Erin Stimmler, Story 11.

The Sound of Paradise
By: Erin Stimmler
The ICU is a place of death, near death, and sometimes escaped death. That is what we were hoping for, only somewhere deep inside I knew the later was not what we would get. There was a calm that I had heard, when I went in a saw her for the first time. A calm that I knew meant she was already gone. It was like I could hear some of her paradise and now I find myself wondering if that was what she lived life listening for. Our family had become complete by the time I was three, I am the second to last in the long list of our seven. I had never thought to ask whether or not we were that crazy, whether she wanted calm instead. I guess I sort of assumed that since I was most comfortable with everyone, that she too must have been as well, with all nine of us around the kitchen table, ten of us including our nanny.
Calm is what I heard, no doubt about it, and it has unsettled me and possibly given me more time than the rest of the kids to think things through. Only I can’t share it with anyone, I am stuck exactly where I sit, without the knowledge of what to do next, lost I suppose. I sit in the hallway. There is a desk in the hall in front of me and I sit with a few family members around a circular table, closer to the door that leads to the elevators, that lead to the better parts of the hospital. Every once in a while the door opens and I strain to listen for what normal sounds like outside the doors. I am afraid I might forget I guess. That is something that has gotten me through the last hour, remembering what yesterday sounded like, the noise that meant normal was happening all around me.
I guess the first question to answer is what paradise is. For some people it would be literally a paradise of lush jungle and expansive beaches. For others it might transform from a jungle of trees to the chaotic one of the big city, Manhattan perhaps. For me it was when I was a kid, just after dinner, when the sun is not setting until at least eight o’clock. Paradise was the seven of us kids floating around the grassy back yard, two on the jungle jim, the other five playing spinning tops with our Cabbage Patch Kids. Spinning until dizzy and flopping to the cool grass to read the clouds until they themselves stopped spinning of course, then starting the whole flopping, spinning process over again. I can hear the laughter, the playful banter that would wined us all down until finally stars took over the swirling clouds and Mom called from the back door. I can hear the jingling of the chains that held up the swings as the boys leapt from the highest parts of our wooden jungle jim. The sound of the next door neighbors pond pump, which I remember we used as a timer to see who could spin just as long as it clicked and pumped and finally clicked off again. On the other side of the house there was the neighbors huge sheep-dog who would lick the air and bark hello’s every time she caught a glance at any of us. To me these hot, still, and starry summer nights were paradise. Now I suppose none of us is innocent enough for my paradise to ever return. For now though I guess I will listen and hear the other things, its hard not to in this kind of place, and soon somewhere else I will hear my new paradise.
The door into the ICU clicked open and automatically my gaze snaps in the opposite direction of the "normal" doors, but it is just a nurse that I have never seen before. The thumping in my chest returns to normal, and eventually the pulsing behind my eyes is growing less apparent. That is a sound that I have been hearing too often today, your heart really lets you in on how you feel, whether you think it or not your heart feels it for you, if your willing to listen that is. You know they tell you mothers holding theirs baby’s to their chest to calm them, that the baby is naturally calmed not just by mom’s hold but her heart beat and breathing and all of her sounds. That would be nice right now, to be held and listen to all the wonderful constants of a mothers body, something about being just a child again would make life in this instance that much easier. I hear the gentle click of the door shutting at last and I allow my gaze to settle ahead of me where the glass panels of the ICU family waiting room separates me from the conversations within.
I am grateful for these clear panes of separation, ones that allow me to look in but not have to listen. The last day reminds me of this and I am almost okay with that as well. My uncle is on my left and before I even hear what he has to say I can feel his fidgeting and it makes me more anxious. He is trying to unwrap a candy bar and I watch as a pained expression washes across his face. His fingers are not responding, sort of like the rest of life at this moment, and that is not the only thing that frustrates him so I don’t say anything. I am guessing it must be his turn to sit with me, its like musical chairs, only babysitting style. It is a good thing we have such a great big family, they can at least take turns prying to see where each of us "kids"is at, even though it’s not like we are kids anymore.
"Nibblets Kara?" My Uncle Stan holds out the first of a bag full of candy bars that he has finally worked to wrapper off of. He has worked out a great game that we used to play passing candy bars around taking just a little off the end and eating it. This way you could eat several bars worth of candy by nibbling on them all.
"Yeah I guess I am kinda obligated huh?" I snap a piece off a Butterfinger and his wife shoots me a look that says they were looking for more than just a simple answer. I guess that is all I have to offer at this point, and I believe it probably had a little something to do with the calm that I heard earlier, I don’t really know what to tell them. They will probably think that I am crazy, or maybe that I am in denial, I think probably the denial part is most ceratin. That is why I can’t tell them what I think. The click of the door sounds again and without even thinking it my head zips to the right and my eyes lock on the door, my actions have become automatic and my body cringes at the stares I feel from my Aunt and Uncle.