Memories

*This story contains depictions of domestic violence and loss of a loved one. Please read with care.*

Flashes of stage lights. Speeding cars. Hospital rooms. Skin painted in blood. Beds trampled with pleasure. 

The memories nearly drag me under when I hear the sweet voice of my granddaughter saying my name, for what must not be the first time. 

“Nonna. Did you hear me?” The wild blonde curls surrounding her heart shaped face remind me too much of her mother. I have to look down into my cup of earl grey and regain my footing from the vivid memories and their relentless haunting.

“Of course sweetheart. I’m sorry I must have just slipped into a memory.” Her pink bowed lips tilt up in a soft smile that drips in young pity, the kind that the grocery store clerk gives me when I pull out my coupons. The same pity I see in the eyes of my son in law every time I hold a picture of my sweet Adriana. She may have been his wife, but she will forever be my baby.

“So? Have you?” Liliana takes a sip of her iced tea and begins cutting into her omelet. We have met for brunch at this every Saturday since she moved back home after college last spring. Her soul shattering resemblance to my deceased daughter hurts more and more every time I see her. It is a pathetic excuse for my exit from her life after the accident, but I am afraid I am human just like the rest of us. 

“I have my dear. I have not only been in love, but I have been loved.” Losing myself in the motion of applying softened butter to my blueberry scone, I allow my memories to overtake me once again. 

1970 - Fifty Five years ago

“Mother! I am leaving for rehearsals!” I rush through slicking my hair back into the severe bun my ballet company requires, even for the background dancers such as myself.

“Okay love! Have a wonderful rehearsal!” Mother hollers at me from the kitchen where she is working diligently to sober up my father with a breakfast of waffles and orange juice. The poor dear still believes the prick that is my father deserves her love. I, on the other hand, stopped giving into the guilt of parent care when he hit me the first time. 

Gripping my bag tightly, I use the other to stabilize my body on the bus as it hurtles through midday traffic at a drastically unsafe speed. Once arriving at my company’s building, I exit the bus and hurry backstage to change into my gear. As I lace my pointe shoes I hear a deep rumbling voice carry through the auditorium. Assuming it is just another supporter of the arts, I decide that no matter if this is just rehearsal and no matter if I am a background figure, I will provide the best show I can to honor the dedication and donations of the man in the crowd.

Halfway through our rehearsal I finally spot the newcomer in the crowd, his blonde curls take up a riotous motion each time he turns his gaze to the woman next to him. She carries a clipboard and pencil, an assistant perhaps? She scrawls information down each time he speaks, so she must be very talented in her position.

Finding myself staring entirely too long at the curly haired man in a plum suit coat, I begin to drop my gaze at the same moment his lifts to mine.

His whiskey dark eyes flare and his jaw clenches, causing me to stumble. Incredibly embarrassed and rightfully chastised by my instructor, I regain my footing and quickly glance his way to see if he noticed my fumble. I find him gone, but the secretary now sitting in the front row, eyes glued to mine.

After removing my sweaty ensemble I exit backstage to make my way to the bus stop to head home. Mother will likely need help getting Dad into bed after another full day of drinking. As the evening breeze caresses my bare arms, I close my eyes and release a sigh at the feeling of peace that only comes after such muscle exertions accompanied by fresh air. 

A throat clears to my left, causing me to jump. 

“Apologies Miss, it was not my intention to startle you.” The deep voice tickles my spine and raises gooseflesh across my thighs.  

“Oh, hello Sir. I saw you in the theatre earlier, but when you left I assumed I missed you.” I reach out my hand in the signal to shake, but the twinkle in his eye and slight tip up of his lips cues me that this is a man with mischievous intentions.

“Ah, so you did notice me. I was afraid I was the only one enraptured.” Bringing my hand toward his mouth, he places a gentle kiss against my knuckles. I can only hope the blush crawling up my neck is hidden in the dim twilight sky.

“Sir, you flatter me. Yet, I only wish to thank you for your generous interest in our company. If it was not for the kindness of yourself and others I would not be able to attend such a successful program.” Giving him my biggest smile, I hope he senses the gratitude I feel in my bones.

“Yes, well. Tonight was only supposed to be an interest visit, but once I witnessed the beauty on stage, I knew I would contribute as a benefactor for the rest of my days.” The way he tilts his head to meet my gaze straight on, I know there is a very specific “beauty” he is referring to. 

“That is very nice, but while I appreciate your attentions I really need to catch my bus home. Thank you again.” As I step back, I realize that neither of us released our grasp and had been holding hands for the entirety of our conversation. 

For the first time, I see a scowl take over his beautiful face, scrunching up his chiseled cheekbones and marring his thick brows. 

“The bus? At this time of night? Miss - what what your name dear?” 

“Delilah.”

“Beautiful. Miss Delilah, would you do me the honor of driving you home?”

I hesitate for only a moment. While I shouldn’t accept rides from strangers, I am desperate for more time with the handsome man who thinks my name is beautiful.

“I suppose that would be alright. Thank you.”

Taking my hand once again, Mr… “What was your name Sir?”

“Oh! I apologize, how rude. My name is Christopher Randel. Lovely to make your acquaintance.” With a sarcastic bow at the waist, he winks, “But please, call me Chris.”

Chris pulls us to a stop in front of a sleek red Chrysler. 

“Wow, this is a beautiful car. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

His smiles gives away his answer, “I would be offended now if you didn’t get in, darling.”

Blushing once again I climb into the leather seat and hope to high heaven I do not smell to poorly after hours of dancing. 

After directing Chris to my home, I try valiantly to exit the car alone, but he insists on introducing himself as the man who drove me home. However, when we make it through the front door, Dad has Mother in a tight grip and the other hand raised and ready to strike. Their heads turn simultaneously to take in Chris and I standing in the doorway. 

Without hesitation, Chris storms forward and grapples with my father until he is contained on the couch a room away. Backing toward Mother and I, Chris speaks in a low voice.

“Ma’am. My name is Christopher Randel, I am a very wealthy thirty year old with a house too large for my own good. Go pack a bag for yourself and meet me outside. You will no longer be staying in this home.”

Mother sniffles, drawing my gaze, I have never, and I mean ever, seen my mother cry. No matter how badly Dad has beaten her, her eyes have always remained dry. Not now, now there are tears streaming down her cheeks as she ever so quickly rushes to her room and not even thirty seconds later returns with a bag in hand. As if she has kept one ready just in case.

“Delilah, beautiful, go grab your things. You are coming too.” Back still to us, I am sure glaring menacingly at my father, I whisper a thank you as I pass behind him to hurry and grab a bag of my things as well.

The next few weeks pass in a blur, my mother and I settle into the gorgeous two story town home that Chris lives in alone, despite his cleaning service and chef that visit weekly. I begin in a room of my own, my mother in one of her own as well. For the first time in years I am privy to a true smile crack my mother’s face, it even reaches her eyes.

The night of her smile was the first time I visited Chris’ room. I have yet to sleep in mine since. Months of bliss follow. My company produces a perfect spring musical, my mother legally divorced my father, no matter how taboo it may have seemed. We never heard from him again, and the few times crossed town to lay eyes on our old home, it lay empty, his car still parked on the street. I was happy, truly, deeply happy, for the first time in my life. 

After six months of ecstasy, love declarations and discussions of marriage and forever, Chris decided one evening to drive into town to retrieve some take out. He never returned. 

A few weeks later I realized the fluttering in my stomach was no longer grief, but the growth of our child. I found my next great love, only to lose her the same way I lost her father, but the child she left behind had been in elementary school and when she needed me most, I fled. I could not cope with the loss of both of my loves only to be left with a shadow of their memories in the face of a child. 

Now, years later, I am an old woman, the child is an adult. Living with a man, her first real relationship, and she is staring back at me from across this cafe table with bruises on her wrist and a yellowing under her right eye, asking me to qualify what she feels as love.

“Liliana, have I ever told you about my father?”