Unbroken

It had been twenty for years since she'd last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. Nothing had changed. The sagging drain pipe leaned towards her like a tires arm, the walls, a tapestry of peeling paint and priceless graffiti. The battered 'FOR SALE' sign was still embedded in the dirt next to the mail box. Even the coop where a pair of silkie chickens once lived still stood in the corner. Twenty four years since she had sworn never to come back, but yet...she felt the pull, as surely as the tides feel the pull of Mother Moon. Walking to the heavy oak doors that led to the entrance; doors she remembered polishing until they gleamed, Jackie Newman raised a trembling hand to grip the antique door handle. She was nearly overcome by the overwhelming feelings of fear and trepidation. Her palms were clammy and cold, her legs felt heavy like lead. Taking a deep arid breath, she turned away and wandered to the back.

Walking through her mother's herb garden which was surprisingly still in good condition, she was suffused with the wonderful scents of mint, basil and every nameable herb, their pastel flowers in full bloom. Sitting on a stone bench, she tried to gather the cherished memories of her childhood which lay strewn haphazardly like confetti. She remembered tromping through the herb garden in childish glee, holding a captive butterfly in her cupped hand, eager to get her mother's attention. Her mother, beautiful as always, with her lustrous golden mane fluttering in the light breeze, had smiled at her. A dazzling grin that lit up her world. She had been picked up by a pair of slender but strong arms and twirled around until she was breathless with laughter. "What have you got there my little darling?" She had asked laughingly

Jackie had opened her little palm to reveal the beautiful monarch with its complex patterns and fiery hue. "I found it perched on the Ligustrum bush by my window." She had told her mother proudly, still cradling the twitching butterfly. Together, they had set the butterfly on the parsley and watched it flap its wings gently. In a sudden burst of movement, it took flight, soaring high in the sky as she watched, cradled in her mother's lap.

Feeling a hot, irritating trickle on her cheek, she touched it. Her fingers came away wet. She never thought she had anymore tears left. She had feared her tear ducts had atrophied. Twenty four years of drowning in abysmal misery and regret. The soft strains of a pianoforte filled the cool autumn air and Jackie felt an almost crippling wave of nostalgia. How many times had she watched her mother play the pianoforte? Her small, slender fingers dancing skillfully over the ivory keys. Her face an expression of ecstasy as the as the sweet haunting music filled the cozy room.

And during the cold days of winter, when the whole family sat before the blazing hearth with the precious chrysanthemum stones mounted on it, their striated petals frozen in the act of unfurling. The atmosphere had been so warm and gay as they shared jokes and sipped hot chocolate. Everything had been so perfect...until their cozy little world had been ripped apart by tragedy, like a cruel knife ripping through a delicate piece of spider silk embroidery. Even after so many years, she still felt the pain, like a dart lodged in her heart...those ghastly yellow tapes...the inquest...the anguish and grief...

No.

No, no. It simply wouldn't do to dredge up such ugly memories. But sometimes...ugly memories refuse to stay away, bobbing to the surface like rotten corpses in an overflowing lake. Standing up, she dusted the seat of her immaculate cream wool knit trousers. Heaving a deep sigh, she strode to the front doors.

* * * *

The door made a creaking noise as she pushed at it, the rusted hinges protesting loudly. A warm draft of air swirled around her as she stepped into the dim, stale smelling room. Probably from the wall vents , she thought. Feeling for the light switch with a shaking hand, Jackie realized she was afraid, no- terrified of what she might see. A flood of bright light almost blinded her as she flipped the switch. Shielding her eyes against the sudden brightness, she walked to the window. Every inch of the vast space, from top to bottom, was coated in a fine layer of dust. The white walls and terrazo floor were bare, stripped long ago after mom died. Unbidden, a memory came back to her, like sparks at the base of her skull, culminating in an intense explosion of blinding light.

Coming home from school one afternoon, she had turned fourteen the week before, bag slung over one shoulder, sneakers scuffing along on the sun-baked asphalt. Her normally peaceful neighborhood had been turned upside down, the din of squalling children and police sirens incredibly loud. Residents crowded the main road, obstructing traffic. Afraid a robbery had occurred, she walked faster, almost running. Reaching the marker that separated their property from their neighbor's, she saw the police vehicles swarming the neatly mown lawn. Ghastly yellow tapes surrounded the house, marking it as a crime scene. Screaming, she pushed her way through a crowd of police officers. Hands held her back, voices telling her to "calm down, nothing to see here ma'am." Undeterred, she forced her way past them until she got into the house and beheld a sight that changed her life forever.

* * * *

She walked into the house, throat tight with panic and fear, choking her until she could barely breathe. Officers were milling about, some discussing in hushed tones, they stopped immediately she came in. She barely noticed them, her eyes were fixed to the scene before her. Blood, so much of it, staining the walls, the fluffy champagne carpet. There were fragments of whitish stuff that looked like pieces of white clay she had played with as child. Right in the middle of the room lay a blood splattered body. It lay face down, its neck twisted at an unnatural angle, golden-blonde hair matted with blood. Her breath slammed in her throat. Mother! No! No! It can't be, please God... Dazedly, she walked closer to the prone figure...and stopped. Her bloody head was caved in and a part of her skull was cracked open. Those white fragments...were bones. A hoarse scream was torn from her throat and the world was eaten by blackness.

She had woken up in the hospital, motherless, weary and utterly defeated. What happened afterward was a teary, miserable blur that Jackie had tried to lock away in the deepest recesses of her mind. But, she never quite forgot. The horrific memories clung to her- like a noxious cloud of radioactive gas during the day and haunted her dreams at night. The death of her mother had created a gaping black void that her father had been incapable of filling. Overcome with grief over the death of his wife, he had taken to the bottle, guzzling about a gallon of vodka a day, neglecting his two young daughters who badly needed the care and protection of a parent. Jackie and her twin sister, Janet, had been left in the care of their kind elderly neighbor, Magda who always made sure they were properly fed. The hardest moment came at the inquest when the coroner had described in explicit detail what had happened. The gory images had haunted her for years.

The magnitude of their grief was trebled when the case went unsolved, hence, denying the family the closure they so badly needed. It was a testament of her despair that that she had walked up to her father one night as he was sprawled on the couch, reeking of alcohol. Tapping him on the shoulder until his red-rimmed eyes were focused on her small form, she asked, "daddy, did you kill mommy?" She watched as his blank expression turned to disbelief, then a pain so great she could barely breathe. "No." He blurted and began to sob.

Pushing the memories away, Jackie took a deep, steadying breath. Suddenly, she couldn't stand to be in the room a moment longer, turning to the doors, she ran out. The cool air helped to calm her frayed nerves. Tucking a lock of chestnut hair behind her ear, she glanced at her watch, over an hour had passed. She-

"Excuse me Miss, can I help you with something?" Turning to the soft voice, Jackie was startled to see a familiar face.

"Magda!" She squealed, rushing forward to embrace the elderly woman. Pulling back to study the beloved time-worn face, Jackie reflected that Magda was probably the only constant in her life after the tragedy. It was baffling how a stranger would come to mean so much.

"Darling, I never thought I'd see you again, " Magda exclaimed, hugging her. "Couldn't stay away from old Magda, could you?" She asked, grinning.

"I guess not," Jackie replied, grinning back. "It's my first time here after...you know."

Magda's smile dimmed. "I know," she said softly. Something like sorrow crossed her expression, but it was gone in a flash, she barely registered it.

"Come, " she tugged her arm, "we have a lot of catching up to do, we'll talk over tea."

Feeling like she had been given a reprieve, she followed Magda home.

* * * *

Magda opened the front door to her cozy little home and ushered Jackie in.

"Please have a seat dear, I'll be right back." She said, shutting the door firmly.

Jackie gingerly sat on a cane chair softened with plump pillows as Magda went deeper into the house. It turned out Magda had eccentric tastes in decorating. The formerly bare cream walls were covered in pictures, oil paintings depicting every scene imaginable, their frames made of ornately carved rosewood. On the far wall, African Ju-Ju masks were hanging from hooks drilled into the hard wall. The expressions on their colorful faces were downright scary and Jackie squirmed in her seat. Cane and bamboo chairs padded with plush purple velvet cushions were arranged in a neat semicircle around her and a pale purple chaise lounge sat by the window. A polished oak table stood beside her, carved wooden figures occupied every surface. They appeared to be doll heads, exquisitely carved doll heads to be exact. Their glazed white porcelain faces contained soulful expressions. It was-

"Ah, I see you are admiring my collection of antique Yunnan doll heads from China." Jackie turned as Magda walked into the room, bearing a tray laden with tea things and a plate piled high with Filo pastry tartlets.

"They are beautiful, you have a beautiful home Magda." Jackie remarked truthfully. It was beautiful, in a peculiar sort of way, definitely not something you see every day.

"Oh well, traveling is my new favorite pasttime," she said pouring tea. Magda had no children, though she had been married twice. Her first husband had died in a car crash and her second marriage had ended in divorce. Whilst living alone, she soon became the kindly old neighbor who handed out packets of candied cherries to children when they stopped by.

"Go on," Magda gestured to the plate, "you always loved Maraschinos."

Jackie smiled and picked up a tartlet, cradling the delicate pastry carefully, she bit into it. Sweet, tart cherry filling and flaky, buttery crust filled her mouth and she closed her eyes, chewing slowly. She opened her eyes to see Magda watching her, her face clearly etched with pain.

Darling, I know life hasn't been easy for you," she said without preamble, setting her cup down. "Everyday my heart breaks whenever I think of what you went through. Nobody knows why it happened or why you had to suffer at such a young age, but you are not alone." Taking her hands in hers, Magda gave her an intent stare. "You are not alone." She repeated softly.

Staring into Magda's eyes, seeing the sincerity there and hearing the truth in her words, Jackie knew that she was not alone, as long as she had her family and loved ones by her side, and that was all that mattered.