to see a black dress in Red’s hands. “No.”

  “What? You have to go.”

  “I’m going, but I’m not wearing a dress, and I’m not wearing hose. No heels, either. I can’t do that today.”

  Jess looks to the others for support, and then asks, “What do you want to wear?”