"Glass Door"

             “Charlie?” Cat lilted her voice in the same melodic way Nina used to. 
             “Uh huh.” Charlie watched her small white fingers, painted with chipping purple nail polish, trace lightly over a faint etching on the oak tree he was lying under. He stretched out the full length of his body, closed his eyes and let the warmth of the evening breeze wash over his tired muscles.
            “Tell me about her again please!” 

            Charlie opened his eyes slowly and met Cat’s imploring gaze. When she stuck out her bottom lip, he caved, groaning softly and closing his eyes again. She giggled and fell to the soft grass next to him.
            “Please?” Cat put her hand into his palm lying open between them.
            “Okay, ask away.” He said, sighing; against his will being brought back to the times when he was lying next to Nina; when Cat was just a baby; when Nina was still there. 
            “You were best friends?” This was where she always began.
            “Yep.”
            “Did you love her?”
            He paused, rubbing a large, worn hand over his face. She always asked this; he always paused.
            “Yeah.”
            “A lot?” 
            He caught the playful gleam in Cat’s eyes and let out a laugh, sitting up to lean on one elbow.
            “’Bout as much as I love you!” He reached over and mussed up her brown curly hair.
            “No!” She cried, catching his hand and holding it tightly. “No, stop! Tell me about this.” She put her hand on the carving of an uppercase ‘N’ and ‘C’ covered partly by brown, weathered moss.
            Charlie sighed again and was silent for a moment, staring at the golden fields that spread across their horizon. He thought of Nina’s face; normally alive with contagious vivacity, then anxiously contracted; eyes aflame with fear. The desperate, reckless way she had kissed him had frightened him, and not just because she had never kissed him before. She had leaned back against this same tree, her thin shoulders racked with silent sobs. He had held her, wishing he could make the pain go away, wishing he could understand, and wishing he could kiss her again.
            Now he remembered the promise he had made her. Take care of Cat. She had hardly been able to get out the words, each one hanging in the air like a death sentence—her death sentence.
            “Charlie,” Cat spoke softly, shattering the reverie around him. He breathed a sigh of relief.
            “Yeah?”
            “If you loved her, why did you let her leave?” Her voice was different now: no longer the voice of a curious ten-year-old, but hard and serious.
            Charlie’s blood froze along with his lazy smile. This question had always remained unasked. The words echoed in his mind, swirling through the empty, unanswered void. His forehead began to throb and a film of sweat spread across his face.
            Cat’s voice shuddered when she broke the silence again, “Why did she leave?”
            Charlie sat up to face her slowly, quavering when he saw the tremble in her chin. She sat up too and pulled her knees close to her body, wrapping her arms around them. Her head rested against the tree and her soft blue eyes stared at her hands.
            Whatever explanation he had planned to give vanished when he saw her silhouette against the day’s dying sun; for an instant, all he could see was Nina. It was as if these lonely years had never passed and they were children again; she seemed so real, he wanted to reach out and touch her; to tell her he missed her and wished she were here. Then Cat turned her face to him and Nina was gone. The hints of emotion had disappeared and she stared with an expectant poise that startled him.
            Charlie sucked in a deep breath before he spoke. “She left to protect you… she left because she loved you.” The words came out like a gust and he realized instantly how vacant they seemed. He looked down at the grass, wishing he could try again with more confidence—the confidence Nina would have had in him. Cat didn't move and Charlie sighed, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
            “Cat, wait.” His voice was hard and serious now as he leaned closer, putting both hands on her face and turning it to see a fading purple bruise barely distinguishable through her dark hair. “What happened?”
            She pulled her face away with a jerk, pushing his hand away roughly. “It’s nothing. I just fell off my bike.” She stood up quickly and left him sitting there, just like Nina had seven years before. 

            The close air of the Agness Market pressed in on his lungs as Charlie sat at a small table in the bar later that evening. He reached up and cracked the window next to him, letting in the cool night air. 
            "Hey Charlie," tall, blonde Michelle came up to him, wiping her hands on the black apron tied around her waist. "Need another?" Her lips bent into a half-smile as she picked up his empty glass.
            "Yeah. Rough day." Charlie smiled at his childhood friend. 
            "Well..." she began, trailing off with an evocative smirk and raising both eyebrows. Her hair fell forward from behind her ear and she swept it out of her face with a thoughtless flourish of her hand.
            Charlie tried to laugh, but the sound never made it past his throat.  
            "Well, so... I get off in an hour." She continued, leaning closer; the hair fell across her eyes again.
            Charlie gaped at her for a moment, seeing only Cat's purple bruise and the monograms forever imprinted on the oak tree.
            "Uh... Charlie?" Michelle bent her head to see into his eyes. He blinked a few times; Michelle’s face became clearer with each blink. Then he cleared his throat, put his elbows on the table, and sat forward close enough to smell Michelle’s floral-scented perfume.
            "Keep 'em comin'." He said, laughing as Michelle rolled her eyes and turned away quickly.
            Charlie caught her free hand and pulled her back to him, stroking small circles on her hand with his thumb. "Meet you in an hour?" He spoke under his breath. "Same place?"

            The Southern Oregon town of Agness was small and insignificant to the tourists that drove through every weekend on their way to the Rogue River, but to the locals who lived, loved, and died there, it was the world.
            The quiet, provincial life Agness offered was the only one Charlie had ever known, had ever wanted. When the warm sun shone on the fields of waving golden grass, or the tall green trees hummed with the rustle of the wind coming off the river, Charlie loved it more than ever. He walked home from the river every day after work; over the same dusty gravel road lined with weeds and birch trees, through the same wheat fields, along the path lined with abundant blackberry bushes. And every night, as soon as his path changed from gravel to asphalt, Charlie met the thin, happy figure of Cat pedaling furiously toward him on her bicycle.       
            Separated by chain link fences and make-shift property borders, the land of Agness had only one central hub: the Market, an abandoned one-room schoolhouse, and a library that was closed four days a week. There was only one road in town that was paved and only one child young enough to ride their bike on it: Cat. She didn’t have many friends her age; she had been a surprise to Nina’s parents when she and her brother Patrick were already teenagers.
            Tonight Charlie was looking forward to spending the evening with Cat at the oak tree. He reached the pavement; his ears strained to hear the murmur of Cat's bike tires crunching over loose rocks. But there was no sound except for the distant rumble of a tractor. There was no bike - no Cat, either. 
            To his right, the sun was dipping lower in the sky, forming long shadows across the asphalt. Cat's father and brother appeared out of one, coming toward him. Jim owned the river guide business where Charlie had worked since he was old enough to man the steering wheel. “Charlie!” Jim carried a beer can and greeted him with a slap on the shoulder.
            Patrick slapped him too, but not as hard. “What's up? Anyone fall in today?"
            Charlie chuckled. He knew Patrick wasn’t joking.
            “Nope, no river rescues today, just a few sunburns. Pretty typical.” He shrugged, glancing at Jim's bloodshot eyes.
            Jim laughed loudly.
            “Yep, sounds about right." Patrick said as the pair started to walk away. "We’ve gotta run.”  
            Charlie grabbed Patrick's t-shirt, pulling him to a stop. He glanced at Jim's back before he said in a low voice, “Where’s Cat, man? We were going to hang out tonight.”
            Patrick didn’t turn and shrugged Charlie's hand away. His voice was tight and high when he spoke. “She’s got chores.”
            Charlie felt the muscles in his chest coil, squeezing away any potential for breath. Patrick's answer was like an echo from his past; said before, but almost forgotten.
            Jim called over his shoulder before he and Patrick disappeared around the corner. "See you at the Market later? Remember, it’s your turn to buy drinks!"
            Charlie didn't move for a long time, but stood watching the shadows grow longer, slowly enveloping the place where Jim and Patrick had vanished. He was relieved Jim hadn't waited for an answer; the question repeated until he could no longer deny the answer: he would see them at the Market.
 

            Charlie walked home the same way the next evening; the coil in his chest had returned and was tightening with each step closer to Cat’s street.
            Nina used to meet him at the dock almost every day, with her wide smile and eager hand to hold; when she hadn’t been there, this same foreboding feeling would creep over him. Now he found himself hating this walk again – the same way he had when Nina had been absent. The hatred, and a pang of something else, grew when he came around the corner and saw the empty road before him; no little girl riding her pink bicycle without a helmet or playing hopscotch with herself.
            He didn’t give voice to the doubts and fears that tangled in his brain and shortly found himself on Cat’s doorstep, knocking four times. Cat’s mother came to the door, her face pale but kind, in the same strained way that had always reminded Charlie of Nina and why she left.
            “Hi Denise, is Cat in?” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to ignore the painted smile that Cat’s mother always wore.
            “Oh yes, but she’s been really sick. You know it’s really going around! She’s been in bed for two days now!” She let out a sharp, hollow laugh that evaporated instantly. The smile on her face didn’t move or fluctuate with the sound; it didn't touch her blank eyes. Charlie didn’t respond and she started to shut the door, adding “I’m sorry, but I’ll tell her you came by, okay Charlie?”
            Charlie could only stare impolitely at her tired face, unsure of what to do or say. He felt like he was sixteen again, like when Nina had disappeared into the house for days, sick with some sort of unknowable disease, busy with never ending chores.
            He wished he didn’t know why Nina had been forced to stay inside and why nothing had ever really changed. He clenched his jaw, wanting to erase all of the times he’d seen their trash cans overflowing with beer bottles and empty wine cartons; heard the shouts, seen the anger.
            His own anger raced through him and he was back at the tree again with Nina the day she had kissed him – the day she left.
            “I have to leave, Charlie. It’s the only way. Maybe then they’ll listen!” Nina had said as she dug his pocket knife into the bark of the oak tree. Her knuckles were white; her eyes were streaked with red from many sleepless nights; her lips twitched at the corners as she spoke. Charlie had protested, had promised to fix it all if only she would just stay with him. 
            “No! Don’t…” She held the knife away from him, her eyes fervent with an ache Charlie did not understand. “Don’t try to stop me, Charlie.”
            For a time the only thing Charlie could hear was the dulled blade against the coarse, uneven bark. She finally stopped and sat back on her heels, meeting Charlie’s helpless look with a new softness in her eyes. “I have to do this.”
            He opened his mouth to protest but she put one hand over it and the other on her creation: their monograms imprinted on the tree. He watched the color return to her face as she said, patting the ‘C’ with her long fingers, “This… this is why I can do this. For them!” She paused, searching Charlie’s bewildered face. “Promise me.” 
            Charlie couldn’t say anything more after that. He couldn’t stop Nina from leaving and he couldn’t stop Denise from shutting the door in his face.
             

            The sun was high before Charlie awoke the next day. He groaned as he opened his eyes, wincing at the light streaming through his open window. He rolled onto his stomach and clapped a hand to his forehead, feeling with one hand for the bottle of Ibuprofen he always kept on his bedside table for mornings – and headaches – such as this.
            His hand bulldozed through a pile of papers and empty plastic cups, finally knocking into the pill bottle. He grunted as it hit the hardwood floor of his bedroom and rolled under the bed.
            "Fine." He mumbled, sitting up slowly. He felt the warmth of the sunlit wood on his bare knees when he knelt, still trying to save the growing pain in his head by keeping his eyes open just enough to find the bottle amid the long-forgotten treasures that lived under his bed.
            "There you are." Charlie muttered as he shoved aside his first baseball glove and an old magazine. He picked up the bottle but stopped abruptly, squinting to focus on the faded picture of Nina that was half-hidden beneath the crumpled poster of a Model T his dad had given him when he was eight. He picked it up and sat back on his heels, pill bottle and hangover forgotten.
            It was Charlie's favorite picture of her, a candid shot taken when they were fifteen. She had hated it, but he kept it anyway, rescuing it from the garbage can and proudly displaying it next to his bed until—until when? He looked out the window, still cringing at the light, trying to remember how it had ended up under his bed. He glanced at the faded blue walls of his room, at the pile of clothes he had stepped out of last night, at the Agness Market napkin that had fallen out of his pants pocket.
            A swell of heat rushed over him as he looked back at the picture and stared at the wrinkle in her small nose, eyes squeezed shut, head bent back with dark hair falling around her shoulders. She had been laughing at something he'd said; he couldn't remember what.
            Charlie scrambled to his feet and dressed, tossing the bottle and picture aside. Minutes later, he burst out the front door, determined to get an answer but unsure how he would. His heart beat quickly as he neared Cat’s street, preparing for an empty stretch of asphalt.
            He almost didn't notice as his sandals stopped crunching gravel and stepped onto the paved road where Cat was riding her bike slowly in a small circle.
            “Charlie!” She shouted, smiling broadly and racing toward him.
            Charlie relaxed a little at the sight of her cheerful display of new adult teeth, but bristled when he saw her helmet. It had hardly ever been used and was still the glossy neon pink it had been when he first bought it for her five years back.
            He noticed too her oversized long sleeve shirt covered in paint splatters; he hadn't seen that shirt since Nina had worn it.    
            “Hey Cat, you feeling better?” He forced a strained smile. 
            "Yeah." She dropped her gaze and started her bike in a circle again. “But my Mom doesn’t want me to stay out long. I promised her I’d go in after I said hi to you.”
            Charlie's teeth clenched and his fake smile arrested his face. He wondered vaguely if he looked like her mother. “Why not?”
            “Because she… I don’t know. See you!” She sped off; the paper Charlie had put in the spokes of her wheel making a whirring sound that was supposed to sound like a motor.
            "Wait Cat..." Charlie called, trailing off; he wanted to stop her but knew it was useless. If she was anything like her sister, he knew getting a straight answer would be impossible, no matter how ridiculous long sleeves were in August. He picked up a smooth round rock from the street and hurled it into the yellow fields that surrounded him, for the first time wishing Nina had never made him promise anything.

            The bell on the door jingled as Charlie stepped into the air-conditioned front room of the Agness Market. Despite the circulation of air, it always struck him as smelling old and musty. Neutral-colored t-shirts designed for tourists that stopped for a drink hung from racks in the back corner and over the check-out counter a huge sign read, “Agness: A small drinking town with a big fishing problem.” This normally made Charlie smile; today he cringed.
            The bar was in the back, through saloon-style doors that had been there since Charlie was a little kid. There was no one in the front room of the store, but Charlie could hear bits of bass conversations coming from beyond the door and a few female voices rang with shrill, compromised laughter.
            Charlie approached the doors with leaden feet. The door swung open and the suffocating air inside reached him, carrying several familiar voices that called out to him. He thought of Cat as he stared at the door swinging quietly to a stop and wanted to run, but knew he wouldn't. He couldn’t go in; he couldn’t leave either.
            Then Patrick’s face appeared, his lanky arms pushing the doors apart. Patrick didn’t say anything as he put his arm around Charlie’s shoulder and ushered him into the dim room, filled with people and lit with neon.

            "Hey Charlie," Michelle rushed over to their table as soon as Charlie slid into the chair by the window. "Missed you last night." Her low voice cooed the words.
            "Oh yeah, I... I was busy."
            "Busy? In this old town?" Michelle laughed and put an arm around his shoulder as she leaned over him. He could smell the cheap, flowery perfume he now realized he hated and coughed, reaching up to release the latch on the window. She straightened, flushing and looking from Charlie to Patrick in confusion. "What's gotten into you?" Michelle's voice hinted irritation but she shoved Charlie's shoulder playfully. 
            Patrick cleared his throat. "Sorry Michelle, he's a bit distracted I think. We had something of a guy's night last night." He winked and Michelle snickered knowingly.
            "We'll just take two pints of Hef, okay?" Patrick added.
            Michelle looked at Charlie again; he met her look with a nod then started fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket.
            Patrick watched Michelle walk away before he turned back to Charlie with wide-eyed exultation, "I don't know how you do it, man!"
            Charlie snorted but said nothing, his attention drawn to the corner of the room where Jim sat next to a few of the Market’s regulars. Empty glasses were spread across the counter in front of them and Jim was yelling loudly about something Charlie couldn’t distinguish over the hum of conversation and laughter.
            Charlie looked back to his zipper when Michelle dropped off their drinks, pretending not to notice her roll her eyes at Patrick with a nod toward him.
            Prolonged silence, until Patrick piped up, “Any good stories from the river?”
            Charlie shrugged and ran his hand through his hair, eyeing Jim and the men at the bar again. Patrick sighed and slammed his drink on the table, sloshing the beer out of the glass. He waved his hand in front of Charlie’s eyes.
            “Hey man!” he said, his words an angry hiss. “I’m trying here. I can’t keep a conversation up by—“
            The din at the bar grew louder and absorbed Patrick’s voice. He turned at the interruption to see his father standing with fists raised, irrational oaths slurring off his tongue. The buzz of voices in the bar ceased and all eyes turned to Patrick, who rolled his eyes, slowly got up and sauntered over to his dad, laughingly using his tall body to push the red-faced Jim toward the doors.
            Charlie stayed seated, making designs in the condensation on his beer glass. He relaxed a little when the sound of Jim’s bellowing threats were silenced by the noise in the room again. Patrick would take care of the situation and make sure everything was okay. 
            “Wait, where is he?”  Charlie started forward as Patrick came through the swinging doors a minute later, made a mock bow to Michelle, and flopped down into his chair. 
            “He went home." Patrick laughed as the bar erupted in applause, adding to Charlie, "My mom will take care of him.”
            Charlie looked over Patrick’s shoulder at the door. He thought of the times Nina had “taken care” of Jim when he came home from the bar, either depressed, angry, or both. He remembered the way she would look the next day: pale, hair in a mess. She wouldn’t talk much; the sparkle in her eyes temporarily extinguished.
            Charlie looked back at Patrick. “I don’t know, man. He seemed really–”
            “C’mon! Would you relax?” Patrick waved his hand at Charlie. “You’re no fun tonight.” He added as he became absorbed in waving Michelle over to refill his beer.
            Charlie stood up hastily, displacing the drink glasses; he leaned across the table and stared down at Patrick—at this man who had once been a boy, who had known Nina’s life, who had experienced it.
            “Woah man, what’s up?” Patrick looked up at him with astonishment.
            “This has gone on too long.” Charlie’s teeth were clenched and he almost spat the words. He knew he was speaking to himself just as much as to Patrick, and the realization made his hands shake.
            “What? What has?” Patrick’s eyes were half-glazed and Charlie read in them the blank look that Jim so often wore. He wanted to shake Patrick, to throw his beer glass, to make some sort of impression – but it was useless. He understood why Nina had left now. He realized with vivid clarity that she had hated this look too; had hoped leaving would shake them out of their apathetic stupors.
            He turned and walked out of the bar, leaving the doors swinging violently behind him.
           

            Charlie jogged toward Cat's house, trying desperately to formulate a plan. He reached the street just as the sound of shattering glass overcame the stillness of the night. He sped up to a sprint, feeling the muscles in his legs burn as the blood rushed into them. The front door was locked and he scaled the chain link fence that bordered the property. It was late and there was only a single yellow light pouring out of the back of the house from the kitchen, leaving a strange glow on the part of yard he could see.
            Jim's deep voice was thundering across the lawn, echoed by frenzied shrieks from Denise. With throbbing veins, Charlie rounded the corner of the house and jumped up onto the elevated back deck, shrouded by a blanket of the awful yellow light.
            The scene instantly became still and silent when he appeared. For a moment, all Charlie could see was the small form of Cat, her limp body crumpled and lying alone on the rough slats of the deck, surrounded by her own blood and pieces of glass that had once been the sliding door. The glass was everywhere; the shards dug into him as he knelt over her, but he didn’t feel them, didn’t care. Charlie swallowed the vomit that burned is his throat as he cradled the young face that was splashed with the ugliest red he had ever seen. 
            He looked at Cat’s father, whose guilt was now forever stamped into his hard, angular features. The only sounds were the pathetic whimpers of Denise ricocheting between the two men. Jim's eyes were glazed like marbles, still and separate. Charlie’s fists curled and he rose, stepping forward. But Jim only walked away, hanging his head and disappearing through the kitchen into the dark house.
           
            The rhythmic, high-pitched beep of the monitor had been Charlie’s only comfort since the doctor had informed him how lucky Cat was to be alive. That was days ago; Cat had many visitors from Agness who had heard about the “accident.” Only Charlie had stayed with her, refusing to leave the orange plastic chair that a nurse had brought to him when Cat first arrived in the ICU. Jim and Denise had come every day until the social workers replaced them, bringing their briefcases and more orange chairs. Patrick never came.
            It was late now and Cat was sleeping quietly while Charlie held her hand, remembering with shame how lovingly it had stroked the “N” in the oak tree, with a tenderness only a little sister could have. He thought of the last question she had asked him and exhaled sharply, sitting back in his chair. His eyes stared distantly at the patterns in the white ceiling but only saw the picture of Nina. He closed his eyes and imagined her laughter; compared the close air of the hospital to the cool spring breeze of Agness.   
            With a heavy sigh, Charlie sat forward and watched Cat's chest rise and fall beneath her hospital gown. Her peaceful breathing comforted him and eased the sting of guilt and shame that were his only companions. He laid his head on the mattress, letting his eyelids close heavily.

            She came in without making a sound; her breath caught as she saw her sister lying so weak and broken next to Charlie’s brown, curly head. 
            The doctor had told her how it had happened. Nina’s eyes burned with the recollection and she thrust a hand through her hair, fiercely biting her lip. 
            They were right there, within reach. She reached forward, wanting to hold Cat close, to be held by Charlie. But so much had changed since they were sixteen. He had promised— she pulled her hand back and felt her fist tighten as she looked back at Cat: the precious sister she had trusted to him, now battered because he—she stepped back.
            Charlie stirred as her shoes scuffed the ivory floor.

            Nina held her breath as he looked up; her heart beat uncontrollably as she met the eyes that struggled to register her face. She read in them the change the doctor had described; saw the reason Cat had survived. Neither spoke, each silently watching the seven years that had passed unfold in the other's eyes. 

            Charlie looked away first: at Cat, then back at the hand Nina slowly extended toward him. He caught at it, feeling the fast beat of her familiar pulse; feeling the strength, once only hers, travel like a current through him.  
            “I’m so sorry, Nina.” He whispered, “I’m so, so sorry.”  



Based on true events. Copyright 2011, Christina Hegel.