Home
Sabrina couldn't focus. The four vodka tonics she'd just downed had begun to blur her vision and cloud her already spotty judgement, turning her insides into a mess of confusion and sickness. She'd never been dumped before... and the shock hit her like nothing she'd ever felt. The rejection was devastating, more than heartbreaking, it was heart-crushing. It was even worse than what happened with her mother, because then at least then she still had her Papa. Tears washed down her face with each slow blink, and the quiver in her belly threatened to erupt into a deep wail of sorrow.
She couldn't think straight and didn't have a clue what she should do next.The road was a twisting tunnel of rushing lights and fog. She gripped the steering wheel tight, but without aim or direction, when the thought hit her... Home. Not her tiny apartment in the city, but her real home... the place she grew up. Her old room and her backyard and her Papa. If she could only make it there everything would be alright... she would see him and he would run to her and hug her tightly, squeezing the tears from her until there were none left. He would empty her of all the hurt Bri-, no, she doesn't deserve a name, all the hurt that SHE had filled her with. The bastard. How could she say those things with such an empty heart... There was no feeling in her words, no affection, no adoration, no care, no... love. Sabrina could have understood hate better; at least hate has some passion in it, but emptiness? Nothing? Nothing killed her.
Martin couldn't sleep. It was almost 1 a.m. and his thoughts raced with such fervor that his eyes would not stay closed. He had laid in bed waiting patiently for his mind to slow so that he could rest, but after almost half an hour he decided to take a different tactic. He got up, pulling on his robe and slippers in the dark, and headed to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. He walked though the empty house, down the hall and past Bina's room, and a rush of cool air sent a chill through his body. He pulled his robe tight around his neck and smiled thinking of her; after all, the robe had been a birthday gift from her. He imagined her running to him, singing "Papa! Papa!" as she leapt into his arms and hugged him, keeping him warm, and he smiled the kind of deep smile that a father can only feel for his daughter.
He finished preparing his drink and went to the front living room, settling in his favorite chair. The house was so quiet. His wife was gone shortly after Bina left for college, and the silence had been unbearable then. He would leave the television on, and the lights in Bina's room, just to make the house feel alive back in those days. But now he was used to it, the quiet, the dark, the solitude. Although sometimes, on nights like this, when he couldn't sleep, he ached for someone to talk to and wished his baby girl was still home.
It wasn't far now, only a few more minutes and she'd be home, far away from her bullshit lover and mangled heart. She could crawl into her bed and sleep with pink teddybears and forget all about being a grown-up for a while. It would be easy. She was tired. How much further was it? The car jerked, almost freeing itself from her control, and scraped loudly against something on the passenger side. Sparks flew and breaking glass accompanied the sound of grinding metal. Sabrina looked over and the side mirror was gone. She didn't care.
Martin picked up his guitar, but didn't play it. It had been too long and his fingers couldn't find their way since the arthritis had set in. But still he loved holding it. It made him feel young, almost like holding a woman. He smiled and played the songs in his head, listening to them against the silence while his fingers touched softly on the strings and the curved maplewood body pressed against his chest. He could feel his heartbeat in the instrument. It was almost like being in love, he thought. Almost better, because this instrument could not leave him.
Sabrina turned the last corner, and the car lurched forward as the hit she gas, ecstatic to have finally made it. She sped down the dark street, her head spinning as she struggled to keep the vehicle in a straight line. Before she knew it the house was upon her, so she tried to press the brakes to slow down and turn into the driveway. Her foot, though, didn't move off the gas pedal and pressed down hard as she turned towards the house. She overshot the driveway and rocketed across the lawn heading for the big bay window that was only protected by some three foot high shrubs.
Martin stood up quickly, knocking over what was left of his warm milk and tossing his guitar to the ground at the sound of a roaring engine and the glare of bright headlights illuminating the front of his house. Without thinking he backed away from the window, hoping in vain that what he knew was going to happen, wouldn't.
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The car smashed through the window. Sabrina screamed as she finally realized what was happening, her eyes wide with terror and her body stiff with fear. The airbag burst in her face and forced her head into the back of the headrest. Shattered glass and bushes and dirt and metal and smoke and horror exploded into the dark silence of Martin's living room. He covered his head and leapt out of harms way as destruction rained down around him. Sabrina went limp.
The engine choked, sputtered and then died.
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Martin got to his feet slowly, shaking, his bones creaking in protest. He looked around and saw the front half of a car sitting in his home. One headlight flickered. Smoke billowed up from the engine bay while brown liquids poured out from below. Above his head, sparks spit out from wires where the ceiling fan once hung. He could feel sharp stings of pain from where flying glass had cut him. He could feel deep bruises already forming from where he had been hit by falling debris. He could feel his heart beating hard and fast. He could feel his heart beating... He was alive.
Then he heard it, soft moaning coming from the car. He climbed over the wreckage that had been his living room and reached the car door, never once thinking that it was her. But once he saw her, nothing else mattered.
Her head hurt. Her back hurt, and her arms and legs too, but mostly her heart. Her heart was more broken than anything and she saw no way to fix it. Out of everything she knew how to fix, this was not one of them.
The door opened and she looked over. There he was, Papa. Home. He carefully pulled her out of the car and carried her away. Away from the smoking car and her bullshit lover and her grown-up life and her pain and her shame and her struggles and her lonely heart. He hugged her and she cried until she was empty... Until she had nothing left... Until she, at last, was home.
© 2012 Keith Wilson/1223 Entertainment, LLC. All rights reserved.