“Did you see his shoes?” she asked, standing before the dresser mirror taking off her earrings. The left was caught in her straight blond hair, and she cursed as she pulled it free. "The one who spoke to you? I swear I could see his toes."
“Mmm-hmm,” he said from behind her.
“It was disgusting,” she said. “I don't know how those people can stand it.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he repeated.
“And was that paper they were all selling?” she said. “Isn't it illegal to sell on the street?”
“Hmm?” he said. He appeared behind her in the mirror pulling off his tie.
“Stewart, I'm talking to you! I said, isn't it illegal for them to sell that paper on the street?”
Stewart stepped to the bed, sat and leaned down to remove a shoe. He said, “I'm sure they have a license, dear.”
“A license! For that trash? What's the world coming to? They should at least be required to have some news in their newspaper? And where are they going to get news?” Still in front of the mirror, she reached beneath her hair to unfasten her necklace. “What was it called? The 'Contributor'? Contributor! Playing journalist is more like it. Contributor! What are they 'contributing' exactly?” she said.
“They're trying to earn money instead of begging for it,” Stewart said. He removed his silver watch and laid it on his bed-side table.
“Earn? Earn? Seems like begging to me,” she said. “And how much does that paper cost to print anyway? Probably have to beg for twice as much now.”
“Let it go, Gwen,” he said. “Let's go to bed. I'm up too late for a Sunday night as it is, and I have an early meeting.”
“I'm sure you think that's awfully important. I should just shut up and let you get some sleep? All you care about is work, work, work,” she said. She stepped out of her dress and went into the bathroom to remove her makeup. “I'm trying to have a conversation,” she called through the open door.
"I know," he said. "It's just not a conversation I wish to have right now." He stepped into the bathroom, around his wife, to his sink and began squeezing toothpaste on his brush.
"Well when will we have it? Honestly, Stewart, I just don't know when we ever talk any more."
"M-m-ha-min-mt," he mumbled past the toothbrush in his mouth.
"Shit, Stewart," she said. She went to the bedroom closet to find her nightgown. "Alright, let's go to bed. I have to be up early too. Your mother signed me up to assist with the that religious ed week at church. If I must spend all day with those spoiled children, I suppose I'll need some sleep."
"Good. I'm beat," said Stewart. He slipped on a clean t-shirt and his pajama pants. The paused before climbing into bed. "Look, Gwen, let's not go to sleep angry. Can't we be friends?"
Gwen climbed into bed, and propped her arm on her pillow to look at him. "Sure, Stewart," she said. "Fine. We're still friends. Good night."
Stewart leaned across the bed to lightly kiss her lips. Then they each turned off their bed-side lamps and rolled over to go to sleep.
+++
That night Gwen dreamed of a fire. She stood alone in the front room of a small, dark apartment. A tenement house. The apartment's door was open to the dim hallway beyond it. She sensed the stink of urine and decay embedded in the oily walls around her. The boarded window allowed only thin blades of light into the room. She walked to it and grabbed one of the boards. It was moist with mossy growth, but it was well secured to the window and took a great deal of strength to yank free. She tossed the board to the floor and wiped her hands on her blouse before poking her face into the hole. No glass. It had been long ago shattered and what shards remained clung to the window's edge offering no barrier against the world outside. For a moment she enjoyed the feel of sweet, cool air on her face before looking out the window. When she did, she jumped back from the view. She was very high. The apartment must be hundreds of stories off the ground. Shaken but determined, she slowly walked back to the window. The earth was covered with a bright green forest. The forest looked fresh and clean and inviting, but at the same time tiny and impossibly far.
She turned around to face the room. The light from the window showed the its filth much more clearly and Gwen began to regret removing the board. For the most part the sub-floor was exposed, but small tufts of bright green, shag carpet popped up here and there. The walls were papered in a dark green. It was a color chosen to not show dirt, but the illusion carried only so far. In several places the wallpaper had bubbled and ripped.
The room was bare of furniture except for a stained and reeking mattress that lay, unsupported, on the floor in the corner farthest from the window. The mattress was obviously still in use. There was no fitted sheet, but there was a thin, spotted yellow blanket and a case-less pillow resting atop it. It was here the fire started.
It seemed to start spontaneously, but she knew someone had been smoking. It might have been her. Had she stared again? She wondered as the fire grew. It started from beneath the blanket but quickly spread to the mattress and then to the wall. Soon the entire corner was engulfed in flame. The wall paper cracked and melted as the room filled with smoke. Gwen coughed. She knew she must be choking and covered her mouth.
The fire was for her. It burned for her.
She looked back toward the window, but she couldn't go that way. So she kept an eye on the creeping flames and moved out the door into the hallway. And once in the hall, she ran.
The doors along the hall were closed and the only light came from the flicker of flames behind her. She ran along the hall with it chasing her until she was at the end, banging on the last door. The fire was approaching. She could feel its heat. She banged harder and harder. She heard a voice behind the door. "Stewart!" she screamed. "Stewart! Help me!" She began to claw at the door, screaming. She could see the brightness of the fire reflected in the door. "Please!"
"Gwen?" It was Stewart's voice coming from behind her. She turned and could see him through the flame. "What's wrong, honey?" he said, calmly. "Did they get you too? I knew they would."
"Wha-?", she asked. "Who?"
"They'll get us all, Gwen." Stewart's sleeve caught fire. He lifted his arm and stared at the flame, confused. "“Mmm-hmm,” he said and began to bat the flame with his other hand. "Mmmmmm-hmmmmmm." His hand caught fire. He began to swing his arms wildly. "Mmmmmmm-Hmmmmmmmm! MMMMMMMMMMMM-HMMMMMMMMMMMMM! MMMMMMMMM-!"
"Stewart!" Gwen screamed.
"What's wrong, dear? Why are -"
+++
"- you yelling?" Stewart was shaking her awake. Gwen's eyes opened and she quickly set up in the bed. She reached her hand to her face. There were tears on her cheek.
"Are you okay?" he asked. "Were you dreaming?"
"Yes," she said still rubbing her eyes. "Yes. You were on fire."
"Hmmm. That's not a pleasant thought," he said. "Did you put me out?"
"No. No, I couldn't get to you."
"Well, next time dream up a bucket of water, okay?" he said smiling. "Hey, look you're fine now. There's no fire. We're safe and sound."
"Yeah. Yes, I know," she said. "I think I'll go get a drink of water." She pushed the blanket off of her and stood up.
"Okay, dear," Stewart said sinking back into the bed. "Don't worry about having a bad dream once in a while. They get us all eventually."
+++
Stewart worked late the next night, so Gwen spent the evening alone. After her meal she sat on the sofa with a bottle of wine. The house seemed so empty. They'd bought it with the idea of children. The rooms used for Stewart's office and her fitness equipment were supposed to be bedrooms. Things hadn't worked out that way though. It was rare that Gwen thought about those days. All those trips to the gynecologist and then the fertility doctor. She knew Stewart revisited that time much more often than she did. The truth was, when they learned she couldn't carry a child, it had been a relief. She didn't hate children - other people's children - but she didn't especially like them either, and the thought of having one - the thought of giving up her time, her life, for one - well that never felt pleasant. In those days she was certain she could come up with better things to do.
As she sat listening to the silence, she thought about her day. She knew her mother-in-law had never forgiven her for not having a child. But Gwen wasn't sure if the way Stewart's mother's yearly insistence that she assist with their church's religious education week was a form of punishment or some kind of lesson about the blessings children brought into the world. It usually felt like the former, but she admitted the old woman still might not have given up on a surrogate or adoption - ideas Gwen had managed to mostly quell in Stewart. Truth be told, though, today hadn't been so bad. She'd helped setup two of the classrooms and made cookies for an afternoon snack. She spent little time with the children.
Gwen poured herself another glass of wine. Her own mother, were she still alive, would likely be pushing her even harder than Stewart’s. Gwen’s parents had been killed in a car accident only two years into her marriage. A month or two before the accident, Gwen began to notice little hints from each of them. They wanted grandchildren. Wanted them even more badly than Gwen had realized. After they died their lawyer showed her the paperwork they’d asked him to begin drawing up. A trust fund for college. All it needed was a name. It was three weeks after their funeral that she and Stewart began trying. She’d wanted to do something for them. Something to repay them for all they’d given her.
Gwen drained her glass, and poured another.
She needed to clear her head. She considered turning on the television, then decided against it. There was nothing worth watching. Only more trouble she didn’t feel like dealing with. She'd tried earlier and caught part of the nightly news. Some story about the mayor's efforts to end the homeless problem. The reporter spoke of the plans to build new public housing apartments over the image of a small, blond girl eating soup at a table of ratty, homeless women.
My god, Gwen thought remembering the story, more clearly. Can't these people just clean themselves up and get jobs? She took another sip of wine. The whole thing made her so angry. And what was that paper yesterday? That rag they sold. The Contributor. That was it. Seeing those poor, dirty men selling it had really upset her. She supposed she'd taken it out on Stewart too. Probably owe him an apology, she thought. It was just so damn odd. Them selling that newspaper on the street. Some bleeding-heart's notion of helping, she supposed. Just like this public housing. Put them to work, that's what would help. All they were doing was standing around chatting with each other and begging for someone to buy a paper. That's not work.
Where was Stewart? He should have been home by now. Working late. Always late these days. And she was certain it was work that kept him away. Or, at least, she knew it wasn't another woman. More than once she'd leaned into him searching for, and not finding, a faint scent of perfume or the smudge of lipstick. More than once she'd called his office only to have him answer and tell her he'd be home after a while. He was working. Working hard enough to have gained the recognition of the partners. Probably be a promotion before long. Maybe they'd get a pool.
She really owed him an apology for the other night. She should do something nice for him. What could she do?
A pool would be so-. Cool water. She liked the sound of that. Nice cool water to keep her safe. Safe and-. Clean. It's so good to be clean. And safe. Not like those filthy-.
She shouldn't be so hard on Stewart. He worked hard. And he did it for her. For them.
She laid her head back against the back of the sofa. Soft. She closed her eyes. Stewart's a good man, she though. He's-.
A loud boom roused her. The speakers from a car passing on the street outside. Don't they know how late it is, she thought. She straightened up on the sofa, rubbed her eyes and looked at the room around her. She'd picked out everything in there. She loved the soft red of the sofa and love seat and the dark mahogany of the coffee and end tables. Her eyes scanned the art on the walls until they rested on the painting above the fireplace. It was of a group of children playing at a swimming pool. The downtown of a city rose above them in the background. She remembered Stewart had been surprised when she'd picked it out, but it had called to her. There was something about it. She seemed to almost remember somethi-
The wine was getting to her, she realized. What time was it anyway? Thoughts were beginning to roll into one anther. Time for bed.
+++
The dream. The hallway this time. Gwen stood at the open door and looked inside. The apartment was the same as before. The board she'd removed from the window lay on a patch of carpet. The greasy, green wallpaper pealed from the walls. She watched dust dance in the light from the window and could see the green forest outside. Then she saw smoke. And she ran.
In a flash she was pounding at the last door. She turned to look down the hall just in time to see flames explode from the apartment's open doorway onto the wall opposite and begin running up the wall and onto the ceiling.
She turned back to the door, squinting to drive back the tears, and resumed banging on it. She could hear something on the other side. A voice. She was sure it was a voice. She screamed.
"Help! Help me! I'm out here! Please open the door!"
This time when Stewart called her name, she did not turn.
"Please!" she called. The fire reflected in the door. Its flicker made the black of her shadow dance before her. Again Stewart called her name. She griped the trim and held tight to keep from turning. Tears were running freely now. "Please! Help me!" she screamed.
"Gwen? Gw- Mmmmm-hmmmmm." Stewart said behind her. "MMMMMMM-HMMMMMM!"
"HELP ME!" Gwen screamed.
"MMMMMMM" Stewart began again. "-HMMMMMM!" "MMMMMMM-HMMMMMMM!"
The light and heat of an explosion flashed around her. She heard Stewart's sharp scream then felt warm, wet debris slap onto her neck and arms. It clung to her hair and ran down her back beneath her blouse.
Then suddenly there was no sound. No sensation. No sense of place or of space. She reached for the door but did not find it. She was in the void. She floated there and continued to cry.
+++
The next morning Gwen made breakfast - eggs, toast and strawberries. She wanted to fry some bacon, but remembered how Stewart's doctor had advised against it. They sat together in their small breakfast nook eating and drinking coffee and orange juice.
"What time did you get home last night?" Gwen asked.
"Pretty late," Stewart replied. "And I still didn't get everything finished. I'm in good shape though, I think. Haskins won't be back from the conference until Monday, so I've still got the rest of the week, and the weekend if I need it."
Gwen back stiffened at his mention of working over the weekend, but then she caught herself and softened. This was her way of apologizing. She didn't want to start a fight. "Glad things are on track," she said.
"Yeah," Stewart said. "Me too. Hey what happened to you yesterday? Did mom drive you nuts? When I got home the covers were all over the bed. I hope she's not ruining your sleep now."
Gwen stared at him, briefly, then replied, "Oh. No, your mother was fine. Yesterday was fine. How do you like your breakfast?"
Stewart said, "Honey, this is without a doubt the best breakfast I've had in a long time." He shoveled a fork-full of eggs into his mouth. "'ut...eri-ously," -- he swallowed -- "Seriously, how did you sleep last night? Did you have another bad dream? Was I on fire again?"
"Thank you for the compliment on the food, dear," Gwen said. "And, yes, I think I did have an odd dream or two last night." She took his mug and went to refill it. "It's nothing to worry about though. Bad dreams get us all, right?"
"Yes, I suppose so," he said. "You know once I had a one where you were pregnant with an ostrich. Of course that was back when..."
She sat his coffee on the table and reached down to pat his hand. "It's been too long since I've cooked for you. I'm sorry about that."
Stewart looked up at her. "Gwen-" he started, then paused to finish chewing. "Well, Gwen, this meal was worth the wait."
Gwen picked up her plate and piled her fork and knife on top. She reached down to kiss her husband on the forehead before taking the dishes around to the sink. She felt Stewart's eyes follow her. It gave her a thrill and she wished he would take the morning off, but knew he what he would say if she asked and she didn't want to ruin the moment. Still she enjoyed the attention and made a game of slowing her movements and of lingering over the dishwasher as she placed her dishes on the rack.
"Honey, you are so-" Stewart began, but then saw the clock. "Oh, damn, it's late. I've gotta run." He jumped from his chair and came around to Gwen. He kissed her on her mouth. "Thank you again, honey. Love you." Then he ran out of the kitchen. Gwen stood unmoving until she heard the front door slam shut, then, smiling, continued cleaning up.
+++
The room is bright and papered yellow. The window's trim is white and beyond it sits a bright blue cloudless sky atop a distant, lush, green forest. She realizes she's very high up. Hundreds of feet in the air.
She wonders where she might be, but she doesn't want to question her good fortune at having ended up in such a place. A clean place. Safe.
In the corner near a white-painted wooden door she sees bundles of newspaper. Dozens of them. Looking about her she becomes aware of even more. She's surrounded by them. Bundles stacked in floor to ceiling columns seem to give structural support to the room. Out the window she notices a clear patch in the forest and when she looks closer she sees work crews along the edge of the clearing cutting down trees.
"For the papers," she says. "They must have wood to make paper. They must have paper to print. They must have people to do the writ-"
There's a harsh banging at the door. Gwen stops speaking. She stands silently in the center of the room. The banging continues.
Fear grips her. Who is that? Who would come here? How would they know where to find her?
Then, suddenly, the banging stops. All is quiet for a moment, then what sounds like an explosion on the other side of the door. Gwen yelps. The room shakes and several stacks of newspaper bundles fall to the floor.
Then the banging begins again.
Along with the banging she hears screams. Someone in trouble. Someone just outside that door. She should help. She should open the door and let them in. She takes a step. Then another. Then she stops. Who could it be? Who would want her to help? She-- She can't help anyone. Who would come to her for help? Maybe they'll go away. They'll go to the next door.
She looks down at her hands. She's holding a small plastic doll. It's old and dirty and looks to be partly charred from a fire, but it is familiar somehow. It seems that it may have belonged to someone she knew. Someone she knew a long time ago. She holds it to her chest. It's a very pretty doll. Maybe she can keep it.
“Oh Wendy.” a woman’s voice, low and gravelly, calls. Gwen looks up and sees a woman sitting on a pile of newspapers in the corner, smoking a cigarette. A slim, Gwen remembers suddenly. Menthol.
“Wendy. Look at you, Precious.” The woman calls and Gwen walks toward her. “Here, Wendy, sit down here.” And Gwen sits by the woman in a tiny rocking chair. She barely fits. It’s child-sized - its low height forces her knees into her breasts - but somehow the chair is comfortable. She begins to gently rock.
The woman’s hand reaches out to touch her face. For a moment her arm is unbelievably long as if she’s reaching out over a great distance, but then it re-sizes itself and she’s right there. “Wendy, you know it wasn’t your fault. You know that,” she says kindly. “It was these damned things,” she says more sharply showing Gwen her cigarette. “It was my fault.”
Gwen feels tears welling. She doesn’t speak, but pulls the woman’s hand from her face and holds it in both of hers. Its skin is soft and warm, but the nails are black and dark soot stains run along the fingers. She feels the woman watching her, smiling, as she raises the hand back to her face and kisses its palm.
“Sweet, Wendy,” the woman says. “They came for you, didn’t they? I knew they would. One day. I was unfit. I knew I was unfit. Did they treat you well, dear Wendy?”
“Yes, momma, yes,” Gwen says, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her tears fall on the woman’s hand and washes away some of the soot. Gwen smiles and begins rubbing the hand clearing away more.
“I’m so happy. I love you, Wendy.”
“I love you too, momma.”
The banging at the door begins again. “Is someone there?” Gwen’s mother asks. “Go see who it is, Wendy.”
Gwen turns toward the door. The banging grows louder. “No, momma, no,” she says, frightened. “They’ll go away. Let me just stay here with-” When she turns back her mother is gone, replaced by a heap of charred clothing. The stench of burnt hair fills the room. The banging continues, growing louder and faster. Gwen rises from the rocking chair and takes a step toward the door. BANG! BANG! She takes another step and a half step more. BANG!
Suddenly the banging turns to booming and she hears the door frame begin to crack. With each boom the door bows toward her just a little more. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The door flies open and-
+++
Gwen woke up screaming.
+++
”There was a fire,” Gwen said, seated on the edge of the bed. Stewart stood over her offering a glass of water. She took it from him, held it in both hands and stared into it. She could see her feet through the glass, magnified and distorted by the water. She moved her left foot to the right and in the glass it moved left.
“In your dream?” Stewart said.
“Oh,” she looked back up at him. “No. Well, yes, but-” Water slipped from the glass as she took a sip. “I remember now. I remember the fire... My mother... I remember.”
“What?” Stewart asked, sitting beside her on the bed. He placed his right hand on her shoulder and took the glass from her with his left. “What are you saying, honey?”
“I was a girl. Oh, Stewart, how could I have forgotten all this? I was a girl. No more than three. We lived - my mother and I - we lived in this place. It was dirty and there were rats. I remember mother put the bread in the refrigerator to keep the rats from it. I remember there was this great green shag carpet. And the walls. Dark green paper. I used to pretend. I would pretend that the carpet was grass and the paper pealing from the walls were tree limbs. It was a park. Like the one... Like the one outside the window. I could never go there. Mother said it was dangerous for a little girl. I would stare at it out the window. I remember standing on...a box, or a table - I’m not sure, but something - and looking down at the park. It seemed so far. So far below. I would see kids playing and people with dogs. Then I would act it out there on the shag carpet. Pushing baby carriages and playing fetch and tag.”
As Stewart listened, his hand begin to grip Gwen’s shoulder. Now he relaxed it. “What are you saying, Gwen? How could you have been in a place like that? Your father. You mother. You were never poor, Gwen.”
“I... I know,” she said. “But I remember. I... I never told you this, Stewart. I haven’t even thought about it in so long. But when I was young, I had...doubts. Doubts about me. About my parents. Stewart, I remember now.” Gwen began to shiver and leaned into Stewart pressing her head into his chest. “I remember now,” she said.
“Okay. Okay, Gwen. Okay,” he lifted her from him and looked into her eyes. “Tell me.”
“One day my mother. Not the woman I knew as my mother - the woman you knew - but my...my mother. She smoked. She was in the bedroom. I was in the other room. Playing, I guess. I... I smelled smoke. I don’t think I thought much of it at first. I guess I just didn’t know what it meant. But I kept smelling it and finally I went to the door of the bedroom. It was warm. I can see it all so clearly now. It was warm, but I could touch it. I opened the door and... And I saw... I saw the fire. There was so much. And I guess... I mean, I think now that opening the door just fueled it more. You know? Gave it more oxygen. ...Is that right? I don’t know... But it moved so, so quickly. I screamed. I think my mother was still asleep. The fire was on the floor and the edge of the mattress, but it was climbing. Climbing up the wall and up the mattress. Toward her. I screamed again. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to get closer to her, but... But I couldn’t do it. I ran out of the room and out of the apartment. I was crying and yelling for Momma. I got to the end of the hall...and... Oh, Stewart! I got to the end and I heard her screaming. I remember. By then some of the neighbors had come out and there was smoke filing the hall. I don’t know if anyone went to try to get her. I just remember someone picking me up and carrying me through the door at the end of the hall and down the stairs. I remember the firetrucks came and... And that’s all. I don’t remember more. I think. I guess. Stewart. My parents. I always knew. They were good people and I loved them, but I... I always knew.”
“Oh, my god, Gwen.” Stewart said. “Oh, my god.”
“I...I’ve been so, so selfish.” Gwen stuttered. “I’m so sorry. Stewart, I’m so sorry.” Then he grabbed her and she burst into tears.
+++
For Gwen the next several weeks were filled with visits to a therapist, fits of crying and long evenings with Stewart. He wasn’t able to take off from work completely, but the late nights had come to an end and Gwen and he were able to spend quite a lot of time together, snuggled together on the sofa or up all night talking in the kitchen. On weekends they began spending time at one of several city parks. They enjoyed watching the children run and play.
Three months after her dreams and unlocked memories, Gwen began volunteering at a homeless shelter for women and children. At first she cooked, sorted clothing donations, and made fundraising calls, but slowly she worked up her nerve to spend time with the people she was serving. She began serving meals and handing out tooth brushes, soap and other toiletries. She started a program to keep children while their mothers’ went on job interviews. She worked with her church to provide temporary housing to help a number of families get back on their feet. Eventually she even took a part time position as editor of the homeless paper, The Contributor.
A little over a year later Gwen came to Stewart and proposed they adopt a child. There were so many, she said, that needed a home and they could provide it. Stewart said yes, and soon after they adopted a two year old girl, Jackie. They loved Jackie and raised her as their own, but Gwen would not allow her to be lied to about how she had come into their lives. When Jackie was old enough Gwen took her to the shelter. They worked together, mother and daughter, doing what they could to help.
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