Curiouser and Curiouser

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. Outside of her townhouse, a murder of crows fluttered. Agala Spence rested her hand in her head and wept. Through the tears, her face nevertheless held a glowing, spotless physique. Her nutmeg colored skin contrasted with the sky blue sheets and the black comforter made impeccably well due to her son’s military training.

He had been killed in action in the United States’ war in Saudi Arabia. Titled Operation Safeguarding America, the corporal in the United States Marine Corps had saved the life of a fellow Marine by covering a grenade with his helmet.

After she received her crisply folded triangular flag, she wanted nothing to do with the world. Of course, the world went on without her. She noticed the online posts from social media as well as traditional news outlets. She had released a statement saying the father was killed in an auto collision before Corporal Wendell Spence was even born and she never remarried or even found a significant other.

Everyone wanted to know why she had not shown up at his Medal of Honor ceremony in Washington D.C. On her behalf, his commanding officer Lieutenant Colonel Darwin Swift accepted the decoration. Agala was having none of it.

So, she sat and laid down and smoothed out the sheets with her hands. She felt the coolness of the cotton beneath her finger tips and thought.

In her mind, the world didn’t matter to her. That outside, foreign place was like the jungle and she was a lioness licking her wounds in her cave. In relation to her own life, she had not sacrificed just as her son did not sacrifice his life to save his fellow warrior. Instead, she preserved a sense of sanity by coming to his room and cleaning and dusting it until it actually sparkled. The sheen from the top of the oak dresser and the glass desk sparked in her mind the chance to go outside.

It had been six years and she didn’t know what to do with all the cards, and warm wishes, and letters of regret that had been sorted and stored away. Agala looked at Wendell in his Dress Blues. His severe mouth and penetrating eyes belied the soft grin and infectious laugh that her son had expressed so many times in the past.

A warmth in her mind moved her. It was like basking in sunshine and allowing the iciness of disconnect to melt. She kept this same energy as she walked out of his room each time.

She made herself sushi and sat down to eat. She picked up her chopsticks and then burst into tears. She sobbed. Great spasms coursed through her body like electric charges. Agala summoned enough fortitude to wipe away her tears. She breathed. When she had cleaned up her face, she proceeded to eat her lunch.

Mounting in her head, the warmth had been replaced by a coolness. What if she ventured out into the world? This new world she had never known. The world without Wendell and the timing of the anniversary of his death approaching caused her to be curious.

With every step away from his room, she felt empowered. No longer did she have the numbness she had experienced all of these years. It was like a machine turning on in her brain that propelled her to go down stairs into the basement and retract clothes that were obviously out of style.

Her profession as a senior vice president of data analysis at Diamante Bank permitted enough financial cushion to have such luxuries. She could work from home all she wanted. Therefore, she had to go shopping first.

She picked up her smartphone and hailed a car. Agala shopped at the mall. It was spring, so she knew she had to get a sundress, heels, and some sunglasses. She flashed her smartwatch for purchase. Approved, she hailed again. This time, she entered the farmers market.

Awash with colors of red, green, yellow, brown, orange, and purple, she continued to see the intensity of produce. That sound of low voices mixed together and created a cacophony enveloped her. Agala still yearned to get used to crowds. Throngs of people with shifty looks and outrageous footwear selections only heightened her sense of where she was and what she was doing. A voice interrupted a moment to consider an avocado.

“Oh my God, Aggie?!” Kasmine Witherbee exclaimed half in excitement half in surprise.

“Hey, Kassie.”

It’s been six years now…how are you?”

“I manage,” Agala replied.

“It’s good seeing you here. I know you’re still grieving….” She pulled up on her smartphone. “This is a meeting place for those in your position. Go, don’t go, the invitation is right here. Do you mind if I drop it on your phone?”

“No.”

“That’s also a picture of Rockman and me. I met him at work and he told me that he goes to these gatherings. You should check it out sometime. How’s your romantic life, if I may ask?”

“White wine, Lobster mac and cheese and movie nights every Friday.”

“You really haven’t been out to see this world. C’mon, there’s a meeting tonight we could experience,” Kasmine said, bubbly as ever.

The smell of coffee, cheap stuff, pervaded the hall. The circle of chairs made for a circle of hell for Agala. She, though, kept her composure and decided to try out this new way of sharing amongst people in similar situations.

“I’m Jarmusch, I’ve been living in Delaware for four years now. Ever since my son died from HIV from a blood transfusion….” Agala excused herself and left. She hailed once more.

“Wait! You didn’t even get a chance to hear him out!” Kasmine said. She returned to the meeting. Then, a man, thirty-nine-years old, standing about six feet tall went up to Agala.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t want to be in there. Did you want to get a cup of real coffee?”

“With whom am I supposed to drink this coffee?”

“Pardon my manners. I’m Chad Horry. And I think I remember you from the news reports a few years back. Agala Spence?”

“You got me,” she said with a slick grin.

“You pay for the ride share and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“I’m fine with that,” she replied.

After ordering espresso, the two sat at a table and looked out the window. Rain fell. It was a soft, warm rain.

“I guess we’ll get right into it. I lost my eight-year-old daughter to cancer two years ago. I never knew I’d feel such pain.”

“You indicated you know my story. It still hurts.”

“In that group, we exchange our stories and ensure that everyone is treated with the utmost respect.”

“Are you a spokesman for the group?” she asked with spice.

Horry laughed. “No, no. I just think it’s beneficial to be able to relate to people who have similar issues. These issues are the loss of children.”

Agala sipped and savored the notes of lemon in her coffee.

“I’m okay. Like I said it hurts and I’ll never get over it or find closure….” Agala mentioned.

“No, never that.”

“Did you want to come over to my place and talk more?” Agala asked.

“I’d love to do that.”

Once they were back at the townhouse, they sat at her table and sipped some wine.

“Did you want to see his room?”

“Of course.”

Horry looked at the model airplanes and the immaculate bedspread and chifferobe. Agala opened the closet and showed him all of Wendell’s uniforms, expertly pressed and in decent order.

“I just went in here for six years. Everyday. Today was the first time I saw the new world. I liked it. People hustling and bustling through stores, businesses running with a fervor and spirit that can only be found in a free market. I wasn’t in love with all of it, though. I saw shiftlessness, rudeness, disgust. It was like, in some cases the world had never changed. Other parts, however, seemed rather foreign to me.”

“That’s what it’s like. I stayed in the house for a year and finally broke free and sought help to ease my troubled mind.”

“Absolutely.”

“Hey, it’s been beneficial to talk to you. What’s your number by the way?”

Agala dropped it on his phone.

“I appreciate it and it doesn’t get perfect, but we try to reach perfect peace despite the circumstances,” Horry explained.

“Are you sure you’re not getting paid to promote that group?” Agala grinned.

“I’m sure.”

Agala hugged Horry and watched him hail a car.