Ashes of the Past

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

Ashes of the Past

By Plot Roach

Sarah sniffled as she looked over the birthday card section in the grocery store. Fred leaned over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay, honey?”

She slipped the card she had been reading back into its slot in the card rack. “Sorry, it’s just that today is my mother’s birthday and…”

“You miss her that much?”

“Oh GOD, NO!” she said, wiping away the tears. “It’s just that I miss having a family around the holidays and special occasions. But I don’t miss MY family. You know…”

“Yeah, you’ve told me the stories. And I really don’t blame you for writing them off like that. But if you think any of them have changed… Do you think that you could let them back into your life?”

“No way in Hell.” she sighed. “They never changed when I was living with them. They never showed any remorse for what they did to me or my brother. They can’t change. And even if they could -would I be able to trust them?”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I’ve already started… With your help, of course.” She pulled him close and he rubbed the swell of her belly, the baby thumped against his hand and he smiled while she began to cry again.

“Oh, honey.” he said, and pulled her into an embrace. They stayed that way for five minutes before he was forced to break the silence and the hug. “I think the security guard is watching, and I think he is going to blame me for your crying.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes, okay?” Sarah laughed and pulled away.

“I’m going to grab a few more things for the house, meet me at the front register when you’re ready.” he smiled and her heart warmed. She looked back at the display rack of cards, ranging from frilly classical roses to silly talking animal cards and everything in between.

She closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to the dark days of her past. Her father left when she was still a baby and Steven, her brother, was only six. Her mother blamed them every day of their lives for his loss. When she tucked them in at night, she told them that she would have been free of the family, free to live her own life, if only they had died instead of being born. And she prayed every night that they would die so that she could be free of them once and for all. And when the words did not hurt them enough, she used “accidents” to punish them.

Despite the broken bones and the bruises, no one came to their rescue. Neighbors were too busy with their perfect lawns and identical homes to see the truth for what it was. The rest of the family was worse, often joining the “punishment” if not just looking the other way when it happened.

Steven ran away from home at sixteen, only to be found a year and a half later in a morgue. She had to identify him herself because no one else in the family would come to view his corpse. Her grandmother claimed that he would burn in Hell because he had committed suicide by overdose. And Sarah vowed that if Steven was in Hell, it was the family that surely sent him there.

Then, when she blossomed at seventeen, her uncle took a fancy to her. He attempted to be alone with her as often as possible. She had known his intentions from the start, her cousin having been forced to have an abortion because her own father had raped her. She left to live with a friend until she turned eighteen and could make her own way in the world.

Life had been tricky those first few years, as she often fell for men that treated with the same abuse she had faced with her family. But then she had found Fred. Wonderful Fred who started as a “friend", holding her hand through the bad times until she realized that the only good times were with him. He courted her in the old fashioned way, never pushing their relationship farther than she wished. Then they had a child together and built the happy home that she had always craved since childhood.

She pulled a card from the rack, it had flowing flowers across the front with a poem inside. She headed for the register and paid for the card as Fred loaded the groceries onto the conveyer belt. Once home, she let Fred put away the groceries as she filled out her mother’s birthday card.

“Can you start up the grill for the steaks, honey?” Fred called from the kitchen.

 Sarah put the cap back on her pen and tucked the card into her back pants pocket. “Sure thing, baby.” she said, grabbing the matches and the charcoal as she headed onto the back porch. She stacked the briquettes as Fred had taught her and lit a match to place beneath them. As she waited for the fire to blaze, she pulled out the card from her back pocket and read the message she had written for her mother:

Dear Mom,
In the ten years since we’ve lost touch,
I have a daughter who is now a year and a half old.
I have another one on the way who will be born in a month or so.
I've just published my first novel.
And earlier this month someone bought the very first copy.
I’m happier than I have ever been in my life.
And if you hadn’t been such an abusive user,
more in love with your alcohol and drugs than you were with me,
You might have shared in all of this.
Happy Birthday, Mom.

Her eyes began to water with the last of the pain and hate and sorrow that had plagued her since her childhood. No matter where she went or who she was with, this shadow of her past tainted all love and hope that was in her heart. It ends now, she told herself. She fed the card to the waiting flames of the outside grill and watched as the brightly colored flowers and gilt letters turned into the same ash as her past.

She wiped away the tears and used the barbeque tongs to rearrange the hot coals around the bottom of the grill, the heat eating up the last of the card. Then Fred put the steaks and potatoes on the grill. That night, surrounded by her new family, Sarah enjoyed the sunset and the food as if she had never experienced them before. The breath in her lungs was fresh and clear. The smiles of her daughter and husband warmed her against the cold sneaking in with the night. She took another bite of her dinner and took her time to relish the taste of it, letting the present nurture her as the past never could.