Brooke's Angel
A Fiction Story by Katrina (Kat) Baker
I knew the irritation from the lancinating distress would soon be worth the money. I used all my efforts to lose myself in my thoughts. As the interior of my memory filled with hardwood floors and mirrors for days, I danced around my head to the harmonic song of my inner monologue. I bounded through the air like Lori’s dream scene in Oklahoma, thinking about how pushing myself to the point of perfection used to cause my toes so much torment. I twirled in my dress to get a feel for the lavender, silk fabric when I noticed a smaller dark skinned boy-one of the younger students-watching me from the corner of the practice room. I am still balanced on the toe of my left leg with my right in the air behind me. He says, “That pirouette was really swift. How do you get to spin for so long? I can’t quite get the hang of it.” He keeps talking while I change into a neutral position. Only then does his words slow, quiet and stop. His face twists in confusion when I bring my right leg down. only then does he notice, it’s not there. “Almost done.” the man says in a deep, raspy smoker's voice. His notice pulls me out of my thoughts. The stench of ink and spilled soda that had now stuck to the floor, was making me nauseous. The pain was still insignificant to the loss of my leg. Most people assume it’s cancer that “bit” me. I wish it had been so simple. As the piercing continues, I finally feel the needle taken off of my shoulder and the whirring engine is shut off. “Alright darlin’, there you go.” |
Sitting up, I ask, “Will you take a picture?”
“Sure, got a phone or something?” he asks. I nod handing him my phone. Once I hear the snap of the camera, he hands me a purple hand mirror while directing me to the wall mirror, so I can see a reflection of a reflection of the back of my left shoulder. Light pink ballet slippers surrounded by irritated red skin. Once the tattoo is bandaged, I pay, get my home care kit and step out of the parlor into downtown Seattle. My father’s waiting in his silver sedan parked on the street in front of me. The aroma of flaked chicken breasts and gooey mac n’ cheese filled the air of the car. “Well, let’s have a look!” he says when I get in the car. I show him the picture on my phone and he looks it up and down before nodding in approval and handing the phone back to me.
“You didn’t have to wait in the car.” I said with some attitude.
“Eh, you only needed the adult signature. I picked up dinner while you were in there.” He said nodding to the bag in the back.
The drive home was silent, as it always is. It was getting close to 6:00pm now. I would still be at the studio, but it isn’t open on Sundays. I have to entertain myself with a lack of dance space at my dad and Christa’s house. They have a nice olive green house, with two pillars made of brick creating an arch over the steps up to the dark oak door. I open the black, rustic garden gate with a high pitched creak and step within the front yard. When I’m in my room I sling my bag down, prop off my prosthesis, grab my crutches and head over to my queen size bed, with a comforter covered in pinks, purples and butterflies. Pulling up Snapchat on my phone, I can see what everyone is up to back home. After awhile, I fall asleep.
A very familiar voice rings through my head. One that has comforted countless sorrows, sang numerous songs and told endless stories my whole life. The last thing the voice said to me was, “Brooke, No matter what, I have always loved you more.”
More than what?
“Mom!”
And that was the last thing I screamed before the impact. When I revisit the moment in my head, I can still hear the ringing in my head that stems from the pain and blood in my ear. I tried to process what had happened as I saw the car that had hit us speeding away. Faces I didn’t recognize surrounded the now upside down car we were in. We had hit a pillar next to a road that smashed the hood in, closing on my right leg, keeping me stuck in my seat.
“Are you okay?” A lady in her mid 40s asked me through the window. “What happened?” she asked. “Who are you? How can we help?” Why was she asking me, I thought. I’m not the adult. “Ask my mom.” I replied. The woman looked at me with a most horrified expression.
I turned to see my mom, only to see her feet just beyond the door, like she had crawled out and was laying on the ground. Had she gotten out without me?
“Mom?” I asked with no response. I leaned forward, scooting myself as far to the edge as I could with my leg stuck. I could just barely stretch myself far enough to see the blood and brains around the body whose head had been bashed in. It was my mom… This wasn’t an accident.
My eyes shot open to the darkness that was my ceiling as I clung to the blankets around me. My heart was racing and I was drenched in sweat. I tore the blankets of my burning body, and sat on the edge of my bed for a moment to catch my breath, before grabbing my crutches and proceeding to the bathroom to shower off the nightmare. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. 5:14am. It’s late enough to get up for the day.
It was 3:39pm when I was rounding the corner to G street where my 4:00pm counseling appointment would be. When I went to live with my dad, he was really open about knowing I wasn't going to want to confide in him, being how he wasn’t a part of my life until about a year ago. He decided for me that I was going to go to counseling to keep from potentially bottling up my emotions and going insane. I got used to it. My counselors name is Miranda Vondane. She’s a sweet lady. She always welcomes me with a quaker oats granola bar, and I have come to learn to appreciate the little gestures.
“How are you handling things with Callie?” She asked.
“I don’t know.” I said, “I’m sad, more than sad. I think she might be my next tattoo.”
“That would be cool.” She said, “I wanted to ask, have you had any contact with Rachel or any of the other volunteers back in Eugene?” I hadn’t when I knew I probably should of. To break the silence, she asks, “Have you been thinking about anyone or anything from Eugene?”
“No. Or at least not much. I’ve just been dancing. It makes me forget, at least for a little bit.” Miranda nods and asks about my progress dancing with a prosthesis. I tell her, “It’s been getting a little easier I think, my phantom limb hasn’t been so real. I guess I’m starting to get used to it.”
“How has dancing been different since the loss of Callie?” she asks. I take a second to think about that. I kind of laugh at myself as I build up an answer.
“It’s almost funny in a kind of crude way. Before the accident-- not that it was one, I loved Callie. I think being around her was my favorite part about volunteering at the shelter. And she just always seemed to light up at me, wagging her tail when I came. Of course she would though, she was my dog before we put her up for adoption when I had to move here and live with dad. I know she didn’t live much longer, but I still wished I could have brought her with. But Dad’s landlord is a prick. I always felt bad that I didn’t take her home again. After the acci-incident, It was almost like she became a furry mom to me.” I paused, “My mom, she always believed in me and my dancing. After mom died, the support I got from Callie is what kind of motivated me to try to relearn how to dance on my prosthesis. But now without Mom or Callie, dancing is more of a method of distraction to forget about the pain. Dancing is like my drug.”
The next day was a saturday. My lazy morning. I used to never have those lazy mornings, but now I have less motivation to get up to dance at 4 or 5:00am. I’ll do it later. I’m scrolling through Facebook when I get an email from Rachel. What did she need? I opened the email. It was an invite that read:
Volunteer Appreciation Night!
Hi! If you are receiving this email, it is because you have been invited to be honored at our annual volunteer appreciation night at the Veterans Memorial Association on 26th and Willamette, Eugene, 97401. We are hoping to be able to formally say thank you to anyone who has helped out at Greenhill in the last year. There will be music, dinner and awards. Please RSVP ASAP! Thank you to everyone and hope to see you there!
Rachel Withersin
I wasn’t sure about this. I wasn’t sure I could handle going back, no matter how much I knew I missed it. I just decided to ignore the email for now, until I got another one the next day. Only this one was just for me.
Hey Brooke,
How are you? I hope things are settling okay in Seattle. I hope you got the invite and info email about our upcoming volunteer appreciation night. You’ve done an amazing job here and we really miss you. If you could find a way to make it back, we have something really special we wanted to give you to let you know just how appreciated you are! Please let me know you can make it!
With love,
Rachel
What could she possibly have for me? The event wasn’t for another two weeks. At first I thought ‘why go?’. But my aunt has been wanting to come over since the incident. So I figured if I had to make the trip to see her, might as well be the same weekend as the Greenhill Event.
I knock the door of the little yellow house in Beaver Court in Eugene. It opens, and not a second sooner, I’m pulled into a sudden embrace. “Brooke! How are you? How was the flight?”
“Hey Aunt Natalie, um, I took the Bolt Bus actually.”
“For 5 hours, you must be exhausted! Come sit.” I walked into the house, which always seems bigger on the inside than it does on the outside.
“Book!” yelled Amy. The rosy cheeked, sparkling blue eyed three year old came running to me.
“Hi Ames!” I cheered as I picked up the toddler and twirled into a pirouette.
“I’m thrilled to see you. You look like your mother every day. You know where the guest room is, why don’t you get settled while I make some lunch.” she said taking Amy in her arms.
“Okay thanks.” I said.
“Don’t forget. The appreciation banquet is at 7:00.”
“I know.”
I tied up my hair in a high bun. Slipped on the sparkly pink dress, black knee socks and flats. Kind of casual fancy. I wasn’t sure what to wear. I’ve never been to one of these. Aunt Natalie, her husband Ron and their daughter Amy came with me, so I wasn’t alone. Aunt Natalie wouldn’t stop talking about how she knew I was going to get a special reward for all of my volunteer work. But I don’t think I deserve one. The only reason I started volunteering was to see Callie before I had to move in with my dad. It wasn’t long after I left that Callie got sick and they decided to put her down.
We were sitting at the large white tables waiting for the speeches to start.
“Hey stranger!” a familiar voice said behind me. I turned and looked up to see Rachel smiling down at me. I stood to greet her. “Hey Rach.” I said giving her a hug.
“I’m really glad you came! It was really important to me that you did. I have to go start the speeches, but we’ll talk later!” I nodded at her as she turned and rushed off to the stage.
“Hi everyone,” she said into the mic. “I just wanted to start off by saying how appreciative we’ve been to all of you…” As she went on, I noticed big board by the stage with Callie’s picture. She looked so happy. Her fur ruffled in the wind of her free spirit, as it always will in her life after life. I was pulled out my thoughts by the applause as Rachel handed out the first award to one of the manager volunteers. The banquet went on calling names off randomly, applause and awards. About 45 min. Went by before Rachel said, “And finally, for our last honorable mention. I can’t think of someone who deserves this more. Brooke, can you come up here please?” My eyes widened as everyone looked back at me. I wasn’t expecting anything. I could feel the quivering in my fingers as I slowly rose to make my way down to Rachel. When I got there, she went on, “Brooke recently went through a tragic accident that caused the death of her mother and the loss of her leg. Brooke started volunteering with us after she had to give up her beloved dog Callie, when she had to move.”
Why is she talking about this, I wondered. She went on, “Callie got sick, and had to be put down. Brooke, to show you how much we wanted to support you, we couldn’t think of anyone better to take her.”
Her?
I turned to see someone walking towards the stage holding what looked to be a two week old Australian Shepherd puppy.
“Moments after Callie was put down, the vet realised she was about to have a puppies and Callie underwent immediate surgery to save the pups before her immunization got to them. Only one survived. We found the name Angel to be fitting. Angel is two and a half weeks old and has been registered as an official therapy dog in training so she cannot be rejected by and housing situation. Brooke, we would like you to have Angel.” Rachel said as one of the other staff handed Angel to me. The applause of the conference room startled Angel and she buried her face into my chest. It was like the second the warmth of her fur touched my heart, the sensation of love and joy tingled down into the toes of my left leg. As I gently clutched the tiny animal, I slowly sunk to my knees while warm tears streamed down my face. I came to find that Angel loved to run in circles around me while I practiced. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to dance alone.
“Sure, got a phone or something?” he asks. I nod handing him my phone. Once I hear the snap of the camera, he hands me a purple hand mirror while directing me to the wall mirror, so I can see a reflection of a reflection of the back of my left shoulder. Light pink ballet slippers surrounded by irritated red skin. Once the tattoo is bandaged, I pay, get my home care kit and step out of the parlor into downtown Seattle. My father’s waiting in his silver sedan parked on the street in front of me. The aroma of flaked chicken breasts and gooey mac n’ cheese filled the air of the car. “Well, let’s have a look!” he says when I get in the car. I show him the picture on my phone and he looks it up and down before nodding in approval and handing the phone back to me.
“You didn’t have to wait in the car.” I said with some attitude.
“Eh, you only needed the adult signature. I picked up dinner while you were in there.” He said nodding to the bag in the back.
The drive home was silent, as it always is. It was getting close to 6:00pm now. I would still be at the studio, but it isn’t open on Sundays. I have to entertain myself with a lack of dance space at my dad and Christa’s house. They have a nice olive green house, with two pillars made of brick creating an arch over the steps up to the dark oak door. I open the black, rustic garden gate with a high pitched creak and step within the front yard. When I’m in my room I sling my bag down, prop off my prosthesis, grab my crutches and head over to my queen size bed, with a comforter covered in pinks, purples and butterflies. Pulling up Snapchat on my phone, I can see what everyone is up to back home. After awhile, I fall asleep.
A very familiar voice rings through my head. One that has comforted countless sorrows, sang numerous songs and told endless stories my whole life. The last thing the voice said to me was, “Brooke, No matter what, I have always loved you more.”
More than what?
“Mom!”
And that was the last thing I screamed before the impact. When I revisit the moment in my head, I can still hear the ringing in my head that stems from the pain and blood in my ear. I tried to process what had happened as I saw the car that had hit us speeding away. Faces I didn’t recognize surrounded the now upside down car we were in. We had hit a pillar next to a road that smashed the hood in, closing on my right leg, keeping me stuck in my seat.
“Are you okay?” A lady in her mid 40s asked me through the window. “What happened?” she asked. “Who are you? How can we help?” Why was she asking me, I thought. I’m not the adult. “Ask my mom.” I replied. The woman looked at me with a most horrified expression.
I turned to see my mom, only to see her feet just beyond the door, like she had crawled out and was laying on the ground. Had she gotten out without me?
“Mom?” I asked with no response. I leaned forward, scooting myself as far to the edge as I could with my leg stuck. I could just barely stretch myself far enough to see the blood and brains around the body whose head had been bashed in. It was my mom… This wasn’t an accident.
My eyes shot open to the darkness that was my ceiling as I clung to the blankets around me. My heart was racing and I was drenched in sweat. I tore the blankets of my burning body, and sat on the edge of my bed for a moment to catch my breath, before grabbing my crutches and proceeding to the bathroom to shower off the nightmare. I looked at the clock on my nightstand. 5:14am. It’s late enough to get up for the day.
It was 3:39pm when I was rounding the corner to G street where my 4:00pm counseling appointment would be. When I went to live with my dad, he was really open about knowing I wasn't going to want to confide in him, being how he wasn’t a part of my life until about a year ago. He decided for me that I was going to go to counseling to keep from potentially bottling up my emotions and going insane. I got used to it. My counselors name is Miranda Vondane. She’s a sweet lady. She always welcomes me with a quaker oats granola bar, and I have come to learn to appreciate the little gestures.
“How are you handling things with Callie?” She asked.
“I don’t know.” I said, “I’m sad, more than sad. I think she might be my next tattoo.”
“That would be cool.” She said, “I wanted to ask, have you had any contact with Rachel or any of the other volunteers back in Eugene?” I hadn’t when I knew I probably should of. To break the silence, she asks, “Have you been thinking about anyone or anything from Eugene?”
“No. Or at least not much. I’ve just been dancing. It makes me forget, at least for a little bit.” Miranda nods and asks about my progress dancing with a prosthesis. I tell her, “It’s been getting a little easier I think, my phantom limb hasn’t been so real. I guess I’m starting to get used to it.”
“How has dancing been different since the loss of Callie?” she asks. I take a second to think about that. I kind of laugh at myself as I build up an answer.
“It’s almost funny in a kind of crude way. Before the accident-- not that it was one, I loved Callie. I think being around her was my favorite part about volunteering at the shelter. And she just always seemed to light up at me, wagging her tail when I came. Of course she would though, she was my dog before we put her up for adoption when I had to move here and live with dad. I know she didn’t live much longer, but I still wished I could have brought her with. But Dad’s landlord is a prick. I always felt bad that I didn’t take her home again. After the acci-incident, It was almost like she became a furry mom to me.” I paused, “My mom, she always believed in me and my dancing. After mom died, the support I got from Callie is what kind of motivated me to try to relearn how to dance on my prosthesis. But now without Mom or Callie, dancing is more of a method of distraction to forget about the pain. Dancing is like my drug.”
The next day was a saturday. My lazy morning. I used to never have those lazy mornings, but now I have less motivation to get up to dance at 4 or 5:00am. I’ll do it later. I’m scrolling through Facebook when I get an email from Rachel. What did she need? I opened the email. It was an invite that read:
Volunteer Appreciation Night!
Hi! If you are receiving this email, it is because you have been invited to be honored at our annual volunteer appreciation night at the Veterans Memorial Association on 26th and Willamette, Eugene, 97401. We are hoping to be able to formally say thank you to anyone who has helped out at Greenhill in the last year. There will be music, dinner and awards. Please RSVP ASAP! Thank you to everyone and hope to see you there!
Rachel Withersin
I wasn’t sure about this. I wasn’t sure I could handle going back, no matter how much I knew I missed it. I just decided to ignore the email for now, until I got another one the next day. Only this one was just for me.
Hey Brooke,
How are you? I hope things are settling okay in Seattle. I hope you got the invite and info email about our upcoming volunteer appreciation night. You’ve done an amazing job here and we really miss you. If you could find a way to make it back, we have something really special we wanted to give you to let you know just how appreciated you are! Please let me know you can make it!
With love,
Rachel
What could she possibly have for me? The event wasn’t for another two weeks. At first I thought ‘why go?’. But my aunt has been wanting to come over since the incident. So I figured if I had to make the trip to see her, might as well be the same weekend as the Greenhill Event.
I knock the door of the little yellow house in Beaver Court in Eugene. It opens, and not a second sooner, I’m pulled into a sudden embrace. “Brooke! How are you? How was the flight?”
“Hey Aunt Natalie, um, I took the Bolt Bus actually.”
“For 5 hours, you must be exhausted! Come sit.” I walked into the house, which always seems bigger on the inside than it does on the outside.
“Book!” yelled Amy. The rosy cheeked, sparkling blue eyed three year old came running to me.
“Hi Ames!” I cheered as I picked up the toddler and twirled into a pirouette.
“I’m thrilled to see you. You look like your mother every day. You know where the guest room is, why don’t you get settled while I make some lunch.” she said taking Amy in her arms.
“Okay thanks.” I said.
“Don’t forget. The appreciation banquet is at 7:00.”
“I know.”
I tied up my hair in a high bun. Slipped on the sparkly pink dress, black knee socks and flats. Kind of casual fancy. I wasn’t sure what to wear. I’ve never been to one of these. Aunt Natalie, her husband Ron and their daughter Amy came with me, so I wasn’t alone. Aunt Natalie wouldn’t stop talking about how she knew I was going to get a special reward for all of my volunteer work. But I don’t think I deserve one. The only reason I started volunteering was to see Callie before I had to move in with my dad. It wasn’t long after I left that Callie got sick and they decided to put her down.
We were sitting at the large white tables waiting for the speeches to start.
“Hey stranger!” a familiar voice said behind me. I turned and looked up to see Rachel smiling down at me. I stood to greet her. “Hey Rach.” I said giving her a hug.
“I’m really glad you came! It was really important to me that you did. I have to go start the speeches, but we’ll talk later!” I nodded at her as she turned and rushed off to the stage.
“Hi everyone,” she said into the mic. “I just wanted to start off by saying how appreciative we’ve been to all of you…” As she went on, I noticed big board by the stage with Callie’s picture. She looked so happy. Her fur ruffled in the wind of her free spirit, as it always will in her life after life. I was pulled out my thoughts by the applause as Rachel handed out the first award to one of the manager volunteers. The banquet went on calling names off randomly, applause and awards. About 45 min. Went by before Rachel said, “And finally, for our last honorable mention. I can’t think of someone who deserves this more. Brooke, can you come up here please?” My eyes widened as everyone looked back at me. I wasn’t expecting anything. I could feel the quivering in my fingers as I slowly rose to make my way down to Rachel. When I got there, she went on, “Brooke recently went through a tragic accident that caused the death of her mother and the loss of her leg. Brooke started volunteering with us after she had to give up her beloved dog Callie, when she had to move.”
Why is she talking about this, I wondered. She went on, “Callie got sick, and had to be put down. Brooke, to show you how much we wanted to support you, we couldn’t think of anyone better to take her.”
Her?
I turned to see someone walking towards the stage holding what looked to be a two week old Australian Shepherd puppy.
“Moments after Callie was put down, the vet realised she was about to have a puppies and Callie underwent immediate surgery to save the pups before her immunization got to them. Only one survived. We found the name Angel to be fitting. Angel is two and a half weeks old and has been registered as an official therapy dog in training so she cannot be rejected by and housing situation. Brooke, we would like you to have Angel.” Rachel said as one of the other staff handed Angel to me. The applause of the conference room startled Angel and she buried her face into my chest. It was like the second the warmth of her fur touched my heart, the sensation of love and joy tingled down into the toes of my left leg. As I gently clutched the tiny animal, I slowly sunk to my knees while warm tears streamed down my face. I came to find that Angel loved to run in circles around me while I practiced. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to dance alone.