Chapter 4

Chapter 4

                                                                                           

A bathroom stop finds us at a lonely Chevron.  I hate public restrooms, especially those at a gas station, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  The only positive aspect of it being so empty is that there’s no line. 

                                                                                                          

Instinctively locking the door behind me, I find the bathroom itself to be a decent size.  The sanitation of the cold fluorescent lit room doesn’t seem too bad, yet I choose to cover the seat.  With toilet paper carefully placed on the throne, as they seem to be out of seat covers, I still only squat. 

                                                                                                                     

It’s one of those times when it feels like no matter how long I go, there’s no relief. 

                                                                                                           

My heart jumps as I’m interrupted midstream by the door handle rattling.  After a couple seconds of holding my breath, I speak up.

“Someone’s in here.”  There’s only silence except for the echo of my voice not only in the bathroom, but in my head. 

I try to finish my business, but it’s difficult to restart.  My muscles are so tense that it’s painful to release them.  I’m reminded of the warnings from Mom and Grandma regarding my bad habit of holding “it” for so long and developing bladder infections.

Just then, the door actually starts to open. 

What?  How can that be?  I locked it! 

I yell out immediately, but my voice sounds hoarse; probably from fear and shock.  With my pants around my ankles, and at only a halfway squatting position, I spring forward and throw myself against the door.  Of course, I stumble like a prisoner with shackles on his feet, and although I think I feel the door close hard when my body slams it, there’s no click.  That’s when I realize an arm is coming through the opening, stopping the door from closing completely.

To my surprise, I feel a twinge of guilt realizing that I’m causing pain to this arm, but it’s only a fleeting thought as pain is exactly what I want to inflict on this predator’s limb.  It’s rough, hairy, and muscular.  I feel like I’m about to be sick to my stomach as a callused hand rubs up against my skin in an attempt to grasp hold of me. 

Then, I hear Mom’s voice calling me.  An alarm is going off, and confusion rushes through my being as I try to reconcile Mom’s voice with this grotesquely masculine arm.

            “Mom?”  I ask myself in my head.  At least I think it’s in my head.  But it’s an audible voice.  My own voice is pulling me out of this nightmare and back into the Suburban just in time to hear Mom telling me to answer her phone.  Just in time to save me from a monster.

            “Sorry to wake you.  Can you answer my cell?”  Though I try, I’m not able to flip it open in time.  The ringer stops, but I see the caller ID say it was Grandma’s cell number calling.  I call it back.

            “Hi.  Sorry.  Mom couldn’t reach her phone, and I had fallen asleep,” I explain as soon as Grandma answers.

“Well, I know your mom was asking about music at the funeral.   So, I wanted to tell her that JoAnne and Harry are meeting with the Priest to find out if they can have music and if anyone can speak….”  While Grandma goes on and on, Mom starts talking to me at the same time.  She hears everything that Grandma is saying and wants to talk to her herself. 

Trying to make sense of two voices talking over each other, and suddenly being pulled out of a deep sleep, I shake my head in confusion…

            “Grandma, hold on.  Let me give you to Mom.”

After handing over the phone, I hear her ask details of the viewing, funeral, and reception, but apparently Grandma does not have answers to her questions.  So, they get caught up on the family…who’s already there and who’s on their way…and lastly any new information about my cousin’s brutal ending.

I find myself trying to block out what they’re saying.  It makes me think of my dream, and I definitely don’t want to replay that in my head again.  Drifting off to sleep thinking of a safe place, I ended up in a nightmare.  I’m surprised I haven’t started having night terrors again.  I haven’t had one of those in awhile.

I suffered from night terrors off and on for 12 years starting at the age of two.  Usually I was told about them afterwards.  A classic night terror is not something remembered by the dreamer.  Mom told me the first one I had was in Fresno at my cousin’s house.  I’ve heard the story many times.

I was two and a half years old.  Katelyn and Lexi were one and three at the time and still shared a crib.  Four year old Charlotte was in a twin size bed in the same room as her sisters.   I was sharing a bed with Char that night until the Moms separated us.  We were sitting up, talking, and fooling around.  They put me on the couch, and I fell right to sleep listening to the Moms’ voices in the kitchen on the other side of the house. 

Hearing me scream, they ran to my side. 

I was thrashing around in my sleep, but they thought I was awake since my eyes were open.  Tiff and Will lived out in the country at the time in an old ranch house.  Spiders were seen often out there.  I’m told my aunt was bit by a black widow one time in the same living room I was sleeping in. 

Fearing I had been bit, they stripped me down, searched the blankets as well as the couch, but couldn’t find any evidence of a black creepy culprit.  Satisfied that no mark was found on me, they slipped my night gown back over my head, and I finally stopped fighting whatever was in imagination.

Mom told me how frightening it was for her and Tiff to see my eyes glossed over.  Then I apparently looked at them dazed and confused before flipping over to go back to sleep.  They sat with me for awhile just to be sure I was OK and to calm their own nerves.  She said it was as if I had no clue what had happened.  I didn’t.  Of all the night terrors I’ve had, I’ve rarely had any notion of the incident. 

My parents told me about another fit I had when I was a little older after the dreams had escalated to walking and talking during them.  I was crying and yelling at my dad to kill the spider in the corner of the room.  But nothing was there.  He pretended that he got it, and just like that I climbed back into my bed and went to sleep. 

Hearing about it the next day, I laughed at my rampage.  It’s fascinating to think about the mysteries of the mind and the tricks it plays.  And a mystery for sure as we’ve never been able to decipher why I had those night terrors for so many years nor my horrific fear of spiders.  No one else in the family has them, no one has any such phobias, and I’ve never experienced a traumatizing spider bite or any kind of trauma for that matter…not until now.

Mom has a theory that the two phenomena are connected.

She’s always wondered about that night in my cousin’s room if Charlotte was telling us younger girls about spiders to scare us.  She remembers hearing us all screaming and laughing at the same time leading her and Tiff to separate us. 

We know Charlotte used to scare Lexi by pointing out spiders to her.  Lexi would run around the house yelling, “Fighter!  Fighter!”  That was her three year old word for spider.  I suppose it wouldn’t be surprising if that’s how it happened, and it doesn’t bother me at all.  It makes me laugh to think of a four year old having fun like that.

I still have a crazy fear of spiders, and that’s no laughing matter.  However, it’s been over a year since my last night terror.  By the time I was 12, I started recognizing that familiar dreamy feeling.  Then I learned how to wake myself up out of them.  By age 14, they were gone.  It’s as if conquering them put them to rest.  I wonder if the trauma of Charlotte’s death could trigger those terrifying fits to come back.  Wouldn’t that be ironic?

If spider talk possibly birthed night terrors in a two year old, I wonder what all this talk about murder does to a three year old who listens more than he speaks.  A rapid movement catches the corner of my eye, and I look back to find Cole kicking his legs up against Mom’s seat.

            “Cole.  No.  Stop it.”  I reach my arm back and grab his foot shaking my head while rebuking him.  He gives me a challenging look before relenting.

            “Where’s my cup?”  He demands.  I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows at his attitude waiting for a better word out of his mouth.  “Please?” He finally adds with a sweet smile. 

After unbuckling my seat belt, I twist and contort before finally reaching the mini cooler on the floor board behind me.  The boys had devoured all the snacks by the time we were half way to their destination earlier.  All that was left in the box was Cole’s sippy cup.

Handing it to him, he attempts to push my buttons even more, “Sissy, spider,” he says through a teasing smile.  I don’t fall for it, but instead shake my head at him rolling my eyes.  It’s obvious he’s learned from his brothers how to scare “Sissy” with that one word, but he hasn’t learned how to pull off the tease with a convincing look.

            “Not funny, Cole,” I say glaring at him.  He smiles at me satisfied with his little joke.

Getting myself settled once again, I release a deep breath of annoyance…both at Cole and Mom.

I hear her say something about a crime scene investigator.  It makes me think of the TV show, CSI, and I cringe.  My parents and I watch that show all the time as well as several other crime shows.  Well, I don’t, but they do.  I just stick to the one.  The others creep me out. 

I don’t know how Mom does it.  Why torture yourself with realistic stories that fill you with fear?  I think she’s just captivated by all that psychological stuff. 

Well, I wonder how my psychologically fascinated Mom will feel now that something horrific has come so close to home.  For now, I don’t think I’ll be able to watch CSI again.  Nope!

            “Never again!”

“Never again?  What do you mean by that,” Mom asks after I apparently started thinking out loud.  She had just hung up from Grandma and was bewildered at my outburst.

            “I was just thinking how they’ll be investigating Charlotte’s death, and it made me think of CSI.  Don’t think I ever want to watch it again.”

            “Good.  That’s a good choice.  I hadn’t thought about it myself, but it just might be too difficult for me as well.”

            Rummaging through Mom’s purse looking for a notepad to write something down for her, I feel a sting in my gut.  I do my best to jot down her words, but I keep squirming in my seat trying to find a comfortable position.  Yep!  The infection is back.  We should’ve taken Grandma’s advice when I first felt that pain back on the second day of our trip.

(Day 2)

I woke up to Cole staring at me.

            “Lay down, Cole,” I instinctively said.  He did what I told him to do, but he was restless.  I just wasn’t ready to get up yet.  I just wasn’t ready for another day following a road map to nowhere.

            “Letti, you should get up and get going,” Grandma suggested from the bathroom, “Why don’t you turn on cartoons for your brother?  Do you need to take a shower?”

I did need a shower.  I slept with all that heavy make-up on and hair spray in my hair.  Though, my hair is a lot easier to manage without washing it, I knew a shower would make me feel better.

            “What time is it?”  I asked as I flopped over on my pillow to face the night stand searching for the TV remote and a clock.

            “It’s 8 o’clock.  I saw a Starbucks downstairs.  Do you want to go with me to get everyone something?  I think your mom’s going to take awhile,” she continues looking at me through the vanity mirror with the bathroom door open.

I grabbed the remote and searched for a program for Cole to watch just as Walker came barreling through the connecting door and jumped on the bed.  He insisted on showing us the cartoon channel he found.  Since Mom and Dad have cancelled most of our cable channels at home, the boys love the TV on this trip.  With the two fixated on colorful characters, I went into the bathroom.

            Grandma was putting eyeliner on while I was sitting on the pot.  That’s when I realized that familiar pain.

           

            “Oh no….”  I said with my voice kind of deep having just woken up.

            “What’s the matter?  Oh, is it your period?  Did you start?”  Grandma asked with her voice in a whisper as if the boys would hear and totally understand that question.

            “No…it’s not that.”

            “What is it?”

            “I think it’s a bladder infection.”

            “Oh Letti,” she sighed, “Well, we can get you some cranberry juice.  I suppose we could ask downstairs if there’s a clinic around and get you an antibiotic.”

            “No.  I don’t want an antibiotic.  Juice will work and a lot of water.”

            “Letti, don’t mess around with an infection,” she snaps with raised voice making me cringe even more.

“I’m fine, Grandma.” 

Though now retired, my grandma has worked in various medical fields for years.  She doesn’t have a degree or anything, but enough experience to be our medical “Go-To Person”.  She can also be annoyingly insistent. 

“Antibiotics give me the other kind of infection,” I informed her.

            “Oh, I see.”

While Grandma left to fill Mom in on my dilemma, I took a quick shower, put my hair in a messy wet bun, and got dressed.  Then, I walked over to Mom’s room, and into the bathroom where they were talking.  Mom was standing there with wet hair, putting on make-up.  She confirmed to Grandma that we should avoid antibiotics if we could and try the natural route first.  That’s when Grandma suggested searching for a Walgreens and getting cranberry pills. 

            “I’m sorry, Letti, I know how miserable that is.  I brought Motrin.  It’s in my purse.  That should help with the pain, and maybe bring down the swelling.  No more holding it.  You’re going every time we stop.  Got it?”  I nodded my head to my mother, grabbed the Motrin, and then Grandma and I left to go downstairs. 

Searching the Starbucks juice selection, I found Ocean Spray Cranberry.  Then, on the way back through the casino, Grandma wanted to stop and play.

            “Letti, I see my ‘Blazing 7’s’.  They’re calling to me.  Hear that?  They’re saying, ‘Gloria…Gloria…we’re ready to pay out, Gloria.’”

            “Well, let’s stop and play!”

            “But you can’t stop in here.”  Oh, now she’s gonna throw out something logical after she just told me that a machine was talking to her.

            “I’ll just stand over to the side,” I assured her.

            “O.K., hold my tea.”

With my hands full balancing a drink holder filled with three hot chocolates and a frap, a bag with cranberry juice and muffins in it dangling below the tray, and now my grandma’s tea, I stood back in a corner and finally had a chance to drink in the atmosphere.

The first thing that came to my mind was, what the heck is that smell?  It seemed somewhat familiar and totally gross.  Unable to resist the urge, I started coughing.  Floating into my view were swirls of smoke.  My mom used to be a smoker, my grandma used to be a smoker, and Red still is.  But the smell of cigarette smoke never bothered me before. 

I glanced to my right, and standing a few feet from me was a very large person holding a very ugly cigar.  With long straggly looking blonde hair, I assumed it was a woman, but it only took a moment to notice the rough whiskers on his face.  He apologized for the smoke assuming it was responsible for my coughing.  I told him it was O.K., and he smiled revealing two gaping holes where teeth should have been.

            “I don’t smoke these things,” he explained, “I’m only holding it for my sister.  She’s in the ladies room.”

            “Oh…”  Wait!  What?  His sister?  He’s holding it for his sister?

“Your Starbucks smells real good,” he said eying my cups and my bag, “Is that orange

herbal tea?  Yum!” 

Wow, I wasn’t expecting him to say that.

The next thing I know, the door behind him opened.  Out walks what looks like his twin, only it was a woman.  As if that wasn’t weird enough, I was totally taken back by the sound of her voice as she thanked him for holding her cigar.  I think it was deeper than his.

Able to breathe again after they walked away, I started looking around the place.  Talk about a disappointment.  It’s not like I was expecting to see Julia Roberts walk through the Bellagio, Matt Damon with his jaw on the floor watching her, or Brad Pitt staking out the place for a heist.  But I still thought it would be better than this.  Maybe it’s better in the evening when the night life comes alive.

What I did see was mostly senior citizens, a lot of unhealthy looking people, and tons of smoke hovering under an unfinished, dark painted ceiling.  It looked like it was purposely designed to reveal pipes…I guess to make the room appear larger.  Between that and the mirrors on the walls, they successfully created that illusion, at least for all of those who spent most of their time looking at a screen and sipping something alcoholic. 

I suddenly realized that this place was not much larger than the lobby of a Best Western.  Other than the stimulating lights and sounds, there was absolutely nothing glamorous about it.  But at least I found some of the people around me rather comical to watch.  Just when I was about to draw the conclusion that casinos were just not as impressive as I thought they would be, I heard someone screaming. 

It startled me at first as my eye caught someone jumping up and down.  Hearing loud bells ringing behind the sound of an excited voice, I realized it was a good scream.  And that’s when I realized it was Grandma!

 Oh my gosh!  Oh my gosh!  It was Grandma!  A few people rushed to her.  One was a casino worker.  Then Grandma looked back at me.

            “Letti!  I won!”

I hurried over to her, and getting caught up in the excitement, I almost spilled her tea.  The casino employee had to go find someone to help her pay out Grandma’s winnings after explaining that they had to do it in pairs.  As soon as she walked away, I looked up to see what Grandma had won.  It was a ridiculously large number.

            “Grandma!  Look how much you won!”

            “Oh, Honey, that’s the number of coins.  Here’s the dollar amount.”  She pointed to a different number, which wasn’t near as large as the first number I saw, but it was still over a grand.

            “Wow!” I shouted, and we started jumping again.  But our celebration was cut short by a mean annoying voice.

            “Hey, young lady!  Did you pull this?  Did you pull this?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know.  Did you do this?”

A heavy set man not much taller than me was in my face.  I guess it was the pit boss.  I didn’t know this place was large enough to have one.  Whoever or whatever he was, he sure was rude. 

            “She didn’t pull this,” Grandma snapped at him like a mother hen coming to my rescue, “I did.  She was over there in the corner waiting for me.”

“Lady, you can’t just have kids standing in corners while you play slots.  How am I

supposed to know it wasn’t her?  Do you know how much trouble you and I could get into if she played this machine?”

            “Well, it looks to me like there are plenty of witnesses around here.  Plus, you’ve got cameras don’t you?”  Grandma’s arms flew up in the air at the arrogant little man’s ridiculous accusation.

            “Don’t get smart with me!  I’m in charge around here.  We might just have to check those cameras before we pay you out.”

I was starting to get scared.  What if they call the cops?  I guess they’ll use any excuse to not pay out.  It's only a thousand dollars, though.  It’s not like she’s gonna break the place.

            “Are you serious?  She just finished up at Starbucks over there and stood in that corner for a minute.”

I was shocked that Grandma was risking her winnings talking back to this guy.  Then again she can be pretty bold.  Just then the first employee, who came up to her before, arrived back with another cashier.  She confirmed to “Mr. Short Man-Bloated Ego” that I was standing by the bathroom door and only walked up after Grandma won.  After they paid her, we rushed upstairs to tell Mom.

            “Mom, guess what!”  I blurted out.

            “I won on ‘Blazing 7’s.’”  Grandma beat me to it.

            “And they thought it was me,” I chimed in, “Then Grandma caused a scene!”

“I did not cause a scene, Letti!” Her slightly angry voice was softened by the smile on her face as she revealed to Mom the amount of her winnings.

                           

I think the boys were more excited than Mom…not that she wasn’t.  She was just focused on getting packed up and headed out.

            “That’s awesome, Mom.  I’m sure you’ll have fun shopping with that!  Do you think you could grab a few things and bring them to the car?”  Mom asked Grandma, and just like that, the two of them were back to business.

I’m sure she would’ve shown more excitement if she had been there in the moment like I was.  Here I thought I didn’t like casinos.  That’ll teach me not to judge a book by its cover. 

After Mom rebuked Walker for jumping on the bed yelling, “We’re rich!  We’re rich!” she gave each of the boys some light weight bags to bring down with Grandma.

            “Letti and I will be down in a minute.  We’ve got the rest.  I already checked out on the TV,” Mom informed them all as they disappeared through the door.

While finishing up the packing, she called out a list that I noted down on hotel stationary for groceries including cranberry pills and stuff for sandwiches. 

            “Are you kidding me?  Grandma just won all that money, and you’re gonna make us eat bologna sandwiches for lunch?”

            “Scarlett Michelle!  That’s my Mom’s money, not ours.  If she offers, then I’ll think about it, but I’m not going to assume or ask!  Besides, we have a busy day.  We have a two and a half hour drive to Williams, AZ, and then after we drop off our bags at the hotel, we have a one and a half hour drive up to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon,” she rambled on while neatly folding the boys’ clothes, “It would be best to eat in the car.  We’re scheduled for a tour at 2:30, and it’s already well after 9.  And now that you got that bladder thing going on, we’ll have to make plenty of…Letti, are you listening to me?” 

I nodded my head, but I just wasn’t looking forward to the Grand Canyon or much of anything else that I knew was in store for us in the days ahead.  “Letti, are you O.K.?  Do we need to talk…maybe about last night?” Mom pressed after stopping for a moment to look up at me.

I shook my head.

“No, Mom.  I’d rather not.  Everything’s fine.”

Written by Amie Spruiell

Amie Spruiell After the Event © 2016