Explore by Lilah Baez

“I promise I will get you your Chinese food,” I giggle on the phone with my husband, Thomas. He is always hungry; I’m surprised he is still fit and strong. The passenger seat, where Thomas usually sits, looks empty. The feeling of driving to the grocery store while listening to the radio station isn’t the same as listening to Thomas’ music playlist blasting on the car speakers. I need to grab some ingredients because I am preparing to bake a cake for my mother’s birthday in two days. She wants a Mean Girl themed party since my mother is spiritually a teenage girl. I plan on recreating my birthday cake from my first birthday. My mother adored the cake’s different shades of pink, and the “Happy Birthday Jennifer!” cut out with similar magazine letters to the Burn Book at the top. She’s going to love it. 

I make the right turn on Spring Wood Street, even though it adds about five more minutes to my ride to the grocery store. The trees in this neighborhood seem to stand taller and prouder with leaves of an assortment of colors: red, green, yellow, and orange. In the Spring, the trees appear their healthiest and fullest of life with small pink flowers on their trunks. I love to watch the intense game of hopscotch, my childhood favorite game, at the end of the block. Those kids, without fail, are dripping in sweat and out of breath. There are also elementary-aged children learning to ride bikes with their parents in front of their homes. The joy on their little faces when they finally can go straight without their training wheels reminds me of my dad teaching me to ride a bike at five years old. My dad would have loved this neighborhood. He enjoyed taking me to “explore” a few streets over from my childhood home to admire its beauty, so when I go through other neighborhoods and see children spending time with their parents; I also appreciate it. My father’s last words to me were, “You have to promise to keep exploring, even when I’m gone.” My eyes start to sweat, but I wipe them dry; I’ve always treasured this moment with my father. 

***

The automatic exit doors of the grocery store allow me to pass through, carrying three somewhat heavy bags. In the distance, a man with stained clothing and a long beard put his hand up at me, signaling me to wait. Avoiding eye contact, I hurry over to my car. He follows me with a nasty grin plastered on his face. He corners me into my parking spot, “Hey young lady,” he says. His breath smells of a dead rat, and his teeth are a deep yellow. 

My heart wants to sprint out of my chest; my face starts to become warm. My stomach tries to implode from all the nervous sensations. I step back, closer to the car, and struggle to get my car key out of my pocket. 

“No, you can’t leave yet,” the man says while taking a step closer to me. I take two steps back this time until my back is fully pressed onto the driver-side door. I push the key into the door from behind, still facing the man.

“Please leave me alone. If you don’t back up, I will have to call the police,” I say, trying my best to sound confident. 

The man begins to laugh. How could he think this is funny? 

“Fuck you bitch,” he spits at me. The disgust and harshness in his voice made my eyes water. The man’s spit lands on my chest, forming dark spots on my pink shirt. I turn my key to the right, to open the car door and practically jump into my seat. I place my grocery bags where Thomas would have sat and immediately lock the doors. Tears roll down my face as fast as a marble would roll down a hill. They add more scattered dark spots onto my shirt, making my shirt damp. Humiliation overwhelmed me, causing my stomach to knot and making my hands tremble excessively. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. I will be fine. The man’s gone now, and I won’t come to this grocery store again. My fingers dial Thomas’ number, and they turn the key into the ignition to head home. 

I pull the car into the driveway, and Thomas stands in front of our home with his arms outstretched. “Come here,” he says as I walk into his embrace. He squeezes me tight, and I begin to sob. I promised myself I would stop crying. We stand there for a moment with locked arms. The warmth of his body made me feel safe and protected.

 “Don’t cry. You’re going to get through this.” He rubs my back in circular motions, which makes me drown him in my sadness.

When I finally stop weeping, I pull away to collect my groceries and look at the mess I’ve created on Thomas’ blue sweater; my face is practically imprinted on him. Thomas grabs my hand with a firm grip but feels reassuring. He guides me through the door as his thumb rubs mine. We enter the kitchen, and the counter has a bouquet of flowers and a box of my favorite cupcakes from the bakery down the street. 

“When did you do this?” I look up at Thomas’ dark brown eyes. 

“As soon as I got your call, I ran right to the store to make you feel better,” He says with a huge smile.  

I got on my tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. What did I do to deserve him? 

“Take a seat at the table, and I will serve you dinner.”

Shit. I forgot about the Chinese food. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring the take-out.”

Thomas gives me “the look,” where he raises one eyebrow and puckers his lips, “How was I going to allow my wife to buy me food when she clearly was not safe? Get out and go relax,” He shoos me out of the kitchen. I admire how Thomas is kind-hearted. I’ve never met someone so empathetic before. He, still after 4 years, makes my heart want to burst. I wish my father was able to meet him. He would have loved Thomas. 

***

As always, Thomas’ dinner was delicious. I still have the aftertaste of chicken breasts with mashed potatoes on my tongue. We are sitting on our couch, watching my comfort movie, Tangled. I’ve seen it more times than I can count and so has Thomas because he refuses to ever leave my side when I’m watching TV. I like to think of him as my Flynn Rider, not because he saved me from being held hostage, but after my father’s passing, he helped me want to explore again. Kind of how Flynn shows Rapunzel how to explore the world since she has been trapped in a tower her whole life. Thomas’ dramatic reactions to the same scenes we have seen about one thousand times always make me smile. He puts his arm around me, and I lean into his side and kick up my feet. I like how we can just sit and watch TV without feeling the pressure of talking. Nights like these make me fall in love with Thomas all over again. My head starts to pound, probably from the stress of the day, and I start to doze off and close my eyes onto Thomas’ lap. 

The next morning, my whole body is numb and limp. I feel glued to the rough surface below me. Didn’t I fall asleep on the couch? Usually, when I fall asleep while watching TV, Thomas leaves me on the couch until I wake up and go to the room. Last night I didn’t wake up, but that’s because I was just tired. My head is swirling on an endless loop. What is going on? My eyelids weigh heavy like ten thousand elephants. I manage to open them a small amount just to see a blur of white. I try screaming but nothing moves. My heart wants to beat faster, but it only beats slower. I want to cry, but I’m trapped in a box with my thoughts, with no way out. I feel a firm grip grab my hand, but it feels reassuring; it’s Thomas’ hand. His thumb then begins to move in a circular motion with mine. 

“You’re going to a better place, Jenny. Don’t be scared, ok? I love you so much. Everything will be fine,” What does he mean that I’m going to a better place? This whole situation is so weird. I can hear his raspy voice and feel his rough hand, but I can’t see him. I work everything in me to try and move. 

“Is she still conscious?” Footsteps rush over to where I lay. 

“Oh my gosh, she’s trying to move! Baby, it’s your mother. I love you, baby. I love you so much,” she sounds frantic. I wish I could cry in her arms; I hate this feeling. I feel her hand rub my hair like she did when I would cry as a kid. Am I ok? What happened to me? Why is everyone acting like this? Is this a dream?

“Is there anything else we can do? I hear my mother on the verge of tears. Thomas stops rubbing my hand and moves to console her.

“The patient’s heart rate is declining extremely fast,” A woman’s voice says. My heart is declining? I hear a bunch of beeping noises around me.

Then silence. Absolutely nothing. Where is everyone? Why can’t I hear anybody’s voice? I don’t even have enough energy to think anymore. The last sensations in my body slows to a complete stop. I can finally explore with my dad again.