A MOUNTAIN TO CLIMB
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD (RICK) SWAIN
The fog wrapped Sheila in a moist opaque curtain, hindering her need to reach St. Clare’s by the 3pm deadline. Reaching up to brush back hair obscuring what little vision remained, her little sister suddenly vanished from her side. “Becky, where are you!” “Right here,” was the quick reply as a hand clutched her left forearm with a firm grip, “I stopped to pull up my socks.” The school door was locked, and Sheila braced herself for the lecture. The janitor’s appearance was a needed gift given to the harried substitute mom. The middle one, Janice, sat patiently waiting, first giving a happy small hand wave, and then reaching out for hugs.
Frank Wright, their father, was a long haul truck driver who could ill afford to quit the job and reinvent himself on such short notice. The malignant mesothelioma struck his wife so quickly, the family had no opportunity to prepare. One day three daughters nestled with their mom on a Sunday morning, and within weeks sat by a hospital bed with forced smiles and heaving stomachs. The doctor said complicated grief, sometimes called persistent complex bereavement, is most intense for young children. Sheila often wore a stoical gaze like a Venetian mask to conceal the thin veneer of a fragile girl far too young for such responsibilities. Their father froze with the fear of Children’s Protective Service taking his daughters away while on the road for up to ten days at a stretch, and unknowingly handed the nightmare to his oldest. His advice, pretend nothing has changed.
It is the ordinary thing, a mother wakes her children, kisses a cheek, finds busyness in the kitchen. Startled by reality, Sheila pleads and prods her sisters forward into another day, demanding of herself physical strength, while her mind is like a wound left uncovered to dry in morning air. Reading, voracious reading was her escape to a different world, and Ms. Nelson’s Reading Club was the bridge to that secret garden. Meg was her heroine in Little Women, and she strove to emulate patience and dutifulness. She visualized Janice as Beth, shy and sensitive, while Becky would be a Jo, independent and determined. Often, she would read to her sisters from a current book before bedtime, and weekends could find the girls raiding their mother’s closet for “Dress up story time.”
Once, on an early dark and chilly June morning, their mother banged a pot with a wooden cooking spoon, calling out “Rise and shine, the babies are ready to march.” Hot cocoa with melting miniature marshmallows floated in mugs, with hooded parkas hanging on each chair. No clues were given and guessing games ensued. A hospital, “No silly, those babies can’t march,” the zoo, “Too early, no chance, Mom, say something.” Carrie Wright could win the prize for soccer mom. The car was a battered 1996 Buick Roadmaster station wagon that Frank bought on a whim, finding it sitting on a deserted street with a sign “No more made in the USA.” She always wore her blond hair in a ponytail, and said things like “Try your best, and pick a weak player early, it will make their day.” Looking at Sheila to her side, and catching the eyes of Becky and Janice in the rear view mirror, she said ”Leatherbacks.” “Turtles” was the simultaneous shout echoing off the car windows. “A day at Juniper Beach” was the first entry in Sheila’s journal. A picture of Carrie holding her first born at seven days was taped to the cover. The luxurious red flannel robe with white collar was a gift from Frank, and Sheila inherited it on her 10th birthday, the only present she wanted. It was the teacher, Audrey Nelson, who spoke of a journal. Her older sister died from a swimming accident, and she found recording treasured memories helpful in easing the pain of loss.
Happiness is a dangerous word, mushy, confusing, suspect, perhaps even disrespectful. Sheila pondered these thoughts as her sisters ate their dinner. Ms. Nelson was often on her mind, and recently suggested calling her Audrey when away from the classroom. Would her mom say it was okay to have a big sister, or how about a favorite aunt. This pondering brought a smile. “What” said Janice, “Something just tickled your fancy.” Sheila laughed and coughed at the same time, almost choking on a swallow of milk. “Where on earth did you possibly hear that line. I’ll show you a proper tickle of fancy.” Racing around the table, she grabbed each sister, repeatedly sending them into uncontrollable laughter, and culminating with Janice shouting “You made me wet my pants!”
The Buick’s unmistakable rumbling into the garage woke Sheila from a light sleep. It would be Tuesday, and their dad was not expected until Friday. Suddenly a crash shook her bed, and the sound of shattering glass punctuated the darkness. A bowel sound deep within her body felt like a volcano ready to erupt, and a scream from Becky sent her flying across the hallway. Quieting her sisters, and despite fear, she ran toward the kitchen. A warm smell, more like a vapor than smoke greeted her. Shards of pottery and glass so littered the floor, she was forced back to her room for something hard sole. Frantically fumbling with shoes, a door slam caused her head to jerk. Frank sat on a kitchen chair and looked up as Sheila rushed in. His entire right leg from hip to foot was heavily wrapped. Someone had cut the jeans to a short length on the right, while the left looked normal. He spoke with a look of utter vacancy, “Can’t drive with a bum leg, hit the gas, not the brake.” Shifting to meet her wide eyed stare, “I am so sorry sweetheart.”
Not a union man, Frank was out of work, but surprisingly more at peace, with himself and with the world. It was Sheila who worried more, and yet realized she had no real understanding of how families survive in their circumstance. She broached the subject of bill paying, and her dad was quick to say “Keep your sisters on schedule, yourself healthy, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Too bad he didn’t mention boys as life soon spun with the gravitational pull of William Russell.
Sheila was sure no girl entering 10th grade was as clueless of the opposite sex as she was. Her best friends were her sisters, and boys seemed too immature to be taken seriously. That is until she bumped into William, and yes, bump as in knocking the book he held onto the library floor with a sound that caused heads to turn. Quick to kneel, their hands met at each end of the book, and their eyes a moment later. Juicy Fruit gum, that was her first remembrance, or was it “Catcher In The Rye.” She said “I’m sorry” and he said “Hello, I’m William.”
“One of these days, boys will catch your attention.” That was her mother’s start to a hopeful conversation when the two were alone in the car perhaps a year ago. Sheila had a headache, and was not ready for a heavy mom chat on the subject, sadly they never had a second chance. This remembrance brought tears, and a head buried in her pillow. Sheila knew herself well enough to recognize mood swings she had not experienced before. Her sisters said on several occasions that she was being weird, and her father seemed to shake his head more often. It was Ms. Nelson who came to the rescue seeing Sheila trying to hide a book. “It’s a good one,” Audrey said, “My mom and I read it together, and I would be privileged to discuss it with you. Perhaps I could answer some questions.”
William was a junior, but only three months older than Sheila. His family moved from California when his father received a work transfer. Reading Club was their only shared class, but attending football and basketball games led to more time together. Often the game was ignored, words were whispered as they leaned in, followed by laughter, tender pushing of arms or sides, and more laughter. It was such a moment at a basketball game when a girl in front turned and spoke, “My mom volunteers at the Food Bank, and said your father was in line to get the freebies, are you broke?” William spoke as Sheila stared back speechless. “What a rude and insensitive question you dimwit, you know nothing about Sheila and her family.” Squeezing her hand tightly, they stood and pushed past those in their row to quickly exit the stadium. Sheila stayed in bed for two days telling her father it was female related. Janice and Becky tried to mother their older sister, but Sheila waved them away like a swarm of locusts circling the room.
William had met Mr. Wright when the father visited the school’s book fair, knowing the young twosome were responsible for checkout and collection. Sheila reported back her dad’s appraisal, “Nice kid, he better treat you right.” This was a line they both shared to get a good laugh. At his second meeting, William stood at the front door retelling the Food Bank encounter, and did not hold back on “Freebie.” Mr. Wright maintained his composure, thanked William, and ended with “I very much appreciate your friendship and concern for my daughter.”
Frank asked Sheila if they could take a ride while the younger ones were happily playing with neighbors and would spend the night. With her learners permit in the glove box, Sheila guided the Roadmaster down State Road 707. Frank apologized for not treating his oldest as a responsible young adult who deserved to be included in family decisions. He spoke of living within your means by stretching dollars during leg recovery, briefly mentioned two new job possibilities, both paying more than truck driving, and best of all, regular 8 to 5 and home for supper. With bare feet crunching cool sand, the ocean side walk was therapeutic for both. A large trunk of smooth driftwood offered a place to sit and Sheila reached for her father’s hand. “Daddy, I have a favor to ask.” Frank was acutely aware his daughter had not used this affectionate term since her mother passed. “You spoke of supper, I want to plan a special meal and have Ms. Nelson and William be our guests.” The sun was dipping beneath the horizon as Frank rubbed a moist eye, ran his fingers across her cheek, and pushed hair behind her ear. He leaned in and whispered “Wonderful idea.”
Holding her journal, Sheila kept repeating the lyrics to Eric Clapton’s “Tears In Heaven.” “Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven? Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?” She was desperately missing her mother. “I need you to take care of me,” she cried to the cover’s picture. The joy of dinner with William and Audrey, the laughter from her father had vanished with the news, and she was left numbed and alone. Not only had the local job opportunities evaporated, her dad was ready to go back on the road. “I need to take a physical and demonstrate enough leg strength to again handle the 18 wheeler.” She wanted to protest, why was life betraying her, bitterness felt like a 35 pound blanket across her body, causing suffocation.
Reckless behavior soon replaced responsibility, books were put back on the shelf, and she avoided Ms. Nelson whenever possible. With awkwardness, she attempted what was her understanding of intimacy with William, it did not go well and the relationship grew strained. Isolation bred loneliness, and loneliness brought self loathing.
Frank pulled into the driveway after driving 28 hours, only stopping for gas, bathroom, and time to pick up coffee and sandwiches. The truck was unloaded in Phoenix, and after being threatened by his now ex employer for refusing a return load, he rented a car and rushed home. You can do a lot of soul searching in 28 hours. At whatever cost, long haul driving was in his past, his girls will have a father who tucks them in at night. For the two past days, no one had answered the home telephone, and not one of his three daughters attended school. He picked up the Buick and spent the final 45 minutes, praying. Not a religious man, it was Carrie who took the girls to church and Sunday school, and this too could change. The note on the garage side of the kitchen door simply said “We are at Audrey’s.”
It was the night after her father left, and Sheila could not stop crying. The nightmare was so vivid, she was challenged to accept it was a dream. Twice crossing the hall to see her sisters sleeping soundly, she sat on the floor at the foot of her bed. It must have been REM sleep as she remembered every aspect of the torturous experience. Unable to face her responsibilities, she had fled in darkness and wandered into a forest becoming hopelessly lost. Climbing, falling, walking in circles, she was trapped in an unending maze. Suddenly, a path opened and her home was illuminated in the distance. As she neared, the house sat alone in a clearing surrounded by the tallest of trees, and Janice with head bowed, sat on a front step. Her sister looked up and cried out that Becky had entered the forest to find her, and she was too afraid to follow. Sheila ran back frantically calling out, pleading for forgiveness, and by grace woke from the self imposed purgatory.
William answered the door, and Frank could hear shouting and laughter. “Monopoly, and Sheila is killing everyone with her Boardwalk and Park Place.” Audrey had taken a leave of absence, and understood all three girls needed a staycation with a good dose of TLC. As their father entered the living room, he was quickly mobbed by the daughters and calls for pizza. A week later, Frank put in his first eight hours at the local auto parts store. The owner was thrilled to have a responsible day manager who knew cars and trucks. The salary was not over generous, but bills would be paid, and plenty of food for the table.
Sheila looks back on her16th birthday as a turning point toward adulthood. Proud of how she stepped in and cared for her sisters, grateful for a boyfriend who was supportive and caring when she needed it most, and a father who would walk the longest mile for his kids. Who knows, there may be another William in her future, and luckiest of all, if she could be a mom like mother Carrie or mother Audrey.
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD (RICK) SWAIN
The fog wrapped Sheila in a moist opaque curtain, hindering her need to reach St. Clare’s by the 3pm deadline. Reaching up to brush back hair obscuring what little vision remained, her little sister suddenly vanished from her side. “Becky, where are you!” “Right here,” was the quick reply as a hand clutched her left forearm with a firm grip, “I stopped to pull up my socks.” The school door was locked, and Sheila braced herself for the lecture. The janitor’s appearance was a needed gift given to the harried substitute mom. The middle one, Janice, sat patiently waiting, first giving a happy small hand wave, and then reaching out for hugs.
Frank Wright, their father, was a long haul truck driver who could ill afford to quit the job and reinvent himself on such short notice. The malignant mesothelioma struck his wife so quickly, the family had no opportunity to prepare. One day three daughters nestled with their mom on a Sunday morning, and within weeks sat by a hospital bed with forced smiles and heaving stomachs. The doctor said complicated grief, sometimes called persistent complex bereavement, is most intense for young children. Sheila often wore a stoical gaze like a Venetian mask to conceal the thin veneer of a fragile girl far too young for such responsibilities. Their father froze with the fear of Children’s Protective Service taking his daughters away while on the road for up to ten days at a stretch, and unknowingly handed the nightmare to his oldest. His advice, pretend nothing has changed.
It is the ordinary thing, a mother wakes her children, kisses a cheek, finds busyness in the kitchen. Startled by reality, Sheila pleads and prods her sisters forward into another day, demanding of herself physical strength, while her mind is like a wound left uncovered to dry in morning air. Reading, voracious reading was her escape to a different world, and Ms. Nelson’s Reading Club was the bridge to that secret garden. Meg was her heroine in Little Women, and she strove to emulate patience and dutifulness. She visualized Janice as Beth, shy and sensitive, while Becky would be a Jo, independent and determined. Often, she would read to her sisters from a current book before bedtime, and weekends could find the girls raiding their mother’s closet for “Dress up story time.”
Once, on an early dark and chilly June morning, their mother banged a pot with a wooden cooking spoon, calling out “Rise and shine, the babies are ready to march.” Hot cocoa with melting miniature marshmallows floated in mugs, with hooded parkas hanging on each chair. No clues were given and guessing games ensued. A hospital, “No silly, those babies can’t march,” the zoo, “Too early, no chance, Mom, say something.” Carrie Wright could win the prize for soccer mom. The car was a battered 1996 Buick Roadmaster station wagon that Frank bought on a whim, finding it sitting on a deserted street with a sign “No more made in the USA.” She always wore her blond hair in a ponytail, and said things like “Try your best, and pick a weak player early, it will make their day.” Looking at Sheila to her side, and catching the eyes of Becky and Janice in the rear view mirror, she said ”Leatherbacks.” “Turtles” was the simultaneous shout echoing off the car windows. “A day at Juniper Beach” was the first entry in Sheila’s journal. A picture of Carrie holding her first born at seven days was taped to the cover. The luxurious red flannel robe with white collar was a gift from Frank, and Sheila inherited it on her 10th birthday, the only present she wanted. It was the teacher, Audrey Nelson, who spoke of a journal. Her older sister died from a swimming accident, and she found recording treasured memories helpful in easing the pain of loss.
Happiness is a dangerous word, mushy, confusing, suspect, perhaps even disrespectful. Sheila pondered these thoughts as her sisters ate their dinner. Ms. Nelson was often on her mind, and recently suggested calling her Audrey when away from the classroom. Would her mom say it was okay to have a big sister, or how about a favorite aunt. This pondering brought a smile. “What” said Janice, “Something just tickled your fancy.” Sheila laughed and coughed at the same time, almost choking on a swallow of milk. “Where on earth did you possibly hear that line. I’ll show you a proper tickle of fancy.” Racing around the table, she grabbed each sister, repeatedly sending them into uncontrollable laughter, and culminating with Janice shouting “You made me wet my pants!”
The Buick’s unmistakable rumbling into the garage woke Sheila from a light sleep. It would be Tuesday, and their dad was not expected until Friday. Suddenly a crash shook her bed, and the sound of shattering glass punctuated the darkness. A bowel sound deep within her body felt like a volcano ready to erupt, and a scream from Becky sent her flying across the hallway. Quieting her sisters, and despite fear, she ran toward the kitchen. A warm smell, more like a vapor than smoke greeted her. Shards of pottery and glass so littered the floor, she was forced back to her room for something hard sole. Frantically fumbling with shoes, a door slam caused her head to jerk. Frank sat on a kitchen chair and looked up as Sheila rushed in. His entire right leg from hip to foot was heavily wrapped. Someone had cut the jeans to a short length on the right, while the left looked normal. He spoke with a look of utter vacancy, “Can’t drive with a bum leg, hit the gas, not the brake.” Shifting to meet her wide eyed stare, “I am so sorry sweetheart.”
Not a union man, Frank was out of work, but surprisingly more at peace, with himself and with the world. It was Sheila who worried more, and yet realized she had no real understanding of how families survive in their circumstance. She broached the subject of bill paying, and her dad was quick to say “Keep your sisters on schedule, yourself healthy, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Too bad he didn’t mention boys as life soon spun with the gravitational pull of William Russell.
Sheila was sure no girl entering 10th grade was as clueless of the opposite sex as she was. Her best friends were her sisters, and boys seemed too immature to be taken seriously. That is until she bumped into William, and yes, bump as in knocking the book he held onto the library floor with a sound that caused heads to turn. Quick to kneel, their hands met at each end of the book, and their eyes a moment later. Juicy Fruit gum, that was her first remembrance, or was it “Catcher In The Rye.” She said “I’m sorry” and he said “Hello, I’m William.”
“One of these days, boys will catch your attention.” That was her mother’s start to a hopeful conversation when the two were alone in the car perhaps a year ago. Sheila had a headache, and was not ready for a heavy mom chat on the subject, sadly they never had a second chance. This remembrance brought tears, and a head buried in her pillow. Sheila knew herself well enough to recognize mood swings she had not experienced before. Her sisters said on several occasions that she was being weird, and her father seemed to shake his head more often. It was Ms. Nelson who came to the rescue seeing Sheila trying to hide a book. “It’s a good one,” Audrey said, “My mom and I read it together, and I would be privileged to discuss it with you. Perhaps I could answer some questions.”
William was a junior, but only three months older than Sheila. His family moved from California when his father received a work transfer. Reading Club was their only shared class, but attending football and basketball games led to more time together. Often the game was ignored, words were whispered as they leaned in, followed by laughter, tender pushing of arms or sides, and more laughter. It was such a moment at a basketball game when a girl in front turned and spoke, “My mom volunteers at the Food Bank, and said your father was in line to get the freebies, are you broke?” William spoke as Sheila stared back speechless. “What a rude and insensitive question you dimwit, you know nothing about Sheila and her family.” Squeezing her hand tightly, they stood and pushed past those in their row to quickly exit the stadium. Sheila stayed in bed for two days telling her father it was female related. Janice and Becky tried to mother their older sister, but Sheila waved them away like a swarm of locusts circling the room.
William had met Mr. Wright when the father visited the school’s book fair, knowing the young twosome were responsible for checkout and collection. Sheila reported back her dad’s appraisal, “Nice kid, he better treat you right.” This was a line they both shared to get a good laugh. At his second meeting, William stood at the front door retelling the Food Bank encounter, and did not hold back on “Freebie.” Mr. Wright maintained his composure, thanked William, and ended with “I very much appreciate your friendship and concern for my daughter.”
Frank asked Sheila if they could take a ride while the younger ones were happily playing with neighbors and would spend the night. With her learners permit in the glove box, Sheila guided the Roadmaster down State Road 707. Frank apologized for not treating his oldest as a responsible young adult who deserved to be included in family decisions. He spoke of living within your means by stretching dollars during leg recovery, briefly mentioned two new job possibilities, both paying more than truck driving, and best of all, regular 8 to 5 and home for supper. With bare feet crunching cool sand, the ocean side walk was therapeutic for both. A large trunk of smooth driftwood offered a place to sit and Sheila reached for her father’s hand. “Daddy, I have a favor to ask.” Frank was acutely aware his daughter had not used this affectionate term since her mother passed. “You spoke of supper, I want to plan a special meal and have Ms. Nelson and William be our guests.” The sun was dipping beneath the horizon as Frank rubbed a moist eye, ran his fingers across her cheek, and pushed hair behind her ear. He leaned in and whispered “Wonderful idea.”
Holding her journal, Sheila kept repeating the lyrics to Eric Clapton’s “Tears In Heaven.” “Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven? Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?” She was desperately missing her mother. “I need you to take care of me,” she cried to the cover’s picture. The joy of dinner with William and Audrey, the laughter from her father had vanished with the news, and she was left numbed and alone. Not only had the local job opportunities evaporated, her dad was ready to go back on the road. “I need to take a physical and demonstrate enough leg strength to again handle the 18 wheeler.” She wanted to protest, why was life betraying her, bitterness felt like a 35 pound blanket across her body, causing suffocation.
Reckless behavior soon replaced responsibility, books were put back on the shelf, and she avoided Ms. Nelson whenever possible. With awkwardness, she attempted what was her understanding of intimacy with William, it did not go well and the relationship grew strained. Isolation bred loneliness, and loneliness brought self loathing.
Frank pulled into the driveway after driving 28 hours, only stopping for gas, bathroom, and time to pick up coffee and sandwiches. The truck was unloaded in Phoenix, and after being threatened by his now ex employer for refusing a return load, he rented a car and rushed home. You can do a lot of soul searching in 28 hours. At whatever cost, long haul driving was in his past, his girls will have a father who tucks them in at night. For the two past days, no one had answered the home telephone, and not one of his three daughters attended school. He picked up the Buick and spent the final 45 minutes, praying. Not a religious man, it was Carrie who took the girls to church and Sunday school, and this too could change. The note on the garage side of the kitchen door simply said “We are at Audrey’s.”
It was the night after her father left, and Sheila could not stop crying. The nightmare was so vivid, she was challenged to accept it was a dream. Twice crossing the hall to see her sisters sleeping soundly, she sat on the floor at the foot of her bed. It must have been REM sleep as she remembered every aspect of the torturous experience. Unable to face her responsibilities, she had fled in darkness and wandered into a forest becoming hopelessly lost. Climbing, falling, walking in circles, she was trapped in an unending maze. Suddenly, a path opened and her home was illuminated in the distance. As she neared, the house sat alone in a clearing surrounded by the tallest of trees, and Janice with head bowed, sat on a front step. Her sister looked up and cried out that Becky had entered the forest to find her, and she was too afraid to follow. Sheila ran back frantically calling out, pleading for forgiveness, and by grace woke from the self imposed purgatory.
William answered the door, and Frank could hear shouting and laughter. “Monopoly, and Sheila is killing everyone with her Boardwalk and Park Place.” Audrey had taken a leave of absence, and understood all three girls needed a staycation with a good dose of TLC. As their father entered the living room, he was quickly mobbed by the daughters and calls for pizza. A week later, Frank put in his first eight hours at the local auto parts store. The owner was thrilled to have a responsible day manager who knew cars and trucks. The salary was not over generous, but bills would be paid, and plenty of food for the table.
Sheila looks back on her16th birthday as a turning point toward adulthood. Proud of how she stepped in and cared for her sisters, grateful for a boyfriend who was supportive and caring when she needed it most, and a father who would walk the longest mile for his kids. Who knows, there may be another William in her future, and luckiest of all, if she could be a mom like mother Carrie or mother Audrey.
RICHARD SWAIN