AWAKE

“Did you check the closet, Daddy? I mean, did you really check it?” Patricia squeezed Mr. Rabbit, her favorite talisman, and searched her father's eyes. She didn't think her Daddy would lie, not really. But part of her knew that sometimes grownups didn't pay attention to the most important things, especially on days like today.

Her Daddy smiled at her and walked toward the closet, but Patricia saw it fade just before his back was turned. She could see the back of his black suit was wrinkled. There were light water marks on the shoulders from the rain. Her Daddy looked tired; he even walked tired. His hair had dried funny and now looked uncombed. They had brought a large umbrella with them in the morning, but he had left it in the car. It was cloudy on the way there, but the rain only started after.

Patricia tilted her head at an odd angle and tried to see past her Daddy and into her closet. She knew it was silly. The closet door was closed anyway. She had made sure of that before they left and again as soon as they were home. But still she strained her neck for another look

“Was it heavy?” she asked.

Her Dad opened the closet door and stuck his head in. There weren't many of her clothes there. They all mostly stayed in her dresser. The closet was for toys. Patricia kept the ones that she didn't play with anymore in there. Ever since her parents had taken her to see Toy Story, she hated throwing any toys away. Even the bad one.  

“Was what heavy?” Her dad made a show of scanning the closet, but other than touching her Lilo & Stitch jacket, that clung precariously to half a hanger, he didn’t move anything. Patricia frowned.

“Make sure you look behind the … you know." 

Patricia knew she was being silly. It was just a stupid doll -- a stupid, big doll, with blue eyes, like hers, and long blond hair, like Patricia and her mom used to have, and lots of freckles, like she still had. Mommy told her it was supposed to look like both of them. People were always saying that she was a little carbon copy of her mommy. Patricia had told her she loved it, but that was a big, fat lie. She hated it! Looking at it made her feel like she was looking at her dead body. That was the real reason she had begged to have her hair cut short last summer. She had told her parents that it was too hard to comb every morning and that it made her feel hot when she was in school. Even so, Mommy had tried to talk her out of it.

"You have such long, lovely hair, Pat. Just like Mommy." It was a relief when she had finally agreed, even though Patricia knew it made her mommy sad. She did feel bad about that.

“No monsters here,” her Dad said, sounding tired. He came over and kissed her forehead without looking at her. His voice was soft and dull. To Patricia, he sounded like he wasn't paying attention.

 “The coffin. Was it heavy?”

 Her Daddy turned away.

“No. It wasn't too heavy. Now go to sleep Princess.”

He walked out, closing her door without shutting the light. She thought about calling out to him, but she wasn't sure she wanted the light off, and Daddy wasn't acting like Daddy and — and then she heard the softest click, and the closet door swung open, just a crack.

* * *

Jerry collapsed on his side of the bed, on top of the bedcovers, still dressed in his suit and wearing the muddy shoes. “Was it heavy?” The question settled on his chest with a real kind of weight, and he had to remind himself to breathe. Everything about him felt heavy. Fuzzy, like when you’re trying to run in a nightmare.    

Isn’t that exactly what I’m doing? 

He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. It hurt, like he wasn’t getting enough air. He had been dead on his feet by the time they had walked back from the grave and returned to the plush dimness of the limo. When had he last slept? Two days? Three? It was Wednesday and she had died on Sunday. So that was… The math eluded him.

Despite the weather, everyone had turned out for the graveside service. Ellen had been young and pretty. It is an unwritten law of nature that the number of mourners is inversely proportional to the age of the deceased. 

Some were close friends. Many weren’t. Right now, Jerry couldn’t recall any of their names, other than Margaret and Ed, Ellen’s parents. Jerry’s parents were already underground. He could feel Margaret's eyes on him at the service, vaguely accusatory, making him feel ashamed for being alive.

He turned his face toward the nightstand, where their wedding photo stood in a Tiffany silver frame, itself a wedding gift from his sister. The picture was taken outside, on the grounds of the Sparta Golf & Country Club. It had poured all through the reception that day, but it was sunny and clear when the photo was shot. Ellen looked radiant that day—the picture-perfect bride. It had been a good day. Not the last good day he could remember, but close to it. He covered his eyes with his forearm, barely half awake now. 

I'm changed. She's dead, and I'm not the same. Nothing is the same. Nothing ever again. 

***

Patricia stared at the closet door, trying to find her voice. Sometimes it opens when Daddy closes the bedroom door; that’s all. The wind or something.

“Daddy?” Her voice was a whisper. So soft she wasn’t sure she had spoken out loud. The light from her room didn't seem to reach past the small opening in the closet. Everything behind the door was dark, but Patricia imagined she could make out the outline of that horrible doll. She rubbed her eyes with her little fists.

That is NOT my doll, and it is NOT moving.

When she was absolutely, positively sure nothing was moving in the dark little closet, she stood up from her bed. She thought about calling for Daddy, but she didn't. He was so tired, and so different now.

I'll just run and push it shut. I don't have to look inside or anything, and even if I did, it's just a stupid toy. Without warning, she started to cry. Mommy was gone. Daddy was here, but not all here, and her stupid, stupid closet. Her tears felt hot on her little cheeks. She felt so... so angry. Everything was different now. She didn't feel safe, and her dumb open closet was just too much.

Patricia ran at the door, shouting in rage just as the light went out.

* * *

 “You ruined my life. You took everything away from me.” Her voice. Softer and harder than he remembered. 

 Tears pooled in his eyes, but went nowhere, anchored in place with the rest of him.

 “Ellen? I didn't kill you. It was an accident. Kids. They were drinking —“

“I know. You didn't kill me, Jerry. You just took everything away from me. My youth. My love. You took everything.”

His daughter's screams were louder. "DADDYYY!" It felt like she was standing right outside his bedroom. 

 “What? I don't understand.” He was so heavy. And the screaming. The screaming made it hard to think. “I didn't do anything. I didn't—“

“I didn't do anything,” the voice mocked. “You did everything, Jerry. You belittled me. You ignored me. You cheated …”

 “No.”

 “Yes. You were too much of a coward to take a chance, to risk our marriage, but in your heart you cheated. You abandoned me in this bed; this prison.”  

 Jerry felt something break inside him and bright pain blossomed from his chest. Something icy cold and familiar touched his throat.

“You killed me a little bit, with your ignorance, your unvoiced disdain. With your farting and unkempt hair. God, how I hated you. Loathed you. Loath you.”

 “Dadddddyyy!,” a fading wail dissolving to screams and sobs.

 “Patricia. Our daughter needs me.”

 “Yes, Jerry. She does. She needs you desperately.”

 He tried to speak, but no words came. Something inside him had broken, and he couldn't breathe.

-Our daughter. Ellen, please.-

“You are a monster, Jerry. A monster who devours everything he gets his hands on. But you're not the only monster. Not anymore. It's my turn to take now.”

A sudden absence, and the weight leaving him. Air rushed in, tears streamed out, and Jerry found his voice, just as his daughter lost hers.