Freytag's Pyramid-New scene

New scene/Sequel—back home after James’ death



         Beth entered their bedroom ahead of Andrew.  She walked over to their bed and perched on the edge, staring at the floor and fidgeting with her wedding rings.  Drew shut the door softly and stood before her.

         “Do you want some tea?  Or would you like to take a nap?” he asked as he bent down and kissed her cheek.

         “What I really want to do is to take a shower.  I can’t stand my dirty hair another minute.”  She rose and with a sigh began to move towards the bathroom.  She heard Andrew started to follow her, and she rotated around to face him.  “No, Drew.  I want to shower by myself.  Please.”

         “You’ve been bedridden for nearly a month.  Are you sure that you’re strong enough?”

         She could hear the concern in his voice, feel his anxiety for her, but she just wanted to be alone to think.  “I’ll leave the door ajar.  I’ll call you if I need you.”

         As an answer, he sat down in the chair nearest to the bathroom door, picked a magazine and flipped through it.  She could feel his tension, but she said nothing.  She walked into the bathroom.

         She turned on the shower, shut the door partway and stripped off the tee shirt and sweat pants she’d worn home from the hospital.  Then naked, she stared at herself in the mirror.  Two scars formed a wide grimace across her belly.  She’d been badly scared since her teens—but they were on her back and she’d been able (for the most part) to ignore them. 

         She hadn’t minded the first scar.  She had watched it stretched wider and wider, with a placid serenity, as their son grew within her.  But now, there was no hope, no joy and no child—only these perpetual reminders of all they had lost.

         She stepped inside the spacious shower stall, seeking absolution from the steaming spray.  She washed her hair, scrubbing her scalp so hard that at one point she feared she might have drawn blood.  Then she stood under the water, rinsing away the shampoo letting the lather slide down between her breasts and over the grinning scars.

         She thought back to that last morning—how she’d showered and dressed and prepared for work.  And then…

         It was odor of antiseptics stinging her nostrils that woke her.  At least that was the first thing she was aware of again.  She knew she was in the hospital before she even opened her eyes.  She also knew something was wrong.  She could feel the IV in her arm, and the catheter, but she felt no pain.  She willed herself to sleep again, to doze and forget this nightmare.  But she knew this wasn’t a dream—this was reality—this was her life.

         “Drew…,” she whispered as she opened her eyes.  He was standing over her, and she saw the flash of pleasure, she heard the sigh of relief and then watched as the smile ran from his face, and she knew her worst fear was real. 

         James was dead.  Their miracle baby—this precious gift to offered so late in their lives—their son—was dead.  She found she was unable to cry.  Andrew was speaking to her, but she didn’t hear him.  She wanted to cry out in her anguish, but she couldn’t.

Her father and brother passed before her.  Her doctor spoke with her, and her nieces and nephews came to see her.  All brought her flowers and condolences.  And still she couldn’t cry.

         She hugged herself, sat down hard on the tiled bench that ran across the back of the shower stall and began rocking back and forth.  Shudders of sorrow shot through her as she slid off the bench, onto the shower floor.  And the dam burst.  She began sobbing inconsolably, choking on the spray along with her tears.

         She hadn’t heard Drew enter the bathroom.  The glass door jerked open and fully clothed, he entered the shower, crouched on the floor beside her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him.  She clutched at his chest through his soaking shirt, searching for the solace that she feared she would never find, and mourned.