The crisp air swept intermittently over my blood -wet face; I felt I was on a heated barbeque; the blazing sun spiked into my half-opened eyes. I tried to move; a stinging pain crucified me to the coppery hard earth; it shot up my thigh, behind my hip and into my lower back.
Everything around looked misty; my one eye blurred, blood oozing through the other, I faintly perceived it was mid-noon. The lofty trees like abandoned corpses stood still. Except for the twittering birds, I heard nothing. The dry leaves under me crackled like popcorn as I tried to move.
Unable to assess the extent of injury I just remained static for fear of worsening it. As I surfaced more into consciousness the pain engulfed me; I tried speaking but I felt stifled; no words came out; as if someone had whacked my solar plexus with a baseball bat. Under the unbounded sky, I laid, groaning, willing divine support.
Yes, the horrible accident had caused the catastrophe! The loud crash as our van rammed into another was still distinctly audible in my auditory cortex.
I faintly remembered anything much after the mishap. I was travelling with Chris and Jenny to meet my extended family at Holland in Michigan; ours was a closely knitted loving, caring family. It calls to be noted that I was meeting them after 365 days 7 hours, or more expressively 8767 hours or should I say 526,020 minutes. I was excited, flooded with exhilaration like a schoolgirl who has topped the class after a long back-breaking crusade. Working as a chief chef in one of the big restaurants, the Grand Hotel on Mackinaw Island, I got no break.
Bit by bit every little detail bounced back overriding all trauma. Shut to all pain my thoughts slowly reiterated; I cruised a couple of hours behind when I first started by car, heading to my hometown; a forgotten corner by me for quite some time.
I flinched as my thoughts pinned down to the happenings of the day; yes, it was May 4th 2014
May 4th.2014
—————–
It was a Sunday; the clock struck 10 a.m. I, a couch potato sat watching another heart-breaking play on the net; tears trickled down my high cheekbones only to be arrested by the soft tissue that dabbed them off. The fifth tissue, wet like soaked bread went flying into the barrel-shaped dust bin at the far end of the room. The watching of cheerless, dry programmes transported me into a sullen sluggish mood. I had strange likes and dislikes.
The chillness had gone and there was warmth in the sunshine, but it made no difference to me.
“Delia,” the sudden calling of my name startled me. It was Jenny, my closest pal; she stood at the entrance clad in a long crimson skirt and a black pullover; her one hand upon the brass knob, and her middle finger adorning a dazzling diamond ring; to be more explicit, it treasured all her wonderful moments with Pedro Keit her husband, who is just a memory today; yet she wore it. It was her priced possession. Sadly, she lost Pedro in a shipwreck.
Flashing her ever winning smile she yelled, “Another emotional outburst Delia! Why are you taxing those tear glands so often? Why don’t you watch some rib-tickling plays?” Jenny’s boisterous voice seeped through, changing my mood pattern like the morning rays kissing the blue waters. Buoyant by nature, she was always there to net me from my temperamental frays.
We shared a cookie cut single bedroom apartment; and everything else too, from a burger to party wear. Our families were close and this initiated a deeper relationship.
“Hurry up? Chris should be here any moment.” Jenny’s only son Chris, was engaged to Amy, my elder daughter.
Chris and Amy made an impeccable couple. Amy with hazelnut wavy hair, high cheekbones, just like me but tall like Mart Fleming, my husband. Chris was very much like Jenny, fair, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, towering height; and his dynamic personality was his trump card; perhaps he got this from her husband.
It was Friday. The long weekend, due to labour day, was the best option, to visit Holland to freeze the wedding plans. It was a five to six hours drive; we jumped at it when Chris proposed to drive us down. He worked for a corporate and could hardly getaway.
Manoeuvred by age, Jenny and I found packing an arduous task; we kept arranging and rearranging.
“Are those flashy swim goggles for Jim? Bless him, he is sure to swoon.”
“Shut up Jenny. You are obsolete like those greasy pans I have discarded. My son adores my choice.”
Bustling like a bee, Jenny got down on her knees to strap the leather bags.
“And an elegant, laced dress with a corset back for Amy; isn’t this pretty? Jenny, did I tell you that Amy is the best florist in Cadillac. I bet even the dead come alive with the beautiful bouquets she makes for the headstones.”
“I know! She has a special way with them; her hands enliven them,” added Jenny in a honey-like voice.
“When is Amy reaching Holland?” she continued.
“My girl is already there! She is waiting with a million hearts for Chris.”
“Oh! How romantic. It reminds me of the sweet memories of gone summers.”
“I feel the same.”
“And these are a few novels for Judy, the little devil; she is very creative; Judy writes adorable poetry; you should read them someday. Being the youngest, Mart pampers her a lot; he is a perfect father!”
“She is a Barbie doll even at 16!”, commented Jenny.
Soon Chris arrived. Greeting warmly, he lifted the luggage and flung them into the car and signalled us to get in.
Settling our bottoms on the rear seats and like little school going buddies we waited impatiently for Chris to be done with the last piece of luggage; our hearts like an accordion struck melody notes Exiting the community gates, we chatted endlessly.
After an hour, I proposed for a stopover at Frankenmuth.
“Stopping at Frankenmuth, calls for extra hours,” said Chris aggravated by my proposal; well, all that impatient young heart’s pathos! “Are you folks ready for it? It’s tedious,” he ended lamely.
“A visit to Frankenmuth is worth anything. Jenny, won’t you love to sight and shop at the famous Bronner’s Store for the wedding?”
“That sounds wonderful! Are we old hags asking more?”
Our changed programme dislodged all his plans. Like a tornado, his brainpower hunted for reasons to expel our nauseous plan.
Finally, “Paucity of time is a concern; let’s squeeze it in our next trip,” he blurted, hoping his words would hold water.
Strangely things don’t happen the way you want them many a time.
“Chris, driving shouldn’t be a problem; me and Jenny can take turns at the wheel.”
“I am in,” buzzed Jenny.
With no choice, Chris agreed. Living in the moment seemed more viable. Blended in Amy’s thoughts he drove through the luxuriant greens; the music deck blasted with Michael Learns “Take me to your heart” and he hummed along as the Jaguars, Porsches and BMWs with open tops passed by.
The turns and bends cradled us silently. Chris had his charm; he could fascinate anybody. His spirited talk made travel untiring and interesting.
Soon he parked outside the Lumbar Jack Restaurant, a great place for eateries on I-75. We quickly grabbed some Wedge fries and a couple of sandwiches to nibble through. We were just an hour away from Frankenmuth.
We chatted non-stop savouring on juicy gossip that titillated our minds.
Nearing Frankenmuth, the air and everything there seemed to have imbibed the fragrance of being German.
“Frankenmuth, a strange name, isn’t it?” said Jenny curiously. She watched spellbound as we entered the well-kept city; a picturesque setting, manicured lawns and colourful flower beds pronounced perfection. The red and yellow tulips flourishing on sunny balconies basked under the warming sun; giant-sized roses danced in the light breeze of the morning; all appeared an artwork on a canvas every detail plush with vibrant colours.
Driving through the city made us feel we were in Germany. The architecture was distinctly Bavarian with walls covered in fairy tales like paintings, and structures surrounded by lush greenery and well-tended flora.
“Frankenmuth is a German word,” I briefed, “wherein ‘Franken’ represents the province of Franconia, in the kingdom of Bavaria (a German State) and the word ‘muth’ means courage; meaning the courage of the Franconians. It’s nicknamed ‘Little Bavaria’.
“That’s interesting!” quipped Jenny.
“Here, grab a cart and shop till you drop dead because Frankenmuth has it all; woollen mills, stylish boutiques, toy shops, confectionaries, Bavarian-themed shops and big water parks. The horse-drawn carriages through wintry roads are just exciting.”
“And the eats, are exotic!”
A walk through the reposeful historic streets with the horse-driven carriages that moved alongside the regular traffic was very different. A contrast to New York, everything here had a flavour of peace and leisure. The main street was dotted with fudge and candy kitchens, cheese and sausage factories; its tickling aroma activated our taste buds compelling us to stop and enjoy the fudge treat; we packed some home too. The famous iced tea here was not to be forgotten to sip along as we browsed the sprawling décor.
Then we rode in the ‘fantasy’ horse-drawn carriage through the Zehder’s Holz Brucke (German, meaning the Wooden Bridge); it was just spectacular. It looked as though it has been plucked up from the Black Forest or a river valley in Switzerland and planted astride the Cass River in the middle of the town. The beautiful, covered bridge of 239 feet left us gaping at it; first of its kind so beautifully crafted and created.
It was late afternoon. We were enormously hungry. Darting into the Bavarian Lodge, our noses soon stimulated by the home-cooked simmered chicken and noodles made the saliva gush into our throats. We sat at the finely set tables; its ambience added flavour to a great meal; in the centre of each table, a hollowed-out eggshell stuck into a holder, holding tiny flowers seemed exquisite too. A milk white napkin was rolled and placed upon a side plate awaiting its use; conical shaped etched wine glasses placed on the other side of the plate stood inviting; a live band blasted off. Nestled on the banks of the Cass River, it seemed the right destination for families and couples.
We waited with a hundred tummies for the sumptuous lunch to arrive.
“Everything here, the architecture, the food, the hospitality makes me feel that I have stepped into the heart of Europe without a passport or the jet lag. I am impressed! I should revisit with Amy once again!” expressed Chris with a touch of appreciation.
“The Glockenspiel Bell Tower at the lodge is awesome too, and the wooden figurines playing the Pied Piper of Hamlin are just adorable.
“Amy always loved those wooden figurines; Mart got similar miniature ones made for Amy for her 8th birthday. God, she was so excited.”
“Mart is always a great father, pretty concerned.”
Later we sprinted to the biggest Christmas extravaganza; a shopper’s dream with over 50,000 trims and gifts. It was like walking into the world of Santa, an authentic slice of Bavaria in Michigan. We shopped a few decorations for the wedding. The store was so huge and a sneak peep here and there took a toll of nearly three hours.
It was almost 9 p.m. by the time we left Frankenmuth. Chris suggested, “We should try to reach Holland by midnight.” He immediately took I-96E.
It seemed an invisible layer of black paint blanketed the skies. There was something coming at us; I felt weird. What was it? I did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But I felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching towards us through the sounds, the scents and the colour that filled the air.
“Jenny, I suddenly feel stumped; do you feel the same?”
“Boo! You are an emotional wreck, Delia. You feel low all the time! Aren’t your eyelids urging to snatch forty winks! I am drained.” It’s an hour more to Holland.
“Let me take the wheels Chris; relax a while.”
“I am good mum,” replied Chris his white teeth sparkling in the dark vicinity of the car.
It was almost 2 p.m.; the night was lonely and hardly any vehicles plying enroute. The interspersed tall and lanky trees far off silhouetted against the infinite darkness like a ballet dancer.
Touching Lansing, the capital of Michigan, Chris checked the GPS for further directions. Taking a left as directed he continued.
I was disturbed by his continuous yawning.
“Sorry, Aunt Delia; the emptiness on the road seems to infringe upon my mental arena. An involuntary outbreak I suppose; for if a yawn is stifled it reappears more forcefully.”
Nearing Holland, Chris zoomed up; his eagerness to meet Amy provoked him to fly the car. All cautions fell dumb upon him.
The big chaos struck here. The road forked joining again ahead. As Chris drove impetuously, suddenly an SUV barged at the joining point colliding right to the side of our car. The impact was so hard it threw us into a low levelled area on the side of the road that sloped dangerously taking us a few feet down; it was thick with outgrowth; it could even cover a car along with its debris. The impact was colossal; it left us unconscious till now.
Now gaining consciousness almost after eleven solid hours, I found myself wrapped in blood and ripped flesh. Scooping all my force, I tried rising but I caved in; the demonic pain virtually pulled me down. I felt my insides collapse. The deep gash on my left thigh spurted blood like wine from an earthenware cask, and I looked a hobo; clothes tattered and away from home. My state was devastating; keeping my fingers crossed, someone would find me I waited hopefully.
My memory now fuelled with all happenings of the past few hours, I looked around for Jenny and Chris. I tried calling out, no response. After the fun trip, this disaster was crumbling.
Slowly I dragged my poor self like a sandbag in search of them.
The peaking sun and the unlevelled ground accentuated my pain. With blood dripping like juice from an ice candy I had to invent new ways to control it; my immediate concern was to find them. “Are they in a similar state; bathed in blood? I should find them; they may need help.”
Bundling my depleting energy, I started, practically getting killed with every step I took.
It is strange none had noticed the flames or the smoke from the car till now; a point to be pondered upon.
Wetting my parched lips with my tongue, I slowly walked ahead. The crash would never have occurred if only Chris had been a bit cautious. I cursed myself for my irrational proposal of visiting Frankenmuth.
“I hope Chris is safe with no injuries; Amy loves him a lot! Keep him, safe God!”
A swaying rod-like thing dangling down the branch caught my eye. Initially, I could not decipher what it was; it was broken at the end, with a dried red colour like that of a cherry upon it. As I focussed further with one eye, I realized it was a bone. The next moment I was pissed; I was screaming like I had seen a grotesque creature. It was a portion of Chris’s body; a small piece of his sleeve hung to it. I collapsed; the next moment I was puking.
I fell back, lost my balance, and rolled deeper into the gorge.
As I rolled, I fell on something that checked my descent. It was hard and poky; turning slowly around like a centenarian, I found myself next to a headless skeleton. My amplified shrieks felt nullified at the bottom. I felt like steel bands around my chest, suffocated and breathless. I almost blacked out; I could not run, I was bruised. As I tried to get away from it my sight fell upon the bony finger on which hung the loose diamond ring. That blew my head off; it was Jenny! I turned off, my hands covering my face. I wept like a commuter lost in the seamless sands.
The brutal vision of my dear friend left me paralysed for the next few minutes. Shaken I remained motionless unable to think. I kept staring blankly into the darkness that enveloped me though it was mid-noon.
Jenny’s relationship with me was different; she was my closest associate for the past couple of years. Her loss was unbearable.
And Chris, he is such a darling; hope he is at least alive; an ambitious boy with the toughness of a tortoiseshell; he would battle anything if needed. From the inside, he was as tender as a mushroom. I could not have envisaged Amy’s loss if something happens to him.
I felt disoriented, my thoughts clustered around Amy.
What if Chris is dead? I shelved all ghastly thoughts that fractured my courage.
Everything looked void; drained I had no pluck to tide the situation. Her atrocious mutilated skeletal appeared and reappeared before me as if I was hallucinating. I kept closing and opening my eyes, but the hideous images just wouldn’t go away.
The pungent nauseating odour around, emerged awfully making it sickening; I felt like being with a hundred dead pigs.
Slowly I struggled to be up; I should reach home. I should get help for Chris; the thought of Chris flooded me with new vigour. Taking the support of a hard stick, I stood up; it was a herculean task to get out of the pit. Like a swashbuckler, I trudged slowly to reach the top of the road. The sharp twigs got into my bruises like a fork into a mash mellow making me dizzy. Still, I endeavoured ceaselessly, adamant to reach my home.
After an hour or so I had the first glimpse of the barren road. I stood there bleeding to death. I saw a car parked on the other side; a blue SUV; it was similar to my neighbours, the Flemings had with them. I waited but none turned up. Maybe an hour passed; none came. Desperate I tried getting in; it was locked. As I tried the rear door it gave way; it was the luggage space. I hauled myself in.
Exhausted I fell on the platform; I went into a deep slumber. I least knew when the occupants returned; the following morning I woke up by 7. Alighting down, my joy knew no bounds; I was right, the car belonged to my neighbours. I eagerly approached their front door to thank them, but my knocking got no response.
Limping, I walked towards my house. My house stood just adjoining the cemetery. My mother had particularly chosen a house here; it was her ardent desire to offer prayers at the end of the day to every soul that reached here. She would always light a candle at home and offer her prayers to bless the soul in the coffin that came here. As I passed the cemetery my eyes fell upon my family lighting candles before a tomb. My joy knew no bounds; seeing them after one long year was an infinite blessing! Looking above I uttered a thank you for letting me stay alive after the nerve breaking accident!
But my spirits soon dispirited; Amy looked wretched! Why is my darling so grief-stricken? And where is my little hero? I looked for Jim; my heart skipped a beat! Is it Jim’s? The nasty thought scared me. I called out but they could not hear me. Dragging myself faster, I neared them.
Just then Jim entered the cemetery with a disturbed look on his face. He crossed my path, without speaking to me. Alarmed and confused I looked at the headstone. My vision fell upon which flowers were placed. Upon the headstone, I saw engraved in bold letters, that read- Delia Moorings; Dated 01-23-1956 to 04-04-2014. Shocked to death, I focussed more; is it a wicked joke? I went nearer for a better perception. The date flabbergasted me!
“God, this isn’t true! I am here in flesh and blood before them; it’s crap; an obnoxious misconception utterly false and baseless.
Yet, when Mart touched the tomb and said, “It is exactly one month since you left us. Without you, we do not exist. We exist and so do you, dear,” I felt strange; I tried to hold his hand but I could not, truth slowly dawned upon me.
At that moment a sob and then a series of sobs fell piercingly upon my ears. Amy was in a pool of tears. In a choking voice, she prayed for peace to the departed souls. “You were most precious to me mum and so was Chris, I miss you both,” she broke down pitifully.
I realized my death was no hoax but a stark reality! Nothing evaded me now.
On the headstone were a bunch of my favourite orchids; bright yellow interspersed with white long buds; Amy had made a beautiful bouquet exclusively for me. It was lovely!
As I gazed at the black granite finished headstone, I observed that an oval ceramic photo of mine was mounted on it right at the top. Below it was written in bold italics….
Though absent you are always near,
Still loved, still missed and very dear,
You remain in our memory lane,
Unseen yet felt every moment.
Love,
Mart Moorings, Amy
Judy and Jim.
I knew that was Judy’s piece of creation right from her heart; I felt elated.
And then crept into me, like a rich musical note, the thought of infinite rest, the pure eternal bliss, and my new journey to an unknown abode.
I did not expect that ending.. it’s very touching.. beautifully written .
Thank u
Thank u
Thank u Swetha!
Very Nice
Thank u ! I appreciate it.
Very well articulated. Beautiful story. Totally enjoyed it.
Thank u