From the Reeds

The grip of her dream was unyielding, a very familiar face speaking to her, though her mind didn’t care to conjure the words. He looked younger, more handsome. For a moment, time had ceased to exist and she was home again. But the images blurred as if water had been poured over them, his face dissolving as if made of smoke. Something sharp and loud shook her, and bleary-eyed, she woke from her dream.

The sudden disturbance had sent a spur of motion through her limbs, her hand reaching over in search of her glasses as her tired eyes sought the bleary image of her bedroom door. Grabbing her glasses, she brought them to her face and watched her bedroom bloom into focus, warm yellow sunshine already coming in through her sheer curtains to bathe her worn green carpet. A good look at her alarm clock told her it was already close to nine; she had slept in again. Pam had been doing that more frequently this past year thanks to her new pills.

What was that noise?

Already, the memory of her dream was slipping, becoming nothing more than a cluster of fading emotions. The only detail she seemed certain of was that her late husband Shaun had been in it. He seemed to enjoy frequenting her dreams, and only when she was awake did she resent him for it. The familiar ache in her lower back started up, and she tried to swiftly shift out of bed before it could increase. The backyard of overgrown grass and weeds below her window was glistening with the dew of last night’s shower, but she couldn't hear anything apart from the choir of birds who had met for their daily congregation on the power line.

Maybe Dana did something?

The thought occurred slower than it should have, and it seemed so stupidly obvious. Moving across the small room, she grabbed her warm jacket from her nightstand and slipped on her comfiest slippers, stepping out into the upstairs hallway. “Dana?” she called, firmly gripping the handrail before climbing down the creaking stairs with mindful care of her knees. It wasn’t until she’d reached the bottom step that she heard a quiet whimper.

“Dana?” she asked again, wrapping the jacket tightly around herself to fight off the morning chill. Pam found the dark brown spaniel lying on the floor next to the kitchen door, her black nose resting close to the door’s crack. Her bushy tail flopped over on the floor melodramatically, her warm brown eyes looking up at Pam with a silent plea.

Pam shook her head and unlocked the kitchen door, pulling it in. Sunlight had barely made it through the gap when Dana sprang from the floor and dashed outside, her barks soon contending with the birds. Pam looked over the room, noting the clean beige countertops and the vase of wilting tulips on the aged wood table. Nothing seemed out of place; nothing was broken. Dana was lively, but she had never been destructive. Maybe she had imagined it. Wouldn’t be the first time she had startled herself awake. Still, she was strongly certain she had heard a loud clatter.

I don’t have dementia, she thought, the very idea ridiculous to her. She didn’t care how old she got, reality was reality, and she had known it no other way.

Pushing the door closed, she made her way to the fridge and found the last slice of apple pie inside the plastic-wrapped aluminum tin. Mary, who lived a quarter mile down the road and was her closest neighbor, had brought it as a gift three nights ago. The young thirty-year-old woman had her hands full with four kids and some online business Pam wasn’t too knowledgeable about, but there were times Mary went out of her way to visit the older woman. Even offered to bring her kids over so Pam could meet them. If it were simply out of politeness or pity because Pam seemed like an isolated widower to others, she still wouldn’t have minded. Mary was welcome enough company no matter the reason.

Pam had just taken a bite of the cold pie when the scraping of tires on the gravel drive reached her ears. She went to the window and pulled the drapes aside, spotting a grey truck she knew all too well. Its driver shut the engine down and stepped onto the driveway, his small eyes squinting against the morning sun. She came out onto the splintering porch as he climbed the steps, wrapping his long arms around her shoulders.

“Good morning,” Keith said into the crook of her neck through the strands of her greying hair.

“I thought you had work!” Pam exclaimed, hugging his waist as tightly as she could. Her youngest son, Keith, was the lankiest of all her children, and in her opinion, his wide smile had never changed since he was three years old.

“It’s Sunday, Mom,” he told her, holding her for seconds more before gently pulling away.

“Really? It feels like a Friday,” she said, leading him into the house. Retired and living alone on four acres of land, Pam often neglected the passing of time. It never seemed to matter until one of her grandchildren’s birthdays came around or insurance bills arrived in the mail.

“Do you want any breakfast?” she asked, heading back to the fridge.

“I’ve already eaten,” Keith yawned, but his words didn’t seem to reach his mother. She pulled eggs and bacon out and prepared a frying pan, the room soon smelling of fried eggs and smoked bacon, to which the majority ended up on Keith’s plate. Knowing better than to argue, Keith grabbed a fork and helped himself to a bite of eggs. While they chewed, he pointed to the apple pie slice and asked,”wha' tha’?”

“Mary brought it over. Thought I’d have what was left for breakfast.”

The lines on Keith’s forehead pinched. “That’s not part of your diet, is it? I thought they gave you a list?”

Pam shook her head, ignoring the sheet of paper Layla, her daughter-in-law, had placed on the fridge with an old salmon magnet. “I’m following the rules, don’t worry. That doesn’t mean I can’t have a treat once in a while,” Pam said in a light-hearted tone that in no way softened her son’s concern.

“Mom, your health needs to take precedence. I’m not saying you can’t eat pie anymore, but too much sugar could make it worse.”

“I know that! I take my pills every day, I’m drinking water every hour, I get plenty of rest. I’m doing better, Keith. I feel fine. You fretting over me isn’t doing anything more.”

Two years ago, Pam began suffering horrible headaches and constant nosebleeds, and when she met with her doctor, she did not receive welcome news. Her blood pressure had drastically increased, ailing her with primary hypertension, and the risk of something far worse loomed on the horizon. Given new medication and a list of recommended foods and exercises, Pam's life began to revolve around the threat of a heart attack or stroke. She wasn’t pleased with the diet, but Keith ensured that she'd follow it, and every weekend he’d visit to check on her. Though she loved her son dearly, she felt he got too worked up over these things. Sure, Pam was now 72 and aching in too many places, but a health crisis wasn’t something she didn’t expect. Most people her age hit a wall at some rate, but the point was that she had gotten through just fine and was getting better still. Keith just needed a weekly reminder of that.

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Keith said, poking at his eggs. “It’s hard not to worry about you, mom. You’re out here all by yourself. If something happened to you, who would be around to help you?”

Something bitter rose in Pam. “I’m not incapable of handling myself. You act as if I’m a child.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Keith said, putting his fork down. “I’m just telling you that you’ve already had one close call, and who’s to say when the next one will be? Your health isn’t the same and it isn’t safe for you to live on your own in such seclusion. Layla and I want to help you, Mom.”

“You already are helping me!” Pam said, her temper getting the better of her. “Layla handled all my taxes while I was sick, and we’re always in touch if I need anything.”

Ever since her diagnosis, Keith had gotten it into his head that his mother could no longer live in their family home. After her short treatment in the hospital, he was extremely adamant that she stay at his home, and she agreed. It wasn’t bad living with her son, daughter-in-law, and her grandchildren. Her other kids, Kristen and Mitch, had also driven long distances to see how she was. But then she started to feel like her usual self again, and the thought of returning home wouldn’t leave her mind. She had to fight Keith to let her return, and eventually, he resigned under the condition that she keep her cell phone on her at all times.

But Keith and his family lived a thirty-minute drive away, and the nearest hospital was forty. Though it didn’t bother Pam nearly as much as it clearly did her son, she understood his concern. If something truly did happen to her, help wouldn’t arrive for some time. She could call Mary, but what could Mary do in such an emergency? No, she supposed it truly wasn’t a wise decision. But this house had been hers for nearly 45 years. She and Shaun had bought it with all their savings and a handsome loan, and they had raised their three children here. Too many memories clung to this place, both good and terrible. Even when Shaun had left the picture, this home was Pam’s shelter. Even the prospect of death couldn’t convince her to release it.

“I just want someone to be there for you when you need them, because you’re going to need them eventually,” Keith told her, his fear for her plain to see.

Pam was stubborn, and she knew it. She wouldn’t push her son away for any reason, but she wasn’t ready to let go yet. “There’s no rush to move me, is there? I’m managing just fine, and as long as I’m following doctor’s orders, I should be fine for a while more. If things get worse, I’ll move.”

Keith still wasn’t happy, and he never would be as long as Pam fought him on the subject. But he had lost for another day, and the conversation shifted to Keith’s long week at work. He was a manager at a bank and worked tirelessly to support his family, which was why he had so little time for Pam. She didn’t let it bother her, though. She wanted her grandkids to come first and knew every hour Keith spent behind a desk was to their sole benefit.

“Oh, did you hear the news this morning?” Keith asked, setting his fork down on his empty plate. Pam shook her head. She had a computer she sometimes used to talk to old friends on Facebook, but she hadn’t had much interest in the news for close to a decade. She figured she'd never feel happy after reading about the rise of burglaries or the heated wars of politicians.

“A plane crashed up in The Hills last night. Caused an explosion that some farmers saw almost two miles away.”

“That’s horrible,” Pam said, more curious than devastated. “The Hills,” as everyone who owned land in the area called it, was a very large stretch of government-owned property that was miles long and consisted of nothing but tall trees, rolling hills, cliffsides, and frog-infested marshes. The back of Pam’s property actually touched the boundary of The Hills.

“They say it was a small plane. Only had three passengers inside and they all died on impact,” Keith went on, his tone a little more somber.

“That’s horrible,” Pam repeated, meaning it more this time. There was a flight academy not too far from here, and the idea of young students dying in a blazing inferno was no pleasing thought.

“Did you hear anything last night? It was close to five miles from here, so probably not,” Keith said, answering his own question.

“No, if I heard it I would have woken up.”

Pam remembered the sharp commotion that had in fact ripped her from a deep sleep, but the two were nowhere near correlated, and she’d already gotten over the curiosity of its source. “Who were the victims?” she asked, hoping she wouldn’t recognize any of them.

“Don’t know, they haven’t been identified yet. The media doesn’t even know what they look like or the plane they were in. I heard the whole investigation is pretty heavy, though. There's a lot of people trying to figure things out.”

That’s rather unfortunate, Pam thought to herself. If she’d died in a plane crash, she’d certainly wish to be identified as soon as she’d been found. There could be families out there with no idea that one of their own just passed away in a terrible event last night; the crash must have been devastating if they hadn't been able to give identities to the deceased. Pam shook her head, imagining a half-melted plane with three corpses still inside, burned beyond recognition.

The conversation became lighter after that, shifting from Keith’s family to Pam’s last conversation with Mary and last to the small garden Pam tended to in the front yard. It was half past eleven when Keith stood from the table, saying Layla wanted to go out for lunch while the kids were at her brother’s house. Pam placed the plates and forks in the sink for later, walking out to the porch with her son to see him off. Sharing one last hug, Keith returned to his grey truck and reversed around the gravel until he was facing the long, dirt drive.

Pam watched until she lost sight of him, a sense of content and longing in her heart. She was only roused from her thoughts by Dana’s barking.

“Dana!” Pam called, looking at the side of the house. Dana was fairly good at responding to her name, so when the bushy brown dog didn’t emerge, Pam knew there must be something keeping her attention. The gravel crunched under her slippers when she descended the porch steps, sharp pebbles poking through the bottoms into her feet as she walked. But stones melded to grass, the blades tickling her ankles and leaving an itchiness she was accustomed to.

At the back of the house, Pam looked from the tilted work bench stationed by the back door to the old shed surrounded by tall, prickly weeds, its door awkwardly leaning from one lost hinge. Pam followed the sound of barking until she was looking out over the wide pond, its dark, reflective surface sparkling under the sun. An excited shape came splashing across the bank, leaping through a thick patch of reeds.

“Dana!” Pam called, clapping her hands to get the dog’s attention. Dana spared her the briefest glance before barking loudly at the pond and sniffing closely at the muddy bank. Pam sighed, rolling her eyes. “Look at you now. We’ll have to hose you down before you can come back inside.”

Pam managed to softly pull on the scruff of Dana’s neck, guiding her back towards the house. Dana bounded across the overgrown lawn, her muddy fur clinging to her, and Pam followed leisurely behind. She moved around the workbench to get to the water spout, but nearly tripped when her toe stubbed into a hard object on the ground.

“Damnit!” she hissed under her breath, looking down. A rusted crowbar was lying there, perfectly concealed in the grass. Pam took a better look at the workbench and saw that the wrench - which had always been hanging on its nails - was also gone. She slowly circled the bench, searching for the missing tool and finding no signs of it. So this is what she heard? Her bedroom window was directly above the back door, so it must have been. But why did the tools fall off the wall?

She shook her head, choosing to accept that things like this simply just happened.

Already, the sleeping pills are working their craft on her. She brushed the last tangle from her hair, a long, clean face etched in lines staring back through the mirror. The day had passed like any other, and now she’d spend another week doing whatever pleased her until Keith returned to visit again. Maybe tomorrow she’d call him after work and talk some more. Or she could call her two other children and catch up with them. She supposed it had been too long since they’d heard from her. She missed the sound of their voices.

She returned to her room and turned the light off, drowsily placing her glasses on the nightstand. The sharpness of the dark room was gone, her vision only catching the outline of the bed and the moonlight on the windowsill. Sitting down on her bed, she barely put a foot under the covers when barking erupted from downstairs. The exhaustion pulled on her harder, the obligation to go back downstairs and calm Dana overshadowed by the desire to sleep. If she wanted to bark at raccoons and skunks, there was likely no stopping her anyway. Dana kept at it, Pam grunting as she stood up from her soft mattress and moved to the window. She watched for movement, but she couldn’t discern where the grass began and the pond ended. It didn't matter; she had looked out this window enough times to know in her mind.

Dana’s barking was relentless; that dog was aware of some nocturnal animal lurking about, and she wanted to chase them down with her entire being. Pam was still staring out when her eyes caught a faint orange glow in the darkness, and she almost believed it was fireflies. She leaned her face closer to the pane of glass until the thin hairs on her nose brushed against the surface, the glow fading out of sight as if it were just a spot in her vision. She’d never seen a firefly like that, but it was flying near the reeds of the pond. Yeah, it must have been fireflies. The glow returned, moving steadily upwards and turning left before disappearing again.

Her heavy eyes drooped, the weariness in her body preventing her from pondering any further. She moved into the bed, shifting until she had found the most comfortable position with the blankets off of her feet and her hands resting over her stomach. The barking could not keep her from finding peace, and Pam fell into a deep space of unconsciousness while in the laundry room, Dana franticly scratched at the back door and yelled her cries of alarm deep into the night.