Chapter 23
Mom arrived at the pool to get Hannah and me a half hour after the guys left.
“Mrs. Ray, I’m really sorry to hear about your separation.” Hannah leaned forward from the back seat as we pulled into her neighborhood. The pageant world and growing up an only child had certainly given Hannah the confidence to talk to adults like she was one.
Mom reached over and patted her hand. “Thank you, sweetie.”
“If you ever need to talk to anyone about divorce, you can call my mom.” We pulled into the driveway in front of the large brick house Hannah had grown up in. “See ya later, Lola. Call me.” She climbed out of the car.
“Bye.” I yelled through the open window as she walked into the garage.
“Did you two have fun?” Mom asked.
“We met her new boyfriend and the jerk quarterback there, so I’d hardly call it fun.”
“So you didn’t hit it off with the quarterback?
I laughed. “Are you kidding?”
“Hey, you and Ian are just friends right?”
“Yeah, but Camden? I’d have a better chance at getting a modeling contract than getting asked out by him.” I shook my head and stared out the window. “He’s not my type anyway.”
“Well, at least you got your Vitamin D,” Mom laughed.
“Ah, yes. A bright side.”
When we got home, I called Ian. “Save me,” I moaned when he answered.
“What do you need to be saved from?”
“I just spent half the day with Hannah, Andy, and Camden at the pool.”
“OMG! Those guys are totally super cool. I mean, they are gorgeous with a capitol G!” Ian was doing his best shallow, ditzy girl impersonation. I could just imagine his head whipping back and forth.
I laughed. “I can’t begin to tell you. It was a see-saw between great levels of embarrassment and intense boredom.”
“How in the world could you possibly be embarrassed or bored by the super-jocks?”
“Well, let’s see, Hannah and Andy were all over each other and the only words that came out of Camden’s mouth all morning were a few insults directed at Andy.” I grabbed a clean shirt out of my drawer and pulled it over my head. “Quite frankly, I think I’d rather experience my death in the Holocaust again than have to repeat this day.”
“Perfect, when do you want to schedule an appointment?” Ian asked.
“Huh?”
“An appointment with your hypnotherapist.”
“Oh,” I laughed. “I was only kidding, you know.”
“You need to go back one more time. You need to see the rest, to know what happens to your mom and dad and the young guard.” Ian paused. “Hell, maybe one more trip there and you’ll figure out who he is.”
“I don’t know.” The idea of seeing more of that life really scared me, but I felt like I should consider doing it for Ian. He’d helped me so much with all of this. If not for him guiding me through it, I might be penciled in on Dr. Koman’s schedule with Mom.
Ian’s voice pleaded, “I’ll keep you safe, Lola.”
“You don’t understand, though. It was so scary being there. I’m just not sure I can handle it.”
“I know it was hard. I saw you that day at my house. But sometimes when something is this frightening, it means that you have to face it.” He paused. “I just think you need to do this.”
The young soldier’s face flashed through my mind. Maybe it would help to figure out who he was. And I’d like to see what happened to Mom and Dad. Maybe it would explain what they’re going through now. “Okay, I’ll do it.” I walked to the closet and grabbed the vacuum. “When and where?”
“I’ll meet you at my dad’s in the morning. Sammy’s at art camp this week.”
I hung up the phone and plugged in the vacuum. I pushed the machine back and forth, back and forth.
When I was finished vacuuming, I went downstairs to join Mom. She was making lasagna for dinner. When she pushed the dish into the oven she asked me to help her bring in the art supplies from her car. We carried in four boxes and a few clean canvases and took them up to Dad’s old office.
“When does Ian get back from his mom’s?” Mom asked.
“He’s there all week, but he’s coming over to his dad’s tomorrow to hang out with me.”
“Do you think he’d let us use his truck? There are a few things that won’t fit into the Escape.” Mom lifted up her hair and fanned the back of her neck. She looked exhausted.
“What else do you need to pick up?” I asked.
“Two tables, a collage, and my paintings.”
“What if Ian and I go pick that stuff up tomorrow? Would that help you?”
Her face brightened. “Can you? That would be amazing!”
I put my arm around her. “Of course, we can.”
The next morning, Ian called from across the street. I made some toast to take with me and grabbed the key to Mom’s studio.
“You ready to get started?” He ushered me into the living room.
“Actually, I have a little bit of a detour for us this morning.” I noticed he’d put a blanket in the recliner and plugged the CD player in. “Mom needs some help moving out of her studio space at the art park. I sort of volunteered us to go over there and get the tables and her paintings.”
Ian eyed the room. I sensed that he was disappointed. “I guess we can do this later then.”
“Thank you.” I threw my arms around him for a quick hug. “You should have seen her last night. She was so tired and sad. The studio means the world to her and now she has to let it go. I just don’t want anything to make the depression come back.”
“I understand.” He grabbed his keys off the counter and I followed him to the door.
We walked into the studio. The built-in shelves were empty and the supplies that had been strewn across the large table last time I was there were gone. The brightly painted canvases were leaning in a stack against the wall and the collage was sitting on top of the smaller table. Ian walked over and stared down at it as I flipped through the paintings.
“There’s some powerful imagery in this thing,” he remarked.
“Like what?”
“Well, you got this woman here, arms outstretched, a sort of desperate surrender in her eyes. Then there’s this barren tree and cocoon. A lot of images of death and rebirth here is all. When did she do this?”
I walked over and stood beside Ian. “She started this one on my birthday and finished it last week.”
I looked at all the images on the collage. With Ian’s explanation, I was looking at it with new eyes. Had my Mom consciously chosen these pictures or had they chosen her? “What do you think it means?”
“That she’s going to be okay.”
“I hope you’re right.” Ian was standing so close that our arms touched a little. Neither of us moved. I wondered if he’d felt it, the electricity that passed from his skin to mine. I certainly did.
“I am.” He patted my back. “Hey, is the painting you told me about here?”
I felt a twinge of disappointment when he walked over to the stack of paintings. “Yeah, it’s in the stack.” I followed him and pulled out the one of my mom and me in our last life together.
“That’s incredible.” Ian stared at the painting. “I’ve got an idea. What if I hypnotize you right here. We can use the painting as a prop to take you back there. It seems like, if you look at the image, it will pin-point the place in time you want to arrive. Maybe it will keep you from having to die again.”
“Do you think that will work?”
“I have no idea, but it’s worth a try.” Ian looked at me, excitement in his eyes.
I started to feel anxious. But I didn’t want to let him down. “Where do you want me to sit?” I asked.
Ian surveyed the room. “Sit over there against the wall. I’ll hold the painting up in front of you.”
“What about the music?”
“Lola, I’m not even sure you need me at all. As many times as you’ve gone back there, I almost think all it would take is closing your eyes and asking to see.”
I sat down cross-legged and leaned back against the wall. Ian sat in front of me holding the painting. I studied the picture and reminded myself it was my mother and me. Ian started quoting from the script he’d read the first time we did this. Fear rose up within me and he reminded me that I was loved, protected and safe. He asked me to look at the picture and remember what it was like to be there. He counted backwards and my eyelids grew heavy.
I float above the scene. Looking down, I see my mother holding my body. Two guards approach her and pull her away from what’s left of me. She kicks and screams for a second before falling limp in their arms. Her eyes are glazed over, the life drained from them. She is back in line with the other women and children. A few guards go through the line inspecting each woman and taking notes of any skills they mention. My mother is a wonderful seamstress. She worked in our shop sewing men’s suits. She was one of the best. When the guard asks her about her skills, she doesn’t say a word. He moves her to the line on the left. In front of her is a small elderly woman cradling an infant and behind her is a woman so thin you can see her ribs. The woman appears to be delirious with fever, carrying on a conversation with someone no one else can see. I know what this means. My mother is among the sick and weak. When the intake is complete, the guards lead the healthy women toward buildings that resemble dormitories. The sick, old and too young move slowly to the building with smoke rising from it. We’d heard rumors of the crematoriums. Before entering that dreaded place, the women are marched into another building and prepared for their death. I watch as a barber shaves my mother’s flowing black hair and a dentist checks her teeth for fillings. I can’t bear to see the rest.
I think of my father and in seconds I am there looking down on him. His head is shaved and he’s wearing a uniform. They’re tattooing him. He stares at the numbers on his arm, hope still lighting his eyes. He doesn’t know that I am dead and that his beloved wife will join me within minutes. He’s praying to make it through, that someone, the Russians maybe, will intervene and save us all. He’s wondering if our house will still be standing when we arrive there again. His imagination is not wild or dark enough to envision the reality of this situation.
Time passes in a blink. I am still with my father, watching. I know my mother is gone, though I haven’t met her here on this side of the veil. Isn’t death the place to be reunited again? I look down on my father and he is crammed into a hard wooden bunk with nine other men. He is emaciated. I barely recognize him. He resembles a skeleton covered only in a thin layer of skin. The hope is gone from his eyes. He will die in that bed, under those men who’ve stolen the bread he’d saved for just this moment. In the morning, when everyone but my father arrives for work, the guards will find him. They will carry him to the trenches and throw his remains into the mass grave that is the reality of this place where Work is Freedom.
Ian rested his hand gently on my knee. I wasn’t shaking, but my face was wet with tears.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and nodded.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“We all died there. Mom was killed right after me. Dad, he endured months of suffering, until he just withered away.”
Ian moved closer and put his arm around me. “I’m so sorry.”
“What am I supposed to do with this information? Why did I see it?”
“Only you can know that,” Ian answered.
“How will I know?”
“Ask for guidance?”
“Who am I supposed to ask?” I looked into his eyes.
Ian pulled his arm back and his eyes shifted from mine. “Well, truth be told, sometimes when I’m alone I like to confer with the Captain.”
“The Captain?”
“Yeah, you know, the Captain.” He pointed toward the sky.
“Are you telling me that my non-conformist friend, Ian White, believes in God?” I leaned against the wall, pondering the idea. “I mean, I thought at the very least you were agnostic.”
He laughed. “I mean, I suppose we don’t know anything for sure, but I do like to believe that the Captain is, in fact, real.” He paused for a moment with a peaceful smile on his face. “When I ask for help with something, I usually get it.”
“Give me an example.”
He looked at me puzzled.
“I’m a skeptic. I want proof,” I smiled.
Ian laughed again. “All right. Let’s see.” He thought for a minute. “Well, when Wayne moved us into the new house, I asked the Captain to make it bearable.”
“And?”
“I walked into my new living room and found the cute girl across the street blowing out a birthday candle.”
I blushed. “God, that was embarrassing.” I hid my face with my hands.
“It was the best answer I’ve ever gotten to one of my requests.”
I looked at him. His eyes were lit up. He was sharing a deep secret with me, giving me a gift. I loved it. I loved his honesty, his vulnerability. “So basically, you’re telling me to pray for the answer.”
“Pray? God, no! Prayer is for desperate people. I’m telling you to ask to be given understanding of the situation. What do you need to learn about this life from that one?” Ian stood and began to fold up Mom’s table. “It doesn’t matter what or who you believe in, you just have to have faith the answers you need will come.”
“And they will?”
“I think so.” He pushed the last leg of the table and lifted it up. “Now you want to get that door for me?”