Flash Entries

My Sister Joan

My Sister, Joan

Joan sat at a table in the back of the bar. Her back was to the corner. Even though she was facing the door her eyes never left her hands on the table. She twisted the ring on her finger, and then adjusted her sunglasses. Every time the door opened, the bell tinkled, and she would jump. Her nerves were getting the best of her. She played with her cigarette. She would tap it on the pack, put it to her lips, and start to light it. She would think the better of it and put it back into the pack; only to start twisting her ring again.

The bell tinkled again, a tall man entered the bar. He removed his sunglasses, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lighting. He nodded to the bartender and headed back to the table where Joan sat. He stood waiting for her to acknowledge him. She just sat, twisting the ring on her finger, and she refused to look up at him.

He observed her mannerisms. He knew that something had happened to her. He just didn’t know what. After a minute, he realized she didn’t know that he was even there. He softly cleared his throat and watched as she literally jumped off of her seat. He grabbed her arms, realizing that she was going to have a nasty fall if he didn’t step in. “Hey, it is going to be alright…” She abruptly stood up, knocking him in the nose with the top of her head.

The bartender laughed as he watched the couple untangle themselves, and brought them both towel wrapped bags of ice. “If you could have seen yourselves!” he chuckled as he turned and headed back to the bar.

Sam helped Joan back to her seat. She held the towel to her head for a moment then removed her sunglasses and put the towel on her eye. He had just caught a glimpse of the side of her face. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not ‘nothing’, Joan,” as he moved the towel to take a better look.

“I ran into the doorway.”

“Come clean Sis,” Sam slid his hand over hers while she twisted her wedding band. He waited for her to open up. He knew, he couldn’t rush the story out of her, although he already knew the story. She wouldn’t go to the police. She wouldn’t let Sam confront him. She wouldn’t go to the Peace Shelter. He’d tried to help her get away so many times. It broke his heart as he watched his sister fade away, a little more each day.

“He didn’t mean to.”

“He never does, Joan.”

“He told me that I wasn’t his type anymore, told me to leave.” Her tears started to flow.

“Then we’re going to go and get your stuff right now. You can move in with me until you can find something you want.” Sam was relieved that his sister was finally getting out of that marriage. “After you get settled we’re going to get you a lawyer. I’ll make the calls and get everything set up.”

Joan finally looked up at her brother. “I don’t know if I can do that. What will he do if I come back to the house and take something?”

Sam recognized the signs. She was getting ready to go back home. He didn’t want her to go back there. He knew she wasn’t safe there “and she was entitled to know what chance for her remained” if she went back there. (p.23) “He’s out of control, Joan, things are escalating.” He held her hands and his eyes begged her not to go. He searched her eyes for sign of gumption, all he saw were blank lifeless eyes staring at him. He knew that his warning wasn’t heard.

“Joan, you can’t go back there alone.”

She put her sunglasses back on, stood up and straightened her clothes.

Sam grabbed her hand, “Please, don’t go back, Sis.”

She gently cradled his face with her hand. “I’ll have my things packed in an hour. Come and get me then.” She forced a smile and headed for the door. “It will be easier if I go alone. He won’t be so defensive. He wants me gone after all. He’ll probably even help me pack.”

“Don’t go there by yourself, Joan. Please, let me come with you, Joan,” Sam pleaded as he firmly gripped her hand.

“No, just get a truck and meet me there in an hour.” She stood a little taller, a little more confident as she walked out of the door.

Sam paid the tab and picked up the phone. He called the police to inform them of the situation brewing at Joan’s home. Hopefully the dispatcher heard the fear in his voice and would send someone right away to meet Joan when she got to the house.

Sam picked up the truck and went straight to Joan’s house. He didn’t like the thought of Joan in there alone with him. What bothered him even more was the lack of police anywhere around. He knocked on the door. He heard two shots fired inside. He rammed his shoulder into the door. It burst into pieces. Pumped up on adrenaline, he screamed his sister’s name and frantically searched the house to find her.

He found them both in the bedroom. Joan’s suitcase was on the bed, full and all zipped up. Joan was on the floor beside the bed, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. His brother-in-law was luckier. He was writhing on the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

Sam called 911. He told the operator his name and his sister’s name. He gave them the address. He told them what kind of help they needed, and went to wait on the front porch. He was sitting there when the paramedics arrived. He told them where the bedroom was and where they would find him. They went in the house. Sam really didn’t care if the paramedics lost that patient.

Joan wasn’t the only one changed that day. Sam was too. He’d lost the tag along pest of his youth, the best friend he confided in, the light of his life. He sat in shock on the front porch.

The police began their investigation. They questioned Sam for hours. He relayed everything that had happened over the last three years through his brief encounter with Joan earlier that day. For every question they asked him, he would ask, “Where were you? I called you.”

Finally in frustration Sam said, “You know, that’s about it Officer, I saw my sister alive, for the last time this morning. I called the police and begged for help. Why don’t you go ask her husband what happened today.”

Sam walked back to the truck. He caught the smell of jasmine in the gentle breeze. He shook his head, jasmine, her favorite. He started the truck and drove back home, alone.

kph

July 5, 2010

Revised July 27, 2010