Whispered Prayers of a Girl

“My fucking legs and right arm were trapped between the seat and the steering wheel. It was dark outside, so when I looked to the back seat to find my little girl, all I could see was darkness and what looked like water. That’s when Clara came to. She immediately started screaming Rayne’s name and tried to get to the back seat, but she was trapped as well. The dash had crushed her legs. The flames coming from the dash were getting closer to me, but I didn’t feel the heat anymore. My sole focus was to get to Rayne and Clara. Clara looked at me and begged and pleaded for me to get Rayne out. It wasn’t until the water started rising and covering Clara that I realized we’d rolled down the embankment and were in the creek. Fear like I’ve never felt before seized me, and I started jerking as hard as I could on my arm that was trapped. I couldn’t reach Clara or Rayne with my left, and no matter how hard I pulled and yanked, I couldn’t fucking get my right one free.

“Clara was smashed up against her door and the water was creeping up on her fast and there was no way for her to get away from it. She was screaming and crying hysterically, while I kept trying to get free. The flames reached my leg first, and I felt and smelled as my jeans were burned away. Then it hit my flesh and it was excruciating. The pain from being burned tried to pull me under, but I fought to stay conscious. I couldn’t take my eyes away from Clara as the water reached her face and swallowed her up.”

He stops and his breathing becomes labored as he stares off into space. His eyes look wild, and I know he’s reliving the horror of that moment. I grab hold of his wet cheeks, the blanket falling from my shoulders, and make him look at me, desperate for that look to disappear. The roughness of his beard on the left side feels so different than the smoothness of his scars on the other side.

His eyes meet mine and they appear unfocused, as if he’s not seeing me.

“Alexander,” I call, making sure my voice comes out strong when I feel anything but. “Look at me.” I give him a shake.

I don’t know if it’s my tone or the fact I’m so close to him, but he seems to snap out of it. He flinches, but I don’t let that affect me.

“You’re not there anymore,” I tell him quietly. “You’re here with me right now.”

His eyes flick back and forth between mine and he frowns, then gives me a nod. I’m surprised when his head drops from my hand and he lays it against my shoulder. Next, his arms wrap around my middle, and I’m forced to get back up on my knees. He’s hunched over me as he seeks comfort.

His voice comes out muffled and broken when he speaks next. I already know what he’s going to say, but it still hurts nonetheless.

“She begged and begged me to help Rayne up until the water covered her face, and even then, her eyes pleaded with me until she couldn’t hold her breath anymore. I watched her drown, and I couldn’t do a damn thing. I let my baby and wife die.” I’m shaking my head no, but don’t get a chance to voice my objection. “I tried so fucking hard, Gwen, I swear I did, but I couldn’t get free. My arm had gouges from me pulling so hard. When the flames reached my upper body, I wanted it to devour me. I wanted to die. If they couldn’t live, then neither would I. Right as it got to my face, someone yanked open my door. It was pouring outside so the rain coming in helped control the fire long enough for them to throw water on me. I already felt dead inside when they pulled me from the car. The pain of the burns was searing and unbearable, but the pain of knowing I’d lost my wife and newborn baby couldn’t compare.”

My shirt is soaked by the time he’s done. My own face is drenched in tears as well. Even though I was the one giving him comfort, I still cling to him just as tightly as he clings to me. His weight sags against me, and I know it’s not only from the alcohol, but from emotional exhaustion.

We stay this way for a while, him with his arms wrapped around my waist, his head against my shoulder, and me with my head resting on top of his. I pull the blanket around us both.

After a few minutes, he pulls back, and his tired eyes look up at me. I wipe away my own tears and sit back on my legs. My eyes feel swollen from crying and his carry so much pain. I don’t know what to do to help him. There’s really nothing I can do to help him.

“I’m sorry, Alexander.” It sounds so inadequate for what he’s gone through. “I’m so sorry for what you went through. For what they went through. I can’t imagine….” I close my eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again. I can’t even finish the thought because it’s too incomprehensible.

He swallows, then nods. It looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes drop to my shirt and he notices it’s drenched.

“Shit,” he grumbles scratchily. “Sorry.”

It’s a weird thing to notice at a time like this, but I think it’s more of an avoidance thing. Now that he’s told his story and has relived the pain, he’s only too willing to push it aside and try to focus on something else. From the look in his eyes, his attempt isn’t successful. I have a feeling it won’t ever be successful. How does someone recover from something like that?

I shake my head, letting him know I don’t care about my shirt.

“Please don’t apologize.” It almost comes out as begging. I feel restless because there’s so much I want to say, but I know none of it will ever be good enough. “I don’t know what to do,” I tell him honestly. “I wish so much there was something I could do to help your pain, but I know there’s not.”

“You’ve helped me already,” he responds quietly, confusing me.

He looks down at his hands and flexes his fingers. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders when a gust of wind sweeps over us.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, then turns hazy eyes my way. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it and shakes his head, as if mentally warring with himself. Pulling in a deep breath, he tries again. “I can’t drive.” He looks over to my truck, then back to me. “But we need to get you out of the cold. Can you take me home?”

Pleased that he’s asked, I nod. I’d stay out here in the cold all night if I had to, but I’m glad he wants to go home. I know being here makes him feel closer to his wife and baby, but the way he’s drinking his sorrows and guilt away hinders his grieving process. We’ll never forget the ones we love, they’ll be with us always, but we need to learn to live without them, to not let the pain of their loss rule our lives. Alexander hasn’t been grieving, he’s been living in his pain all these years. He’s not learning to move on, he’s staying in place and immersing himself in guilt.

“Yes.”

I stand, still holding onto the blanket, and wait for him to follow. He doesn’t at first, just sits there and looks around in the dark, as if searching for something. I give him a few minutes as I gather the two bottles of Jameson and a brown paper bag. It takes him a moment, but then he slowly gets to his feet. He’s surprisingly steadier than I thought he would be, but his movements are sluggish as we make our way over to my truck. His eyes linger on the two crosses we pass, and even in the dark I can see fresh heartache on his face.

He climbs inside without saying a word. His eyes appear distant, like he’s not in himself right now. I throw the blanket and trash in the back.

“Do you have your keys?” I ask.

I get a single nod in response. Walking over to his truck, I lock the doors, then go back to mine. It’s cold inside, but thankfully my truck heats up quickly. Neither of us speak as we make the five-minute drive to his house.

He doesn’t ask me inside, but I get out anyway. The only light that’s on is the one by the barn, and it’s dark enough that I have trouble seeing my way to the porch. Thankfully, he walks slowly, and I’m able to follow him. I trip when I make it to the steps, but he turns and catches me before I fall, then guides me up the rest of the way. I have no idea how he’s able to move so smoothly with so much alcohol in his system. My only guess is his highly emotional state must have helped burn off some of the effects.

Keys jingle once we’re standing in front of the door, and a second later, we’re inside. He stops several feet away with his back to me. His head is hanging forward and the defeated posture makes me ache for him.