Disclaimers: None. This is my idea, these are my characters and my voices. Please do me the courtesy of not using anything without my consent.
Warnings: Beware of mucho angst.
Acknowledgements: My wonderfully responsive beta, Nat. You’re so good for my ego. Thank you.
Constructive comments are gladly accepted and responded to, flamers will be file 13’ed.
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THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING
Janine Hilltop
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“This can’t be happening.” ‘What a klutz’ is all I could think. ‘But what a really cute klutz.’ The coffee was dripping off the tray and you were just standing there getting redder with embarrassment by the moment. I was about to hand you my napkin when the manager started yelling at you. When I turned to yell back at him, you disappeared. ‘Damn it, so much for a first date.’
“This can’t be happening.” The red and blue lights splashed their garish colors far enough down the street I was scared. The closer I got to the coffee shop the knot in my belly grew, the faster I ran. Your car was in its usual place but I couldn’t see you. The stretcher being wheeled out of the shop was covered in blood and the form was still. ‘Oh please not this, not now, no, no, no,’ I tried to push through the spectators to see the stretcher. A hand gently clasps mine with a grip I have grown to know and love; I turn to find what makes my life worth living looking back at me, you.
"This can't be happening." The lights reflected off the wet pavement from the recent shower. We walked slowly in a comfortable silence with no destination in mind, just wandering the city streets. With a soft touch, I feel your fingers brush my palm. I glance over at you, smile and with a sigh of completeness entwine our fingers as I lay our hands on the child we have created. A kick from our dream child startles a laugh out of you, I join in and you get another kick for it.
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IS IT OVER YET?
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“Is it over yet?” I can’t believe what has happened. I’ve served you your latte every day now for months and yet I don’t know your name. I know everyone else’s names and their drinks except you. I blank out the moment you walk in the door. Maybe that is why I was such a klutz and managed to dump your latte that day. Dying from embarrassment all I could do was stand there and stare at the floor. A shout from behind startled me into moving, but your intention to defend me was clear and I had to leave. ‘Damn it, so much for a first date.’
“Is it over yet?” The officers were keeping us clustered in the corner away from the body being loaded onto the stretcher. Trying to make sense of the violent act just committed, we all just stared. Finally the door was clear and we were allowed to leave. More questions would happen I was sure, but for now I needed only one thing. I pushed my way through the ring of spectators searching for you, knowing you would be panicked. Just as you try to slide by I reach out to you stopping your progress. I see the fear that I felt reflect in your eyes then fade to the loving gaze I need to live. My world has been put right.
“Is it over yet?” I still have a hard time believing what we are doing. Are we right to bring a new being into this mixed up violent world? We decided to take a walk before size made movement next to impossible. The city streets glisten with lamp light from the early evening shower. I sigh deeply and reach out to you for the reassurance I am bound to find. You smile back at me and place our entwined fingers on the child we have chosen to create. A strong kick startles me and I laugh because I realize our love is strong enough to conquer all.
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THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING
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“This can’t be happening.” The contractions were stronger and closer together, I tried to breathe shallowly to resist the urge to push. The doctor had taken measurements and was prepping for the birth. A sudden cry from you brings the doctor’s attention back to the business at hand. Nurses stood ready, the doctor worked, and we welcomed our dreams to the world.
"This can't be happening." The phone ringing jolted me awake. Before I can clamber out of bed, I hear you answer. Silence. The whiteness of your complexion tells me it's horrible news. Before I can reach you I can see the collapse coming. Barely reaching you in time, I slide my arms around you as we slip to the floor together, the forgotten phone hanging from its cord.
"This can't be happening." We stand together outside the window waiting. I reach out to hold your hand only to have you pull your hand away. The officer steps up and asks if we are ready. Numbly I nod, you don't acknowledge our presence. The curtain is drawn back to reveal a form under a sheet. Slowly the coroner pulls back the sheet to the neck. Before us is the child of our dreams.
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IS IT OVER YET?
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“Is it over yet?” We’ve been preparing for our dream child for months now, nine to be exact. The bags are packed at the front door, the insurance cards in the wallet, the car hasn’t been below ¾ of a tank for three weeks now and the doctor’s number prominent on the fridge. Both of us are grumpy, fidgety and have a terrible case of the munchies. The night is broken by a cry of pain and flow of fluid that startles us awake. In a frenzy, we pile into the car counting our breaths and praying we make it to the hospital. It’s time to welcome our dream.
“Is it over yet?” I’ve been restless all night, our child hasn’t called and it’s long past the curfew so carefully observed. The cell phone isn’t being answered, it just cuts to voice mail. I look over at you, somehow you’ve managed to find a way to sleep. If only I could also. Standing by the phone I stare at it willing it to ring with our child on the other end. I brush my fingers over the receiver; as I turn away I’m startled when it rings. I snatch the phone up and answer by calling out a name only to be greeted by silence then “This is Officer…” The only thing I remember after that is you’re there trying to support us both as I collapse to the floor.
“Is it over yet?” I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see the end of my dream. I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to live. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to. I don’t want. I don’t. I.
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THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING
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"This can't be happening." Standing by the graveside I can't see through the tears that flood my eyes. You are standing off by yourself, holding your emotions in by that iron will I used to admire. Now, that iron will is blocking everything, me especially. This wasn't my fault and yet I am being kept out. We are both dying inside. What can I do?
"This can't be happening." You walk into the prosecutor's office, meet my gaze and dismiss me. The prosecutor is explaining why the drunk driver will not be serving time due to this being the first offense. You turn around and leave. I can barely keep up with you on the way back to the car. In silence we finally reach our home. Our home that used to be filled with love and laughter; now it is filled with hate and despair.
"This can't be happening." I stand behind the railing, behind you. I listen to the charges being read and try to comprehend it all. The loving parent you used to be has now become a hate filled shell driven by revenge. I can't loose both our child and you, my life would be over. Somehow I have to make this right. I reach out to touch your back to let you know I still love you but you sense the motion and step away. I watch the bailiff lead you out of the courtroom, seemingly out of my life.
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IS IT OVER YET?
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“Is it over yet?” I can feel the sun on my back. I can hear the crowd murmuring about why we are there. I can see you by the hole in the ground where my dream will be buried. I can smell the grass and overturned earth. I can’t feel. I can’t accept this. I can’t understand why my dream has been taken from me. I don’t believe in a higher power now. I will fix this and make it right.
“Is it over yet?” You called me and asked me to stop by the prosecutor’s office.
‘Why?’
‘Please just come by.’
‘Why do we need to have this conversation?’
‘I need to know.’
‘Fine.’
I walk into the office and hear the prosecutor try to explain why my dream won’t have justice. I look at you and see the acceptance in your eyes. I don’t accept it and leave. If the law won’t provide justice for my dream, I will.
“Is it over yet?” All the time I spent following the killer of my dream was for naught. My careful planning was not needed now. I stood at the edge of the ravine and watched the smoke from the burning car curl in the still night air. Once a drunk always a drunk; it was easy to follow him from the bar. The faster I drove to catch up with him, the faster he drove to stay ahead. I pushed him up into the canyons where I knew the road was curvy and tight. It was some stupid game he had to win. Well, the game is over and I won. I could hear the sirens in the distance and waited. I wanted to feel some satisfaction, but felt nothing; empty, bereft and alone.
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THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING
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"This can't be happening." With your plea of guilty all I can do is pray that my entreaties for leniency were heard. I feel empty enough as it is, our child is gone and you have emotionally shut me out. I plead with all that is holy you will not be taken from me any further. The judge returns to the bench, we all stand and wait.
"This can't be happening." The line of visitors winds around the building even though we are hours early. I've yet to see you, either time runs out or you haven't responded to visitor call. Each time I've been allowed inside that depressing room I almost don't blame you for not showing. I sit waiting my hour out. Again I leave, disappointed with your choice and bereft of your love. I will return next month and every month because I will not give up our love.
"This can't be happening." Two long years. 730 days. 17,520 hours. 1,051,200 minutes. 63,072,000 seconds. I have not seen nor heard nor received any type of contact with you. What will you do when I am the one standing at the gates waiting for you? My pleas to all that is holy and faith in our love have seen me through, what about you? What kept you alive all this time? Were you alive or just existing?
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IS IT OVER YET?
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“Is it over yet?” The judge has been in his chambers for an hour now. The lawyer tried to get a trial; he tried to get me to say I was out of my mind with grief; he tried to say it was an accident. He tried. I didn’t. I wanted to be guilty; I wanted to avenge my dream. You told me you still loved me but how could I explain that I had no love to give. All my love was buried with my dream.
“Is it over yet?” Why don’t you leave me alone? Each month you come and ask to visit with me. Why? I have nothing to give anymore. How can you keep coming back and take the rejection? I have my little world here. Four walls, a steel bunk, a steel toilet, a fold down tray. The sisters come by each week and try to engage me in some type of conversation. I have no need for a higher power that took my dream away or your love that offers forgiveness. If I accepted either one, I would start to feel the pain again.
“Is it over yet?” Two short years. 730 days. 17,520 hours. 1,051,200 minutes. 63,072,000 seconds. A five to ten year sentence cut by time off for good behavior, what a laugh. I didn’t have any behavior. Why I was in quickly spread through the floor and I was left to my grief. Enough parents were in there and sympathized. I was a hero of sorts. Either that or they thought I was psycho enough to leave alone. Processing Out-Day started early, I waited at the end of the line not really caring if I left or not. There was nothing or no one waiting for me outside the gate. How could there be?
"This can't be happening." The crowd that gathers at the gates is a small one. I take my place amongst the other families waiting for our loved ones release. Slowly the former occupants are discharged and they join up with the waiting. I watch as one by one everyone leaves, I am the last left waiting. The knot in my stomach grows as I watch the last form step from the shadows. The gates shut and we are left alone. Tears flood my eyes but I step forward slowly unsure of your reactions. The last time I saw you, you had pulled away from my touch. Standing close, I see tears flooding your eyes and search the depths of your soul. The pain is still there but the hate seems to be gone. I hold out my hand to you, offering you a love that I won't give up on.
“Is it over yet?” The light dazzles and blinds me for a moment. I didn’t spend much time out in the yard during my stay. I didn’t want to see the beauty that still existed in the world. The parking lot is empty, except for you. Why? ‘Why are you still here? I can’t love, don’t you understand, don’t you know that by now?’ You reach out a hand and wait.
"This can't be happening." After two long years I finally feel my world righting. You stand before me, devoid of expression. I thought I saw a flicker of pain before but that iron will has clamped down on your emotions. Why won't you let me in? I want to scream at you. My outstretched hand is still out there, not wavering, not faltering. Just like my love for you, not wavering, not faltering. I haven't given up these past two years, I won't give up now.
“Is it over yet?" A hand. A tear. An emotion. I close my eyes to shut out the vision before me. A vision of support, caring, friendship, and love. I feel. I feel something. I feel something building. I feel something building deep inside. I hear the plea to offer comfort whispered but can't believe it. I slip to my knees before you unable to accept the love and comfort you offer. I hear a loud keening noise before I realize it's me. I howl. I scream. I rail at the higher powers that have taken my dream and love. I feel your arms slip around me strong enough to support us both as I let loose my pain.
"This can't be happening." I watch your eyes shut as tears build behind the lids. 'Oh my love, please, let me help you.' I finally am able to whisper. Your whole body shakes with the strain of keeping in the pain of loosing our dream. You slip to your knees before I can react. The sounds coming from you raise the hair on my arms. I listen to your pain being released. I kneel down before you, wrap my arms around you and offer you the healing strength of my love.
Finally our world is put right.
Finally our world is put right.