Daddy's Long-lost Little Girl., chapter 2
The bus ride home was as uneventful as the morning, I always took the latest bus possible, and mostly the sky was starting to bruise and the stars shine by the time I got on the bus, but I had already finished my homework. It's easy when all it is to write an essay that I had done on my own months ago. At home, my life was about as happy or normal as the next girl, but I preferred to be alone with my thoughts, and mostly, my music. That drove my mother up the wall. But still, she tried to get me to go shopping with her, for any reason. But I always wanted Raymond's hand-me-downs. His jeans, sweaters, hats, shirts, anything. And they always fit me well, anyway. But I usually went along with her, because it made her happy. And that was something precious to her, and me. Rarely does my mother smile, and that might be where I get my touch of melancholy from. And it was the same that night. "Roxanne? Do you want to come to the mall with me? Tonight?" Please. The word she left out, but was hanging in the air. She was desperate, and I knew it. I weighed the choices. Complain and fight, and possibly make her cry or scream at me, or just go with it and make her smile for once. After a few second of breathless hesitation, I gave a sigh of surrender, and a light went on in her blue eyes. They were a darker version of Raymond's, and quite lovely with her own greying blonde hair. She was still quite beautiful, just as much as the pictures from the past showed her as. I smiled, and stood, and followed her to the car.
---
I woke up, and gasped at the horrible agony I was in. There was pure chaos all around me. Flashing lights. The car, bent and shattered metal and glass. And blood. So much blood. The blackness started to edge my vision, and soon I plummetted into the never endingness of the dark. It was almost pain-free.
Almost.
***
I watched breathlessly as Roxanne's bloodied, bruised and twisted body was placed on a stretcher and rushed into the ambulance, swept away into the night in a flurry of wailing sirens and lights. My heart ached, because I did that to her. Her own mother. I was wrapped in a blanket of felt, with a few white gauze bandages wrapped around my head, and my arm in a sling. I was relatively unharmed, and I felt guilty. When I saw that huge semi, natural instincts took over, and I turned the wheel left, slamming the passenger side into the truck bed and crushing my daughter between. Sobbing, I made the decision. Roxanne's father needed to know.
***
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I groaned. What time was it? Opening my eye, I saw the clock radio in front of my face, the huge glaringly red digital numbers nearly blinding me. Hissing, I read the numbers and dropped my head into the cool softness of the pillow. Three O' Clock in the morning?! WHAAAT?! I rolled over and nudged Adrienne, getting a kick in the leg back. I was answering the thing. Sighing, I gave her a peck, standing and going downstairs.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
The call display on the phone that we paid so much for declared that it was an unknown number. Right. Thanks for that. Pointless, useless, piece of...
"What?!" I groaned into the mouthpiece, rubbing a hand on my eyes, then temples, then through my shaggy black hair. There was a pause on the other end, then, a faint wet-sounding sound.
"Billie. It's me." Usually I would have asked 'me who?' but I knew that voice. It was chilling how familiar it was, and gave me the feeling of a punch in the gut. I knew who it was. I hadn't heard that voice for years, and a part of me yearned for it. But another part of me hoped against hope that I never would hear it again. "Billie?" I realized my jaw was flapping open in the shock of her.
"I'm here."
"It's... It's about...Um... It's about Roxanne." She sounded so miserable. As if to illustrate her point, she gave a sob.
"Maria. Maria, honey. Please don't cry." God save me from a woman's tears, for I have no strength against them. That's what my father used to say, and it seems it's genetic. My heart was threatening to break at the sound of her anguish. But wait. I snapped back to the vague reality. Roxanne? "Roxanne."
"Your..." she sighed, and I felt her bite her bottom lip. It was a nervous habit of hers. "Daughter. Our daughter, Billie." There it was. The truth that I always knew but never truly admitted to myself. I was thrown back in time. The hotel room.
I woke up alone, and I was confused, from the past two weeks of waking up next to her. "Maria?" I called out groggily, but nobody answered. All was silent. I rubbed my hand through my hair, and pulled on my pajamas, walking into the bathroom. I stopped cold at the edge of the doorway. A note. I recognised her neat, tidy handwriting. Sitting on the toilet I read it. Over and over and over, until I had it memorized. Tears stung my own bright green eyes as I rubbed them, and stood to pack up. But not before I folded up the note and put it in my suitcase. And I still had the hateful little shred of paper. It was hidden away, far away in one of my drawers.
"What happened?"
"There was a crash. It was all my fault! Oh, god." She started crying again, and my heart threatened to break again.
"Maria! Maria, Maria. What time do you need me there?" She stopped crying long enough for me to know she was smiling. Probably bitter sweetly, but most likely reminiscently.
"When can you get a plane ticket?" I grinned, and actually found myself feeling excited. I was going to see Maria. And my daughter. And Maria. I got all the information, and as soon as I hung up with her, Adrienne came downstairs. She was so beautiful. SO beautiful. She was wearing the black satin nightgown that came to the top of her long legs, and her dreadlocks were all over. I smiled, came to her and kissed the top of her head. She sighed, and fell into my arms.
"When are you leaving?"
---
I had finally gotten to Calgary, and thankfully no one was there to greet me. Namely a bunch of teenie girls and fans. But then again, no one was there to greet me. Namely, the driver of the taxi I had called for. Shrugging, I went off to collect my bags and go outside. There, in the freezing coldness of Alberta in February, I found the taxi, throwing my things in the back and giving the driver the address of the hotel I was staying at. He kept looking back in the mirror curiously, but looked away when I glanced up. It was frustrating, but gratifying at the same time. Ah, the conflicts of a rock star.
Once we got to the hotel, he helped me unload my bags, and I paid him. Instead of heading back for the relative warmth of the cap immediately, he looked back up at me, blushing. "Do you mind? Could... You sign this for my daughter?" I looked at him, a little curiously, and he turned a deeper shade of red, and held out a picture. It was of Mike and Tre and I, and I laughed when I saw it. Above us, on the wall, was a United Staes flag with the word VOID all across it in blue tape, and we were sleeping under a Canada flag. I remembered taking it, and I laughed.
"And here I thought no one in Canada would recognize me!" His worried expression vanished as he laughed too, and handed me a pen. "Who's this for?"
"Roxanna. My daughter, sir." My throat tightened at the closeness of her name, but I made it out for her anyway, and took a picture with her father. I was assured of her thanks and his, then headed inside. I settled in the room, and picked up the phone. But I stopped, unsure for once in my life. I knew what hospital she was in, so I could go and check her out. And to top it off, I didn't get Maria's number, so if I was going to go see her she would probably be at the hospital anyway. All problems seemingly solved, I called up another taxi. I stepped into the lobby, and waited for the yellow cab. Two people asked for my signature, and I did it without asking questions. It was a reflex. I could barely go to a restaurant and have a menu put in front of me and not scribble my name all over the thing. Finally, the taxi came up, and I went to it, giving the address of the hospital. Thankfully, thankfully, this cabbie didn't recognise me, and also go me to the hospital in one piece.
I paid him and started heading in, but I soon found myself frozen on the sidewalk looking at the intimidating building. People were going past me, both into and from the building, and sobbing. I tried to picture Maria going into and out of that building for her daughter and crying. But I couldn't picture the girl I loved doing that. Last I saw her, she was very blonde and blue-eyed, and young. Older than me, but young. And so beautiful. And she was impossible to place at a hospital, crying for her daughter. Our daughter. I stuffed my black shaggy hair into a touque, made sure I wasn't wearing any makeup or punkish clothes again. For the thirty second time. And then I forced my feet to move and went inside, a lump forming in my throat.
"Excuse me, miss?" a woman, who had to be nearly thirty gazillion years old, turned around and smiled at me. I reeled in a wince at her appearance, and asked where I could find a girl named Roxanne. She said that Roxanne was in the critical section of the ICU and I trudged my way up to the unit. It was silent except for the dry sobs and the pumping and beeping of various machines. My blood froze, but I continued walking. When I was a child, had I ever thought that I would have a child? Not really. And I always swore that I wouldn't ever come back to a hospital after my dad. But here I was, searching for the daughter I had never known in the wing that smelled of dried blood and tears.
And I was scared to death.
Finally, I found a small separate 'room' at the far end with her name. Roxanne Thalmer. But Thalmer wasn't Maria's last name. Of course Maria had married and changed her name. And our daughters. But it still cut me deep to know that she had found love without me. Just I had without her. After a few seconds, I drew a deep breath and pulled back to curtain to enter the little room. And I just about collapsed by the sight that greeted me.
That. That was my daughter. That tiny, mangled form of black and blue and purple and whatever colour of her own skin was left was bone white, with tubes and machines going in everywhere and out everywhere else, most of her limbs in some sort of cast or other and blonde hair splayed everywhere on her pillow. She didn't seem human, lying thereon the big bed, without a distinguishable face or anything else. I lowered myself into the chair beside her bed, staring at her. I was angry and sad and a thousand other things that I couldn't tell one from another. Guilt from my not being there for her as she grew. Empathy for her pain. And the one that terrified me. Anger at Maria for doing this to her. I was past the ability for sobbing for my child. I just turned my head from her and picked up a small clipboard that showed her progress. I held back a gag at the sharply declining red line on the graph, and flipped the page that listed her injuries.
Roxanne Thalmer- Injuries sustained on the Third of February
- Four broken toes
- One dislocated, one broken ankle
- Three breaks in shins
- Two breaks in one knee, one dislocated
- Five breaks in one femur other unharmed
- Two slightly displaced spinal disks
- Three broken ribs, two surgically removed
- One dislocated shoulder, other unharmed
- Three breaks in each upper arm
- Two breaks total in lower arms
- Two dislocated elbows
- One broken wrist
- Five broken fingers
- Whiplash to the neck
- Split lip, black eyes, bloody nose
- No internal injuries
I looked over to Roxanne, pitying my daughter. It was first time I had ever felt such a thing for another person, and I put the clipboard back on the table, standing shakily and kneeling at the side of her bed. I took her unharmed hand and kissed it. That when I started to lose it, I think. I started crying and swearing and talking amazingly fast (even for myself) about how much I loved her even though I didn't know her and if she died then I never would, that kind of stuff. It must have been hours until the tears subsided, and I looked up.
I met her eyes, and my breath drained away. They were cat's eyes, a perfect mix of tawny and green flecks, with the glint of someone exceedingly clever. She was watching me, a calm but slightly confused look on her face as I held her hand, and she smiled through the pain at me, her swollen and broken face bending to her smile. Her eyes, though. They drew me back every time I tried to look away. Finally, I locked my eyes with hers, and she nodded at me, wincing in pain slightly.
"I know your face..." she whispered to me, blinking slowly. Before she said anything more in that harsh, hoarse voice she closed her eyes and fell back into a slumber. I went to the chair, and joined her in slumber.
---
I woke up, and gasped at the horrible agony I was in. There was pure chaos all around me. Flashing lights. The car, bent and shattered metal and glass. And blood. So much blood. The blackness started to edge my vision, and soon I plummetted into the never endingness of the dark. It was almost pain-free.
Almost.
***
I watched breathlessly as Roxanne's bloodied, bruised and twisted body was placed on a stretcher and rushed into the ambulance, swept away into the night in a flurry of wailing sirens and lights. My heart ached, because I did that to her. Her own mother. I was wrapped in a blanket of felt, with a few white gauze bandages wrapped around my head, and my arm in a sling. I was relatively unharmed, and I felt guilty. When I saw that huge semi, natural instincts took over, and I turned the wheel left, slamming the passenger side into the truck bed and crushing my daughter between. Sobbing, I made the decision. Roxanne's father needed to know.
***
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I groaned. What time was it? Opening my eye, I saw the clock radio in front of my face, the huge glaringly red digital numbers nearly blinding me. Hissing, I read the numbers and dropped my head into the cool softness of the pillow. Three O' Clock in the morning?! WHAAAT?! I rolled over and nudged Adrienne, getting a kick in the leg back. I was answering the thing. Sighing, I gave her a peck, standing and going downstairs.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
The call display on the phone that we paid so much for declared that it was an unknown number. Right. Thanks for that. Pointless, useless, piece of...
"What?!" I groaned into the mouthpiece, rubbing a hand on my eyes, then temples, then through my shaggy black hair. There was a pause on the other end, then, a faint wet-sounding sound.
"Billie. It's me." Usually I would have asked 'me who?' but I knew that voice. It was chilling how familiar it was, and gave me the feeling of a punch in the gut. I knew who it was. I hadn't heard that voice for years, and a part of me yearned for it. But another part of me hoped against hope that I never would hear it again. "Billie?" I realized my jaw was flapping open in the shock of her.
"I'm here."
"It's... It's about...Um... It's about Roxanne." She sounded so miserable. As if to illustrate her point, she gave a sob.
"Maria. Maria, honey. Please don't cry." God save me from a woman's tears, for I have no strength against them. That's what my father used to say, and it seems it's genetic. My heart was threatening to break at the sound of her anguish. But wait. I snapped back to the vague reality. Roxanne? "Roxanne."
"Your..." she sighed, and I felt her bite her bottom lip. It was a nervous habit of hers. "Daughter. Our daughter, Billie." There it was. The truth that I always knew but never truly admitted to myself. I was thrown back in time. The hotel room.
I woke up alone, and I was confused, from the past two weeks of waking up next to her. "Maria?" I called out groggily, but nobody answered. All was silent. I rubbed my hand through my hair, and pulled on my pajamas, walking into the bathroom. I stopped cold at the edge of the doorway. A note. I recognised her neat, tidy handwriting. Sitting on the toilet I read it. Over and over and over, until I had it memorized. Tears stung my own bright green eyes as I rubbed them, and stood to pack up. But not before I folded up the note and put it in my suitcase. And I still had the hateful little shred of paper. It was hidden away, far away in one of my drawers.
"What happened?"
"There was a crash. It was all my fault! Oh, god." She started crying again, and my heart threatened to break again.
"Maria! Maria, Maria. What time do you need me there?" She stopped crying long enough for me to know she was smiling. Probably bitter sweetly, but most likely reminiscently.
"When can you get a plane ticket?" I grinned, and actually found myself feeling excited. I was going to see Maria. And my daughter. And Maria. I got all the information, and as soon as I hung up with her, Adrienne came downstairs. She was so beautiful. SO beautiful. She was wearing the black satin nightgown that came to the top of her long legs, and her dreadlocks were all over. I smiled, came to her and kissed the top of her head. She sighed, and fell into my arms.
"When are you leaving?"
---
I had finally gotten to Calgary, and thankfully no one was there to greet me. Namely a bunch of teenie girls and fans. But then again, no one was there to greet me. Namely, the driver of the taxi I had called for. Shrugging, I went off to collect my bags and go outside. There, in the freezing coldness of Alberta in February, I found the taxi, throwing my things in the back and giving the driver the address of the hotel I was staying at. He kept looking back in the mirror curiously, but looked away when I glanced up. It was frustrating, but gratifying at the same time. Ah, the conflicts of a rock star.
Once we got to the hotel, he helped me unload my bags, and I paid him. Instead of heading back for the relative warmth of the cap immediately, he looked back up at me, blushing. "Do you mind? Could... You sign this for my daughter?" I looked at him, a little curiously, and he turned a deeper shade of red, and held out a picture. It was of Mike and Tre and I, and I laughed when I saw it. Above us, on the wall, was a United Staes flag with the word VOID all across it in blue tape, and we were sleeping under a Canada flag. I remembered taking it, and I laughed.
"And here I thought no one in Canada would recognize me!" His worried expression vanished as he laughed too, and handed me a pen. "Who's this for?"
"Roxanna. My daughter, sir." My throat tightened at the closeness of her name, but I made it out for her anyway, and took a picture with her father. I was assured of her thanks and his, then headed inside. I settled in the room, and picked up the phone. But I stopped, unsure for once in my life. I knew what hospital she was in, so I could go and check her out. And to top it off, I didn't get Maria's number, so if I was going to go see her she would probably be at the hospital anyway. All problems seemingly solved, I called up another taxi. I stepped into the lobby, and waited for the yellow cab. Two people asked for my signature, and I did it without asking questions. It was a reflex. I could barely go to a restaurant and have a menu put in front of me and not scribble my name all over the thing. Finally, the taxi came up, and I went to it, giving the address of the hospital. Thankfully, thankfully, this cabbie didn't recognise me, and also go me to the hospital in one piece.
I paid him and started heading in, but I soon found myself frozen on the sidewalk looking at the intimidating building. People were going past me, both into and from the building, and sobbing. I tried to picture Maria going into and out of that building for her daughter and crying. But I couldn't picture the girl I loved doing that. Last I saw her, she was very blonde and blue-eyed, and young. Older than me, but young. And so beautiful. And she was impossible to place at a hospital, crying for her daughter. Our daughter. I stuffed my black shaggy hair into a touque, made sure I wasn't wearing any makeup or punkish clothes again. For the thirty second time. And then I forced my feet to move and went inside, a lump forming in my throat.
"Excuse me, miss?" a woman, who had to be nearly thirty gazillion years old, turned around and smiled at me. I reeled in a wince at her appearance, and asked where I could find a girl named Roxanne. She said that Roxanne was in the critical section of the ICU and I trudged my way up to the unit. It was silent except for the dry sobs and the pumping and beeping of various machines. My blood froze, but I continued walking. When I was a child, had I ever thought that I would have a child? Not really. And I always swore that I wouldn't ever come back to a hospital after my dad. But here I was, searching for the daughter I had never known in the wing that smelled of dried blood and tears.
And I was scared to death.
Finally, I found a small separate 'room' at the far end with her name. Roxanne Thalmer. But Thalmer wasn't Maria's last name. Of course Maria had married and changed her name. And our daughters. But it still cut me deep to know that she had found love without me. Just I had without her. After a few seconds, I drew a deep breath and pulled back to curtain to enter the little room. And I just about collapsed by the sight that greeted me.
That. That was my daughter. That tiny, mangled form of black and blue and purple and whatever colour of her own skin was left was bone white, with tubes and machines going in everywhere and out everywhere else, most of her limbs in some sort of cast or other and blonde hair splayed everywhere on her pillow. She didn't seem human, lying thereon the big bed, without a distinguishable face or anything else. I lowered myself into the chair beside her bed, staring at her. I was angry and sad and a thousand other things that I couldn't tell one from another. Guilt from my not being there for her as she grew. Empathy for her pain. And the one that terrified me. Anger at Maria for doing this to her. I was past the ability for sobbing for my child. I just turned my head from her and picked up a small clipboard that showed her progress. I held back a gag at the sharply declining red line on the graph, and flipped the page that listed her injuries.
Roxanne Thalmer- Injuries sustained on the Third of February
- Four broken toes
- One dislocated, one broken ankle
- Three breaks in shins
- Two breaks in one knee, one dislocated
- Five breaks in one femur other unharmed
- Two slightly displaced spinal disks
- Three broken ribs, two surgically removed
- One dislocated shoulder, other unharmed
- Three breaks in each upper arm
- Two breaks total in lower arms
- Two dislocated elbows
- One broken wrist
- Five broken fingers
- Whiplash to the neck
- Split lip, black eyes, bloody nose
- No internal injuries
I looked over to Roxanne, pitying my daughter. It was first time I had ever felt such a thing for another person, and I put the clipboard back on the table, standing shakily and kneeling at the side of her bed. I took her unharmed hand and kissed it. That when I started to lose it, I think. I started crying and swearing and talking amazingly fast (even for myself) about how much I loved her even though I didn't know her and if she died then I never would, that kind of stuff. It must have been hours until the tears subsided, and I looked up.
I met her eyes, and my breath drained away. They were cat's eyes, a perfect mix of tawny and green flecks, with the glint of someone exceedingly clever. She was watching me, a calm but slightly confused look on her face as I held her hand, and she smiled through the pain at me, her swollen and broken face bending to her smile. Her eyes, though. They drew me back every time I tried to look away. Finally, I locked my eyes with hers, and she nodded at me, wincing in pain slightly.
"I know your face..." she whispered to me, blinking slowly. Before she said anything more in that harsh, hoarse voice she closed her eyes and fell back into a slumber. I went to the chair, and joined her in slumber.
