Remembrance
by Pilar García Guzmán
University of the Incarnate Word
Pilar García Guzmán is a writer and occasional poet from Santiago, Dominican Republic. She has a Bachelor of Arts in English with minors in Creative Writing and Finance from University of the Incarnate Word. She is currently working on her first novel and aspires to be a book editor at a publishing house. This upcoming Fall semester, Pilar will begin a new journey at Florida Atlantic University to pursue a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing.
Maia woke up to a soft hand combing back her hair. The tenderness was evident, though odd coming from those rough, calloused fingers she was so familiar with. She opened her eyes, slowly acknowledging the light that filtered in through the window, and focused on her husband. He stood above her, his arm propping him up in the bed as he gazed at her. Maia knew he tried his best to seem at peace around her, though the restlessness that lurked behind his eyes and the sensation of his trembling arms when he held her at night were stark enough that she could not help but focus on it above all else. It was funny to her, how he tried his damn best to make her think he was ok.
Sometimes Maia thought she ought to care a little more, whisper on his ear about how she could die on the hills of his back. How she sometimes thought about suffocating herself on the hair in his chest. But he had always been better than her at all this. Maia still didn’t know how to open the blinds of their room. Whenever she woke up before him, she would lay in the dim room and wait for him, pretending she had been sleeping by his side all along.
But the one thing Maia had always been good at was reading him, and right now, his brows were tilted enough for her to make out the dauntingly familiar, ever-present agony that he tried so hard to hide.
“Are you going to be ok while I’m gone?” He asked.
Maia smiled at him, begging it was convincing enough for him to ignore the hesitancy in her voice. “Of course, I can handle it.”
He frowned, completely unconvinced.
“I don’t have much to do at the office today," he sighed. "So I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t overdo it, alright? I’ll text later to see how you’re doing.”
She smiled at him, her cheeks aching and knowing nothing she did would calm his worries. As he walked away, about to close the door behind him, she tried one more time to reassure him.
“I'll be better today, I promise,” she said. “We’ll figure something out.”
He stopped, taking in Maia’s words and trying his best to keep his body moving forward and not lock himself inside with her – to attempt, somehow, to shut out the world around them. Instead, he quietly closed the door after himself — his movements sluggish and careful, as if afraid to break the calm ignorance they both left behind, lingering in the air.
**
Maia woke up to the cries, discordant amidst the peace that the darkness provided her, shattering the delicate mirror of sleep she had fallen back into. She was suddenly aware of the reddish hue behind her eyes as sunlight filtered in through her lashes. The weeping continued, forcing her to stand and fight off the tiredness in her legs, the fuzziness in her head that wouldn’t really go away. She considered, perhaps, succumbing into it and the numbness it provided her — an excuse to avoid the day ahead, the reality she tried so hard to forget.
Rayne stood on her crib, nestled on the farthest corner of the nursery. Maia always had to watch her step in there, careful not to trip on the floorboards they still needed to fix. Rayne’s face was red and puffy from in between the slabs, screaming her lungs out with a scratch on her voice, her cries tearing the air around her from pure rage and seeming despair. Maia wondered sometimes how Rayne’s body could hold so much fierceness—in her soft arms, her nimble legs. She loved watching Rayne scream because it surprised her every time. Reminded her how strong she was.
As Rayne spotted Maia, her crying ceased, subdued by the presence of her mother, and she reached up with her chubby arms wanting to be picked up. Maia could not take her eyes off her baby, the translucent nature of her. How the light in the room seemed to bounce off her eyes, and Maia knew Rayne saw nothing beyond her. Didn’t notice anything besides her mother.
“Hey, baby,” Maia greeted her, huffing a little with the weight, hoping, though probably failing, to hold her right. Maia had never really mastered holding her child, her limbs never really felt right for the task. But Rayne always felt like deadweight, the faint scent of chlorine that stuck to her skin nowadays overwhelming her, and Maia couldn’t pinpoint where it might’ve come from. Perhaps she had bathed her with the wrong soap last night, and she could see it now. The toxic particles of poison, of venom, sinking into the pores of her baby’s fingers and toes. Slowly killing her from the inside out. But Rayne’s warmth against Maia’s skin was an anchor, of sorts, against the current that seemed to carry her, grabbing at her and stopping Maia from grasping the reality of having Rayne in her arms.
Her baby’s hair was all over the place, a little strand by her neck curled. She had taken a liking to twirling it around her finger, over and over and over again, and she would do so for hours.
“How did you sleep, angel?” Maia whispered in her ear, feeling her heart thumping in her neck as Rayne leaned against her, cuddling to her and gripping at Maia’s skin with her nails, the indentations half moons in her arms. Perhaps, Rayne was trying to tell her that was the wrong question to ask.
**
Maia and her husband bought this house a few years after getting married. He convinced her that the buckling sustain beams along the living room ceiling added character, and that the suspicious smell of skunk every time they flushed the first floor bathroom would fade with time. She never really believed him, but the way his face lit up every time he talked about it made her want to hug him and squeeze him and never let go.
She set down Rayne at the bottom at the stairs, letting her run to the living room as Maia craned her neck towards the back porch, double checking that the door to the pool was closed. She could hear Rayne’s feet thudding along the floor of the playpen her husband had set up in the living room. It was a great idea, Maia had realized when he first proposed it, and something she would have never thought of. And Rayne loved it, spending most of her days rolling around the floor there, yelling for Maia to come and be with her. To spend time with her. Maia felt guilty, at times, for not enjoying her. For fumbling with her toys and not playing pretend. Maia had never been good at pretending.
In the kitchen, Maia’s eyes immediately focused on the breakfast by the counter. It was covered in plastic; one sandwich with cheese and peanut butter. Her husband had left it ready for Rayne probably, and her cheeks heated from embarrassment. She didn’t want him to think she was incompetent. Incapable of caring for their daughter in the most primal way.
She grabbed her phone from her pocket and pulled up his contact.
About to prep breakfast. I could’ve taken care of it, you know.
Was just trying to help.
I think I can manage a sandwich.
Maia waited for a few minutes for him to reply, and when she thought he might not, her phone tinged with one last message.
I’ll be home soon.
Maia grabbed the sandwich, wondering whether she should pair it with some fruit as she set it on the table.
“Rayne! Honey!” Maia called out, scanning the living area where she had left her to play. She could no longer hear the soft thud of her feet.
Her heart jumped as she called out again, dread drenching her voice as she searched around the house, pressing her fingers to the walls, hoping to feel the vibrations of Rayne moving around or a trail of her warmth. Nothing.
Fear slammed into her and one overbearing thought took over her mind as Maia ran towards the back porch, making the glass door slam against the adjacent wall; the crack on the surface had been there for a long time, but it shook and chipped now, threatening to shatter at her feet.
The pool water thundered and crashed in waves — reflective blue highlighted by the black spots on Maia’s vision as she struggled to catch up with the image before her. Rayne struggled in the center, her hands pruny and wrinkled from the chlorine, reaching up towards the sky. Her head was submerged, her eyes wide open, red and swollen and staring back at Maia from underneath the surface.
She lunged herself towards the pool, water slithering into her nose and scorching a path down her throat. Maia swung her body forward, pumped her arms as fast as she could over her head, and willed her feet to move and move and move her body enough to reach Rayne in time. The harder she pushed, the further away her daughter’s frail body seemed to be — her desperation proved insufficient, unable to propel her enough to reach her. Panic clogged her veins and severed her nerves, making Maia’s body ache all over, a dull pressure that kept her back and forced anguished sobs out her chest.
Maia extended her arms, fingers spread wide, as she finally reached Rayne. Getting a hold of her shirt, she pulled hard and fast, pressing her against her breast. Rayne was immobile against her, and Maia stopped herself from looking down and distract her mind from what she needed to get done. Her body trembled with lingering adrenaline as she hauled both of them to the rim of the pool. She pumped at Rayne’s chest again and again and again and again and again and she held her nose and blew in a breath and pumped again and Maia did not stop and could not stop as she prayed and cried and bellowed at the gray, unforgiving sky to get her daughter back.
Rayne lay still by the edge, and as Maia finally looked up and focused on her daughter, bile crawled up her stomach, her hands holding onto her throat and squeezing tight.
Her daughter’s skin was dewy and pale, devoid of warmth or a welcoming blush. Her fingers and toes were shriveled, limp and blue, matching the purple blotches along her arms and legs. Her nightgown had wrinkled and twisted around her stomach, molding to her skin, and extinguished any flame of hope within Maia that her tummy would slowly rise to take a breath, as it remained dauntingly immobile. Her hair remained in a ponytail, and a single strand lay on her shoulder, twisted as if she had her fingers on it right before she fell.
And her eyes — wide open — unfocused and bloodshot.
“Maia!” She heard someone cry her name from behind her, though she paid them no mind. She looked down, unable to break free from the nightmare that had taken over her life. Maia’s sobs echoed through the air, and she barely acknowledged her husband’s arms as they wrapped around her and held her tight, how the contact of his skin against hers caused goosebumps to flare up along her body.
He took his time, grappling at the current of emotions within himself.
“My angel,” Maia whimpered. Her panting breaths making her voice almost intelligible.
“Yes,” her husband muttered. “Our angel, honey. Rayne’s an angel.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t… I just—”
“It’s ok. She’s not here, see? She’s gone.”
Maia turned her head to look back at the edge of the pool. There was nothing there, the surrounding tile wet from the water she dragged up in her frenzy. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know.”
But she could not bring herself to curl up into him, to revel in the warmth of his chest. Her body remained tense, tight, even as he managed to bring her inside.
Her husband led her back to their room and into their bed. Maia took account of the clothes piled on the arm chair, papers and books scattered on her husband’s night-stand, hers loitered by half finished glasses of water and coffee.
“Just get some rest, honey,” he whispered. His voice soft, though an edge to it.
She laid on her back, arms by her side. Maia turned to her husband sitting beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled again. Her voice trembled, and Maia tried her best to keep at bay the terror, hoping that would make him worry less. He worried enough about her. Every day.
He shook his head, his jaw clenched and breathing shallow. Maia recognized, for the first time, probably, how scared he was. For her. For them.
Of Rayne and the memory of her.
Maia wondered if any of them would ever let go. And, as she fell asleep, praying to dream the day away, Rayne’s laughs echoed in her head and through the walls of their home. She knew that once she woke up, she would be forced to relive it all. Over and over again.