Memories of A Mortician Part 6 Birth in Death Washed Ashore
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It was a couple more weeks before I was released from the hospital. Every day with Sharon's help I got a little stronger. Our walks down the hallway soon grew into visits to the physical therapy room. While there were perfectly good therapists on the hospital staff Sharon insisted on doing everything herself. She even came in on her days off. I was in her care, and she let everyone know it.
And when it was determined I would be leaving in the next couple of days, Sharon dug through the plastic bag of bloodied clothes to retrieve my keys. I had forgotten completely about them. She went to my apartment and got some clothes for me to wear home.
And while I was much stronger from all the therapy and could dress myself, Sharon insisted on helping me with everything.
"Really, Sharon, I think I can dress myself." Tears started forming in her eyes. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"When I went to get your apartment to get your clothes, there were also a lot of your bride's clothes. It's so sad, Carlos. She was killed on your, and her, wedding day. I'm so sorry. And now you're about to go home and see all her clothes and belongings, just the way she left them. It's so sad."
Finally I was all dressed and ready to go. I grabbed my wallet out of the night stand drawer and put my keys in my pocket.
"Let me get a wheelchair so I can take you down. I'll bring you out the front and take you home in my car."
"I've really never understood that rule. I was just on the treadmill this morning. I can make it down myself. I'll just get a taxi or something."
"Hospital policy on the wheelchair. Don't argue with me," Sharon said, a slight smile coming back to her lips. "But I'm not letting you go home on your own. I'm driving you, and that's final."
With Sharon pushing, we made our way. All the nurses and doctors at the nurse's station hugged me or shook my hand, wishing me luck. "Don't come back and see us," they joked. "God bless you," someone said. "Good luck," and "Continued successful recovery," others said.
But when we got down to the lobby we saw there might be some trouble.
"Somebody alerted the TV stations," one of the guards said. We could see out the front doors all the news vans and reporters with microphones in their hands. I had watched the news almost every night, and the murders of Jazz and her family, and the attempted murder of me and some of the other wedding guests was still big news. Lauren was still a suspect, a "person of interest," they were calling her. I still couldn't believe that she was somehow involved.
"I've got an idea," Sharon said. Let's go through the kitchen to the service door. I'll get my car and bring it around.
No one saw us as she wheeled me out onto the loading dock. I had to wait only a few minutes before Sharon came with her car and we drove away using a side driveway to get out to one of the streets running behind the hospital complex.
"I really appreciate you doing this, Sharon."
"Sweetie, I just couldn't let you go home by yourself." She reached over and grabbed one of my hands. I could see the sincerity in her eyes, and maybe something else, too. Since waking up out of my coma and seeing Sharon every day, I realized she cared for me very much, much more than a nurse should care for a patient. She had made a project out of me since even before I woke up. And if I understand the way she looked at me, had some decidedly non-medical feelings for me.
And I have to confess I had feelings for her, too. She was sweet and kind, and took care of me. She saw me at the worst time in my life and didn't bat an eye. She cleaned me up every day and seemed to take great pleasure doing it. She saw me naked on more than one occasion, and even saw my penis try to become erect. She'd pretty much seen all of me anyone could ever see, and more. And now here she was continuing to take care of me, on her own time. Sitting next to me driving me home was no longer nurse Sharon, but friend Sharon, woman Sharon, willingly giving of herself and her time to help me.
The place looked the same as we pulled into the parking lot. My car was still there. The tires weren't flat and it didn't look like it had been broken into or anything. So far, so good.
"Do you want me to go up with you?"
"You're very sweet to offer, Sharon. But I think this is something I need to do by myself."
"I should probably help you up the stairs." She started to unbuckle her seat belt to get out of the car. But I put my hand on hers. She looked hurt and like she was about to burst into tears.
"Sharon, you've been so good to me. I need to put some closure on a chapter in my life. And the closing starts as soon as I walk into my apartment. There's a new chapter in my life about to begin, and I think you're going to be a part of it somehow. But I don't want to mix chapters. I don't know if I'm making any sense."
"Sweet Carlos." The tears rolled slowly down her cheeks and she pressed her lips to the back of my hand. I grabbed both of her hands in mine and kissed them both. Then I kissed her soft lips. I wanted to open my mouth, and her to open her mouth, and press our tongues together. But it wasn't the right time yet. I wasn't sure if there would ever be a right time. At that moment I thought that maybe Sharon could have a place in my life. But I needed to come to grips with losing Jazz. And then there was Lauren, too.
"How do I find you? I know where you work, but I don't know where you live or your phone number."
Sharon fished around in her purse and pulled out a business card. "I also do in-home care on the side. My home phone is listed there on the lower right. Don't lose it. Call me if you need anything. I'll come right away. Are you sure you don't need me to come up with you? I'm so afraid for you."
"I'll be OK. I promise I'll call you later and let you know I'm alright."
"You better."
"Thanks for everything, Sharon," I said dumbly as I got out of the car. "No, wait a minute. That didn't sound right. I wouldn't be right here right now without you. I don't think I could ever come up with sufficient words to express how much I'm in your debt, and how happy I am you came into my life when you did."
"It's OK. I know how much you care. Please call me later."
"I will. I promise."
For a brief second I thought she was going to tell me she loved me. But as I closed the door, she focused her eyes ahead and slowly drove away. I watched as she wheeled out onto the street and her taillights disappeared in the distance.
I could smell Jazz when I opened the door to my apartment and the air inside hit my nose. The place hadn't had anyone living in it since the morning of the wedding. Her clothes were lying around all over, draped on chair backs and in piles on the floor, right where she left them. I started picking them up, and didn't get very far before the grief and tears hit me. I fell on the bed and buried my face in Jazz's pillow, sobbing uncontrollably.
I don't know how long I lay there, but it was long enough that it got dark outside and my stomach hurt from all my crying. I turned the lights on and went looking for something to drink. Something stronger than the milk and tea they'd given me at the hospital. I found my bottle of Irish whiskey and poured myself a little. It burned like it was supposed to as it slid down my throat. It tasted so good that I poured myself another, and another, and another.
I had plopped down in a chair realizing that I was getting pretty well smashed when the phone rang. I decided to let the answering machine get it in case it was a reporter or someone else I didn't want to talk to.
"Hi," Jazz's voice said, "we can't get to the phone right so please leave a message." "Beep," the machine said.
"Carlos, I'm so worried about you." It was Sharon. "It's after 10 and I was hoping you would have called me by now."
"Sorry, Sharon. I didn't realize it was so late," I slurred as I fumbled the receiver up to my face.
"Are you OK, honey?"
"Yes. I'm OK. Just a little sad. And a little drunk, too."
"I can hear it in your voice. I can come over if you want."
"Can you give me a couple of days to take care of some things?"
"Of course. But I wish you'd let me help you."
"I have to do a few things by myself. It's important to me. But you're important to me, too. Please believe me."
"You're important to me, too. I'm glad you're OK. Sleep it off and get your things done. Then please come back to me. I'll wait for you to call me when you're ready."
"Thanks, Sharon. I'll call you in a couple of days."
"Bye, sweetheart."
I had a couple more drinks, then went into the bedroom, wrapped myself in Jazz's bathrobe and lay down on the bed. The next thing I knew it was daylight. I looked at the clock to see it was 11 AM, still plenty of time to get done what I needed to.
As I went to get in my car all of a sudden I was surrounded by TV reporters.
"How does it feel to get out of the hospital?"
"What are you going to do now?"
"What about Lauren St. Clair? Who is she to you?"
And so on. My car started right up and I drove away as quickly as I could. I made a serpentine trip through the surrounding neighborhood, hoping to lose any reporters chasing me. Satisfied I didn't have anyone following me I headed to the office. My coworkers were stunned as I walked through the door.
"Oh my god, Carlos," Sophia the receptionist screamed as she jumped up from her desk and ran over to hug me. "Carlos is back," she yelled down the hallway. Everyone came rushing out of their offices into the lobby. "Are you OK," and "How are you feeling?" in addition to "Welcome back" and "It's so good to see you" were among the things people said to me.
"Your office is ready and waiting," my boss said. "We haven't touched anything."
"Waiting to see if I kicked off or not, huh?" I looked serious for a moment and everyone went silent. But then I started laughing and they all joined in.
"Fished you," I cajoled, pointing at them.
"When are you coming back?" my boss asked. "No hurry, though, take as long as you need," he added quickly.
"Is next Monday too soon?"
"Are you sure? It's only been 6 weeks since..." he let his voice trail off, looking a bit embarrassed.
"No, it's fine. I need to get back into the swing of things. I'd start sooner, but I have a few things to take care of first." With lots of well wishes I left the office, promising to return to work the following Monday morning.
Next stop was the house of Jazz's parents. As I pulled up in front of the house I saw a few faces I remembered from the wedding. There was a couple who were introduced to me as Claire's sister and brother-in-law, and I think the two young men were their sons. And there were two or three other people I didn't recognize. As I recalled they were some of the ones who didn't look too happy at the wedding, although I never learned the reason why.
There was a big truck backed up in the driveway and people were bringing boxes out of the front door and garage door and putting them in the truck. I parked the car and walked up towards the house.
"I heard you were about to get out of the hospital. What are you doing here?" The brother-in-law still was not looking so happy. And the tone of his voice wasn't pleasant at all.
"I came by to pay my respects. Claire and Joseph were very good to me and welcomed me into their family. So did Neil. I'm so sorry about everything. I don't know what to say. I hope you realize why I couldn't come to the funeral services."
"How dare you show your face here." Claire's sister came out of the front door. "My sister and her whole family are dead because of you."
"How can you say that? I didn't even know that guy. I'd never seen him before in my life."
"But he knew you. That was plain enough. We've been following the news. You must have been seeing that white girl on the side, and he got jealous and killed my baby sister." She broke down.
"Now you done it," the brother-in-law said. "Time for you to leave before I lay you out for good this time."
"Daddy, is this guy bothering you?" One of the boys, actually more like a grown man the way he was built, with muscles bulging and veins in his throat poking out, came up, his fists balled.
"Hey, you're that mutha-fucka my cousin almost married. You got her killed, you mutha-fucka. I warned her to stay away from white people like you, that no good would ever come of it. Stay with your own kind, I told her. Now looks what's happened, what you did. I ought to kill you right now where you stand."
"Jazz loved me, and I loved her. Claire and Joseph welcomed me into their home, their family, and their lives. Unlike you, they didn't care about anyone's skin color. They just looked at the person. And the person I'm looking at right now is more prejudiced than any white person could ever be."
"You son of a bitch," the father-in-law said. "You better leave before someone has to come and carry your body away. I mean it." And I could see he did mean it.
"Did you catch all that, Curtis?" The voice came from someone walking around from the other side of the truck.
"Yes, sir," the guy I assumed to be Curtis said as he followed the first guy, video camera on his shoulder. "Every word, every facial expression, every action."
"John Johnson from News 7," the first guy said talking to me. "I figured if I waited here long enough you'd eventually show up." He turned and pushed his microphone into brother-in-law's face. "Is it true that you really blame Carlos Tomas for what happened at Trinity Church?"
Brother-in-law was stunned, and at an initial loss of words. But he regained composure quickly.
"Absolutely. If he hadn't messed with that white girl, none of this would have happened."
"Do you agree with what the other man here said," he indicated the son who had threatened me, "that the Franklin family is dead because of white prejudice? Do you think there's something inherently dangerous about an interracial relationship?"
"What?" brother-in-law stammered. "All I know is she got mixed up where she shouldn't have got mixed up, and now she and a lot of other people is dead."
"That boy was dippin' into that white girl," the son said.
"Do you have proof of that?" John Johnson asked.
"We don't need no proof. That's what white folks do."
I decided to make an exit and slowly started backing up towards my car. John Johnson looked like he had his hands full. He and the cameraman were surrounded by Claire's sister, husband, sons, and the other men, all eager it looked to get in their two cents. Lucky for me my car was partially hidden by the truck, so I was able to get in and drive away. No doubt I could see the rest of the conversation on the 6 o'clock news.
How come people just can't accept the fact that some folks are white, some black, others red, olive, brown, yellow, and just about all colors of the rainbow, and not get so hung up about it? I just don't get it. How can the measure of a person's worth be somehow linked to the color of their skin? If we're going to judge people at all, why not base it on what they do and what they say? I confess I'll never understand much about such things as race based hatred.
I must have wanted to go home because shortly I found myself turning onto the street where I lived, where Jazz and I lived. There were no reporters laying in wait as I pulled into the parking lot, thank goodness. I was not in the best of moods, not for being angry, but for being sad. And not sad because of all that had happened. But sad because of the sorry state of humanity. At least the state of it in Houston the past few weeks.
Maybe keeping myself busy doing something would help me out of my doldrums. So I spent the next few hours cleaning my apartment, picking up Jazz's clothes and things and consolidating them in one side of the closet and on the floor in one corner of the bedroom. The tears came and went as I picked something up and a memory would come to me. A blouse she wore that I liked, her makeup items in the bathroom and on the dresser, her shoes, her underwear, still smelling of her like she just took them off. But I needed to do this, to move on with my life. Not to forget her or erase her memory as if she had never been alive or been such a great part of my life. But to close a chapter while still treasuring all she had meant to me, and would always mean to me.
I think she would have liked others to gain from her loss. For her death to give help and maybe even life to someone else. So little by little over the rest of the day, into the night, and the morning of the next day I carried Jazz's things down to the car, finally taking everything to a place where I could donate it to people less fortunate than us. I think she would have liked that. And when I got back to the apartment, her smell was still faint in the air, and would probably linger for a little while longer until ultimately disappearing altogether from my nose, but never from my mind or heart.
The sheets and pillow cases went into the washer. I cried as I thought of the last traces of her going down the drain. But I knew I couldn't hang on to anything more than her memory. If I was going to move on, to be worth anything to myself or anyone else I had to let go. The clean bed was fresh and crisp, like the cool morning of a new day. The promise of what lay in store, felt in the soft breeze gradually being warmed by the first rays of the sun. I fell quickly asleep, asking Jazz to forgive me for starting to live a life without her.
A vision of Sharon came into my head in the early morning hours. It wasn't light yet, and I laid there thinking of her. I had promised to call her in a couple of days. I knew she'd drop everything and come right over if I wanted her to. And I pretty much figured that if she did, it wouldn't take much to start an intimate relationship with her. But then there was Lauren. And I suddenly remembered the little scrap of paper I had stuffed into my wallet. Certainly that had to be her phone number.
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