January 1, 2012 Fiction






See Through Time


Marita C.  Masuch



The smells of garbage invaded my senses, rotten meat gagging me, buzzing flies irritating my ears. Vaguely, an alley, with sunlight at the end, above, and the stench. It was difficult to focus. When I managed to pull myself up, my head swam from the effort. My black dress torn, my red heels dirty, one broken. My ankle had a dark, swelling, black bruise. I felt weak but moved forward, towards the end of the alley, away from the stench. I stumbled, putting my hand against the brick to steady myself, a scrape on the heel of my hand wincing at the touch. It all felt so strange, something obviously not right. Images swirled, disjointed, emotions unable to connect to the right moment. Fear gripped me, suddenly, then left swiftly. Laughter bubbled up drowned quickly by sorrow. I swirled with lost hours trying to connect the now with the then.

Disjointed memories – The chardonnay, golden in the glass, left a fruity taste on my palate. Several sips, my tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, my head buzzed and body relaxed. Charlie was sweet, deep, cerebral. His lips soft against my ear as his voice hummed in his chest. I vibrated with his touch, with his words, his fingers brushing my hair, his thick lashes making me jealous. Why do boys always have the long, thick lashes girls crave? My thoughts were swimming, I was weightless from the wine, smiling with his touch, warming with the deep voice singing in my ear. His bass thrumming with my inner vibrations, perfectly in tune. It had only been a few weeks but just being around him was visceral, all sensation and liquid. He made me laugh until tears streaked my face dripping from my chin. But he also knew how to romance. His touch gentle. Together we were the crescendo, the orchestra in motion, washing over the crowds, each note melding together blending in sound to create symphonies of emotions.

Another swirling memory – The laughter rang in my ears, our eyes smiling, my best friend teetering back to the bar for another round. It was a grand evening, celebrating, another year passed, another year survived. Midnight, our kisses sweet, auld lang joy of celebration. I couldn’t get enough of his taste, his touch, his voice was so perfect, singing deeply in my ear, the way that I liked. He knew how to get to me, the deep singing that could be felt in his chest, like a hum, sensual, dark, delectable. That deep vibration, thrumming, connecting to my primal core, tap, tippy, tap until I hummed. The taste of whiskey on his lips against mine, running down my neck, laughing. We all celebrated with abandon; it was a bad year that we were happy to see end. He started the New Year right, on bended knee, with laughter and champagne.

My eyes felt gritty, sticky, as if dotted with syrup keeping the lashes stuck together. Each muscle ached separately. The ground rumbled again, closer, the metallic clang getting louder. A foul stench of old garbage wafted down, washing over me from somewhere to my right, a sickening smell of rotted food, fetid meat, gagging my throat.

My emotions twined with memories – The road dust furled behind the roaring motorcycle, speeding towards the church. We laughed, both late for our own wedding, while the guests wondered if there would be a celebration. After, rushing through rice rain, we flew to our honeymoon in the tropics. Hot evenings with skin sweating, drops of water sliding down my back. My fingers sliding across his back absently. My hair wet with salt water. Quietly, gently, he put his hand, cool from the mojito, against the back of my neck. His fingers caressing the base of my head. I didn’t relax into him until he leaned closer, softly, until his lips brushed my ear and hummed the way I liked; deep, from his chest, so it wasn’t the sound but the vibration that soothed. When we returned he surprised me with a loft I dreamed about, red brick walls and large windows. We hummed our life together.

The next flash of images – My mother cried. Not just cry, weep like a child losing a beloved pet for the first time, before experience with death. She looked crushed by the weight of loss. My brother placed his hand on her shoulder, standing behind, silent. He had no tears but his eyes rimmed red as if they flowed for unseen hours. The coffin draped in layers of calla lilies. My father always hated calla lilies because they reminded him of funerals, deaths flowers he called them, but they were my favorites. The simplicity of the flowers and the strength of their stems appealed to me. Calla lilies everywhere, some bruised purple, some yellow, but mostly white. Strong, sensual flowers of death.

The garbage man jumped from his truck. Thank goodness. He headed toward the alley, toward the rotting meat, the flies, the garbage. The garbage man ran to the end of the alley, shouting something. He passed me. Confusion gripped me. I turned my head, looking in the direction he ran, saw him bending over a woman. Another woman? My vision rushed towards me, the air flooded out, my senses twisted in a strange array of memories.

I was dragged, my body broken, dumped in the alley. My dress torn, my knees bruised, my body black and broken. My ankle hurt because the bone jutted through my skin. My mother crying wasn’t a memory. It was a moment to come. The coffin with the calla lilies. The flowers, I always loved the flowers. The pain flooded through me, crippled me. I stumbled with the feelings, the memory of the pain, falling to the ground watching the horror-stricken face, hearing sirens, shouting, and a crow calling an early morning meeting somewhere above.

Last moments – He was shouting louder than I ever heard him shout before. I don’t know why he was so angry. It was his fault, he made his choices, he decided he couldn’t be a one woman man. We fought, I was so angry. The heavy lead crystal vase shattered against the wall like a movie, the water dripping down the wall, the crystal shards glinting in the evening lights. He kept calling me bitch which just enraged me further, causing me to screech like a cat in an alley. Why did he have to do this?

His hand hit my face, hard, sudden, angry, full of rage. He never hit me before. I was so shocked I didn’t feel it. Instead I flew at him, determined to hurt him, show him I was not the type of girl who could be beaten into acceptance. He hit me, over and over, standing above me as I cowered on the floor, hands covering my head, trying to disappear among the floorboards. I pushed him too far. His normal gentle nature, his sweet humming, his maple voice no more than guttural grunts as he pounded his fists against my flesh. He kicked and raged, “Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Over and over. I cried I was sorry. I would accept, I would submit, just stop, anything, stop. It hurt, I hurt, my head rang, my shoulders pulpy, my wrist ached as he dragged me. My ankle, twisted in his hands, my body dragging across the gravel.

I had no past, no future when I walked out of the alley; I could see through time.


Pages: 1 2 3


No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.