The Mechanics of Us

Chapter 10

The clock reads 8:30 PM when I finally gathered myself, and I deem that an appropriate time to head over to the woman's apartment. As I step out of the doorway of my apartment and make the short track down to the hallway; I can not help but have a very unsettling sensation in the pit of my stomach. When I reach the door I gently rap on it with the knuckle of my index finger and gaze down at the dingy carpet not wanting to show my face right away. I wait for a few moments, but I don't hear any footsteps coming towards me, I press my ear against the door and hear the woman and what I believe to be her husband talking. I rap again, this time a little more forceful. Silence. I puff my cheeks out slightly aggravated and start turning my back when the door abruptly swings open. The woman, her eyes tired and weary, her body looking somewhat emaciated and brittle, stands before me, and her husband is in the distance behind her.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting. Please come in," she steps aside, and I step in hesitantly. Their place is slightly bigger than my own. At a glance, there appears to be a long hallway with two bedrooms on the left; one has a warm glowing pink light peeping under the door. I am assuming that it is their daughter's room, and the one that is closed and dark is theirs. Also, it appears to have a slightly larger kitchen with a more formal dining table in the center and a miniature glass chandelier hanging above it. Yet, what catches my attention is the number of photos that line the walls. The images that seem to capture a moment in time and somehow keep all of its value. Pictures of the family on vacation, some from a family photoshoot, candid shots, a wedding, a birth, celebrations, holidays, it was all there. I read their life through pictures.

After a few more seconds of taking in their apartment, my attention switches back to the parents, I'm slightly off guard and instinctively begins to kneel to take my shoes off, but a deep whisper stops me.

"You don't have to" fills the silence, and the father is making his way towards me. I nod and stand back up calmly.

"Water?" the wife asks in a hushed tone, and I shake my head no and raise a hand.

"Take a seat," the father gestures to a wooden chair that he has pulled out for me, and I cautiously position myself in front of the parents. Do they remember me?

The father sits on my right, and the mother follows in a suit on my left. The father has changed slightly than what I had remembered. The man who stood before me in the ER had a loving heart that was broken, a soul that was wounded, and the smallest inkling of hope that resided in his eyes. Now, all I see is an empty shell with no heart to love, no soul to wound, and no hope. He was gone.

I draw in a deep breath preparing myself to speak, but the mother interjects first.

"Thank you for what you did today-" she mumbles, her stare is distant and not direct.

Shrugging, I respond with, "Yea, of course."

Then the father's heavy and gruff voice came into the conversation-"You protected her when I couldn't."

"I just got here out of harm's way. I couldn't leave her there-"

"You could have, just like the others have."

"Others?" I repeat.

"Friends, family, colleagues, strangers, everyone. They suspect something is up. Our daughter was hit by a car for goodness sake, and she is perfectly fine?" He jolts up from the table and begins to pace anxiously. The wife, in response, holds out her hand and takes her husband's and squeezes it. I admire how his body relaxes with just the gentlest touch from her.

He presses his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose and takes a shaky breath. "Please. Please don't tell anyone..." -he sounds so exhausted.

"I won't-"

"Promise!" he exclaims with fierce and concerning eyes piercing me. They possess so much hopelessness and discontent that it honestly hurts, and it is almost impossible to look away.

"I promise," I whisper back. I sound so childish. My voice is so little and I am so unsure about what to do or how to handle this situation. What can I do? And how do they not know who I am? I can't help but speak up and ask once more.

"Do-do, you know who I am?"

"No?" their responses merge, and I once again baffled.

"Really?" I question in disbelief.

"Hunny, we both have never seen you before until today," the sincerity in the wife's eyes makes it clear the honesty her answer holds.

"Okay," I respond before I zone out as the wife and husband talk about between themselves. Today keeps getting stranger, and so many unanswered questions keep coming up. There is nothing for me to fall back on—no one to turn to. I am alone. The idea of entirely alone starting sinking in more and more, and soon my anxiety begins to bubble up again.

But before my thoughts ultimately suffocate me, the father places a firm hand on my shoulder. I flinch then look up at him with a wary and unsure expression etched onto my face. "Did you hear us?"

"No..I'm sorry..." I adjust my position in the stiff chair and glance up at the two.

"We were asking if you could be a babysitter for our daughter-"

"Yeah, sure," I blurt out. Why did I say that? I didn't even think about it. That was an impulse decision. That wasn't like me.

"Really?" The relief in the father's expression makes the whole environment seem lighter. I get pulled into a bear hug, and I can feel the muscles in the father's biceps tighten around me, and I can't help but let myself relax ever so slightly.

Then before I know it, I am getting set up with a schedule, pay rate, relevant information about the girl's health, the whole family history, and then some. I leave the apartment two hours later with stacks of paper in hand, a new cell phone, and some muffins the wife baked.