Every
single word written here is an extraordinary exaggeration of events
that have played out in my head... based on the stories I have heard
from people I have met in jail or while I was dealing with my own
stupidity and carelessness, resulting from my own addiction to alcohol
and drugs. This is in no way a glamorization of drug use, but a tool to
lend some humanity to a subculture that has been demonized and written
off as a hopeless and worthless part of our human family. I do not
condone or promote any of the behavior or activities herein.
The hospital’s front desk and adjacent
lobby were deserted. The dimly lit,
large, sterile room seemed as though it would be uninviting on its best day,
let alone this one. As the revolving door
opened itself to the bleak space of the featureless tile and uninspiring rooms
beyond it, a flood of dry, recycled air washed over me and tossed my already disheveled
hair. The blast of disinfected air
reawakened the reality behind my morbid purpose, and I shook my head in an
attempt to settle the grimy locks of unkempt hair. While I was fruitlessly looking for someone
to offer me some guidance in the task at hand, my wife’s sister caught up to me
as I approached the derelict reception desk spread across the center of the
lobby.
“Do you see anyone?” she whispered.
“No,” my voice was raspy, although I
was trying to speak loudly enough to draw attention. “I guess the reception area has a closing
time.”
She closed the distance between
where she stood behind me and the mammoth, laminate-wood desk
protruding from the lifeless, gray slate tiles of the floor in front of
me. Her arm reached across my field of
vision and patted the chrome button of a shiny bell stationed behind a
hand-written card taped to surface of the desk which read:
If receptionist isn’t available ring
bell for assistance. Thank You!
The sharp sound of the bell bounced
off of the cold, sanitary surfaces of the room we waited in, and also seemed to
carry into the hallways opening in several directions on all sides of us. Almost immediately a round-faced, squat and
bubbly looking young girl in pale green scrubs appeared from the hallway to our
right.
“Hi there, can I help you guys with
something?” She called across the room,
noticeably startling my sister-in-law who wasn’t quite as aware of the nurse’s
approach as I was.
“I’m not sure,” I started, and then
cleared my throat unproductively to try and regain some of its composure. “Sheriff Doyle asked me to come down here and
identify my wife’s body.” I produced the
statement with a surprisingly cold and emotionless efficiency. None of the warbling or tear-strangled tones
I had expected to reveal my shattered emotional state seemed to surface. The iciness I had begun to feel at the
conclusion of our journey to this place had seated itself firmly in my core.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry to
hear that.” The stout, bubbly features
of her face melted away as I watched flushed red splotches appear on her ample
cheeks. “Let me call down there and have
someone meet you up here to take care of that.”
“Thank you so much.” I intended to
sound genuinely grateful, but the words fell from my mouth like icicles
dropping to their fate prematurely. I
turned my back to the desk and leaned against it while she fumbled for the
receptionist’s phone and made an uneasy intercom request.
“Carrie Timpke to reception please …
Carrie Timpke or similar department nine personnel, please report to the
reception desk.” The intercom wasn’t
blaring, but the innocuous sounding request it wielded felt as though it were piercing
my head.
“Someone will be here momentarily…”
she offered shyly. “Is there anything
else I can help you with?” The tone of
her voice seemed to be pleading with me not to keep her tied up any longer. I felt regret for having made her uncomfortable,
but couldn’t find the appropriate way to express it. I merely shook my head without turning around
to acknowledge her, or even watch as she made her hasty escape.
The moments passed quietly while my
wife’s sister wandered aimlessly along the pale barren walls, dragging her fingers
carelessly along the top of the wainscoting.
I found my mind curiously absent of the phantom parade of indictments I
had suffered through for most of the last several hours. My eyes were vaguely preoccupied with
watching my unsuspecting sister-in-law as if I were some mindless voyeur. As she found the distant corner farthest from
me, we were both drawn back into reality by the muted tone of the elevator
arriving at the end of the hallway behind the desk. I turned my body towards the sound and
watched the doors slide open to reveal an ageless, sandy-blonde woman in
caramel colored scrubs. She took notice
of me, and raised a hand in muted acknowledgement. As she stepped out of the elevator I watched
as she walked towards where I was waiting with her striking eyes locked on my face. There was nothing counterfeit about her poise
or purpose. Her wide eyes were clear and
the intensity of their blue centers was magnified by the amount of white
surrounding them. I felt nothing of the
anxiety I had been anticipating while her gaze remained fixed on me. There was a profound sadness behind the
startling clarity and prominence of her eyes.
I sensed that I was strangely familiar with her almost immediately, and felt
as though the weight of my current burden was being unexpectedly monitored by and carefully shared with her.
She carefully and inquisitively pronounced my name
while she narrowed the distance between us.
The sound of her voice complimented the enlightened, deep-seated sadness
of her eyes and the dignified humility of her posture. I nodded wordlessly as she offered her hand
in greeting. I took her hand in my own
while she closed her remaining hand around my knuckles. The gesture was as purely genuine as anything I had
ever experienced.
“I’m wish these things didn’t
happen.” She offered quietly. “Is... she with you, sir?” Her eyes darted over my shoulder and I turned
my head to see my wife’s sister approaching softly.
“Yes, this is my sister-in-law.” I
affirmed.
“I see,” the woman nodded in my her direction, while never releasing my hand from the gentle connection to her own.
“My
name is Carrie. We should start walking. I’m afraid our destination is a little bit of
a hike.”
“Sure,” I looked down at our
interlocked hands questioningly. She
released my hand gently, and returned her gaze to my eyes. The gesture would have normally made me
uncomfortable with a complete stranger, but somehow I felt sobering relief when
she looked at me.
“Which
way?” I croaked.
“Follow me. We need to take the elevator unless you
prefer the stairs for some reason.” Her voice was as
soft as whisper while retaining its steady confidence.
“The elevator is fine,” I
offered.
“Is that okay with you Miss?” Carrie
inquired of my wife’s sister.
“Please.”
“Elevator it is then, and thank God! The stairs are on the far end of this floor and in the exact opposite direction of where we need to go.” She led us wordlessly towards the waiting
stainless steel doors of the elevator and pressed the large translucent down
arrow, which flashed green as the doors opened immediately with a muted
hiss. When I entered the car I
instinctively turned around to face the lobby as it disappeared behind the
closing doors. Carrie, on the other hand, stood facing us
while she pressed a button to her left. The
elevator engaged and dropped gently one floor and came to rest.
“Shall we walk?” She gave a sweeping motion with her arm towards
the hallway that appeared as the doors opened.
I walked into the new brightness of this hallway and was followed by my
two companions. Carrie quickly took the
lead while remaining close to my side.
“I should actually tell you a couple of
things before we get to where we are going.”
Her gaze was fixed on me once more, and she
hesitated briefly before she began speaking again. “You’re
wife was found deceased inside of a vehicle which was registered to her. She also was found to be in possession of
several forms of identification, one of which was her driver’s license. The reason why this is important, and the
reason I think it’s important for both of you to know is because there was
really no question as to who she was when she arrived.”
“Well…” I shook my head rigidly, “I’m
not sure that I understand why this is important. It’s been a hell of a day so far Carrie, so
why don’t you explain things to me as if I were ignorant.” I was trying to contain the ice in my voice
and failing miserably.
“Ok… yeah… you’re right. I guess I was beating around the bush a
little bit.” Her tender gaze softened even more as
empathy crept in behind her stare. “You
see... a lot of times families want to see their departed loved ones before the final arrangements can be made in times
like this. Sometimes it helps to aide their closure, or jump starts the grieving process. Identifying your wife at this point isn’t
necessary to how I have to do my job…” she hesitated again, “I mean, since we
already know who we’re dealing with.”
“So what you’re saying is that I don’t
need to see her to tell you that she is who you already know she is.” The icicles were still spilling out of my mouth
uncontrollably onto the floor.
“No… you don’t have to see her if
you don’t want to or don’t feel that you need to see her.”
Carrie stopped walking and turned her stance to face me.
“Why would I need to see her? Please try to explain why someone like me would need to see the vacant shell
of somebody who died trying to make an effort to save me from myself?” Agitation was mounting in my mind and I could
hear the distant, growing rabble of the phantom-blame parade I had nearly
forgotten was waiting patiently for me to drop my guard.
“I see,” Carrie diverted her gaze
purposefully from my face for the first time.
“I can empathize with your feelings, although I don’t know the back-story.” She began walking again while my wife’s
sister stayed close behind. They made it
several paces before Carrie turned around to watch me remain immobile and
sorting through angry images and thoughts.
“What!?” I demanded. “If I don’t need to see her… and you're saying that I don't...” I paused as the
last remnants of whatever relief I had been feeling up until this moment leaked
from my mind and vanished like steam into the sterile air of the hospital
hallway. “If I don’t need to identify
her corpse, then I don’t see the fucking point in my presence here at all.” My throat began to tighten as the last words
dripped sourly from my lips. I felt the sting
and tasted the salt of snot and tears in my throat.
My sister-in-law looked confused and
on the verge of tears herself as she cast worried eyes back and forth between
Carrie and me. I fought the tears and
did my best to stare sternly into our guide’s saddened, wisdom-soaked eyes
while she observed my temper tantrum without any indication of judgment. She glanced momentarily at my wife’s sister,
and swiftly minimized the distance between us.
“I’ll share something with you
before we go any further. I don’t know you from Adam, but I do know
something about the overwhelming weight of guilt that rests on a person after
something tragic happens like this…” she paused momentarily, as a thin film of
tears betrayed the deeply-rooted and closely monitored sadness in her
eyes. “I know what it’s like to blame
one’s self in the wake of a tragedy as well.”
“How could you possibly believe for even a second that you
can relate to my feelings of guilt in my wife’s death?” I pushed my fists into my stinging eyes and
backed-up into the wall behind me, sliding to the floor as tears began to
stream from behind my closed hands.
Carrie knelt carefully in front of
me and began to speak gently through tears of her own. “If you’d give me half-a-chance I could tell
you how seven years ago I passed out drunk at a bar near here. The bartender was my neighbor, so he took
pity on me. Instead of calling the cops
and having them tote me off to jail for the night, he called my husband at home
and told him where I was. My husband, the fucking saint, got out of bed to come rescue me from the gutter... for the thousandth time. About three miles from our house some other
drunk coming home crossed the center line and hit my husband head-on. They both died at the scene.” Carrie wiped several tears from her face and
chin, before sighing deeply and continuing.
“Yes, stranger… I know how it feels to absorb the stinging guilt of not just
one, but two lives cut short because my husband was somewhere he should never have been, doing something he never should have had to do.” She stood up, but remained in front of
me. “Who knows? Maybe the drunk who hit him would have made
it home that night too, but my husband just happened to be in the oncoming lane
at the exact moment that guy crossed the double yellow line because I couldn’t stop
popping tops and doing shots that night.”
“Oh fuck,” I dropped my fists from
my eyes and looked up at her.
“When my husband didn’t show up
after closing time, my neighbor…the bartender, did end up having to call the
cops. It turns out that they were too busy
cleaning up the mess I had inadvertently caused with my irresponsible
and self-destructive behavior. Please try to tell me what kind of a piece
of shit I’m NOT… I dare you.”
She extended her hand towards where
I sat shedding silent tears in front of her.
“C’mon, get up. It’s not my in my
job description or my nature to make people do things against their will.” I grabbed her hand and she hoisted me back to
my feet. “I will tell you that I wish I
had been in good enough shape to come and say goodbye to him when Sheriff Doyle
offered me the opportunity to come identify him here though. You know... before that makeup happy,
vision-impaired retard at the funeral home got her hands on him and made him
look like a fucking drag queen.” She
chuckled uncomfortably at the memory. “Your
wife doesn’t look too godawful bad despite what she went through though. You
might want to see her one last time.”
I thought her last statement
through, and decided that Carrie had made a valid point.
If this was the last opportunity I was given to see my wife alone before
she got thrown under six feet of dirt and locked in a concrete vault, I should at least man-up to see her.
“I’m sorry for how I talked to you.” The words I offered no longer felt like shards of ice
spewing from my mouth.
Carrie nodded at me roughly and
started walking again. After what seemed
like an endless maze of hallways and free-swinging doors, we arrived at a
large, heavy looking and windowless door bearing the words Littleton County Morgue stenciled in white letters. We all stopped and turned towards each other
in a micro-huddle.
“If you’re not interested in seeing
her before final arrangements are made, I’ll just ask you to stay here while I
retrieve the personal effects gathered by the police from the scene and her
person.” Carrie paused momentarily, reached
for her keys and began to turn towards the door.
“Wait…” I grabbed her forearm before
her hand touched the doorknob. “You were
right,” I began to tighten up inside, “I should see her one last time.” I turned to my wife’s sister, “Alone for a
moment, please.”
My sister-in-law nodded and looked
towards our companion.
“Well, I’ll have to escort you in,”
Carrie responded, “but then I’ll gather up her things and leave you alone. Come on.”
She inserted a key into the doorknob
from a small key chain attached to a retractable cord on her belt buckle. The lock released and she pushed the door
open. I followed closely behind, not
anxious to examine the room I was entering.
With my eyes firmly focused on the area in front of my feet, I noticed
the floor change from the drab tile covering most of the floor in the
hospital to a smooth, painted, neutral-colored concrete floor. There was a desk to my immediate right, and
then the room opened up to reveal two empty examination tables, and one table
furthest from us playing host to a body being covered by a thin plastic sheet. There were no feet visibly exposed with a tag
on the big the toe, like I had always seen in movies. It was just a lifeless vague shape covered by
a sterile looking, white, plastic sheet.
I followed my escort to the far
table where I noticed the sheet wasn’t actually white, but opaque and nearly
translucent. I could see the silhouette
of my wife’s face and the smooth silky bulk of her dark hair piled around where
her head was resting.
“Are you okay?” Carrie inquired.
“I think so. Let’s get this done.”
“I’m only gonna pull the sheet down
below her neck. The rest of her is
pretty badly bruised and not so pleasant to see.” She reached for the corner of the sheet and
began to reveal my wife’s head and neck.
When she was satisfied with how much was exposed she tucked the corner
in on itself and near my wife’s armpit.
“I’ll leave you alone now, just call
out if you need me. I’ll be right
outside the door, okay?”
I nodded silently.
I
hadn’t yet taken a full glimpse of my wife’s exposed face. When Carrie moved from between where I stood
and the table I saw that my wife’s pristine olive skin had paled, appearing
sallow and soap-like. I drew a startled
breath and found my composure while Carrie hastened her exodus from the
room. When I heard the door close I took a step closer to the table,
unable to move my arms regardless of my impulse to reach out and verify the
reality of what I was witnessing. There
was a deep, ominous-looking cut in her forehead starting at her left eyebrow and reaching far past
her hair line towards the back of her skull.
The skin sagged and looked wilted on either side. Her right eye was bruised and swollen. The only comfortably familiar feature was the
full lips I had kissed countless times.
They were bluish and appeared to be frowning.
The
tears rolled from my eyes as I finally found the nerve to reach out and caress
her face. The warmth I usually found in
this gesture was absent. My fingers were
greeted by cold, unresponsive flesh. I
sobbed heavily as I realized the futility of my desire to feel the warm flesh
of her cheek.
“Oh
baby, what happened?” I stammered
through tears and growing sobs. “What
did I do to you?” The quiet murmur of
the indictment choir I had been repressing suddenly began to grow to a swarm of
buzzing insects in my head. Ghostly allegations
of my selfishness began to grow from a whisper to a coordinated frenzy as my
sobs became low moans. “What am I
supposed to do now?”
The
clamor in my mind was reaching a feverish panic. I closed my eyes in an attempt to quiet the
growing taunts. I squeezed my eyelids
painfully tight until the blackness began giving way to a red fog and flashes
of starlight. Eventually the raucous
noise I was enduring began to subside somewhat.
When I believed the noise was bearable enough to continue with my eyes
opened, I relaxed the muscles of my eyelids. The red fog turned to black and the blackness began to clear as the table
where my wife’s body was lying lifelessly began to come back into focus.
When
my eyes finally adjusted themselves again I muttered softly to my wife, “I’m so
sorry.”
As
the final syllable slipped from my tongue I jumped when my wife’s head dropped heavily in
my direction. The area of her scalp and
forehead which had been violently divided by the jagged gash I had noticed moments
earlier fell limply from the pink bone of her now exposed skull and hung
loosely from her head, dangling near the surface of the table. Her undamaged eyelid peeled back revealing a pasty brown iris and the yellowing whites surrounding it. I gasped loudly and stumbled backwards.
“Why
wasn’t I enough for you, my love?” The
words escaped her pale, trembling lips in an unfamiliar gravelly whisper. “Why couldn’t you just stop using that shit?” Her visible eye rolled back behind her
drooping, yellow eyelid as she arched her back, appearing to struggle for one final breath. “Have you had enough yet? Look what you did to me...” her mouth hissed while her visible eye focused on me.
I
stepped backwards and clenched my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the
sight. When my initial, breathtaking shock subsided I
found my wind and howled wildly. I
tripped over my own feet and landed hard on the floor without the support of my
hands to catch me. My hands were now firmly
planted over my ears to block out the sound of the reproachful words inexplicably
escaping my wife’s dead body. I
continued screaming.
The
next sensation I experienced was that of hands shaking me firmly and the sound
of Carrie’s panicked voice bellowing for me to calm down. I forced my eyes open, released my hands from
my ears and stopped screaming to draw a much needed breath of air.
“Get
me the fuck out of here!” I gasped.
“What
the hell happened?” She demanded.
“Her
eyes opened, her scalp… she's blaming me!”
I was struggling for air while I pushed myself from the floor and to my
feet. I saw my wife’s sister in the
doorway. She appeared confused and
frightened. I looked back towards where
my wife's body remained lying still, half expecting to see her corpse sitting up and pointing accusatory fingers at me
from the slab. To my surprise she
appeared undisturbed, unmoving, and in the same spot that she had been when
Carrie had pulled the sheet back minutes earlier.
“Calm
down for a minute and look over here.
She’s dead, goddammit.” Carrie pointed towards my wife’s body. I began shaking my head incessantly as she
crossed the room and hastily repositioned the cover over my wife’s lifeless,
unmoving head.
“I’m
sorry… I know you meant well Carrie, but I’m not ready for any of this.” I turned around abruptly and pushed past my
sister-in-law to find the nearest door offering escape from this place. I looked over my shoulder at the two women
watching me retreat.
“I’ll
be out at the van.”
This work is the intellectual property of Jerome J. Panozzo
