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Every Twenty-Four Hours Scenes

Scene 1
Overwhelmed, she let her head fall toward the table, and she buried her tear-soaked eyes in the bend of her arm. Why is this happening to me? Her chest felt heavy. Her mind was singed like blades of grass during a summer drought. Deep within there was still life, but the diagnosis made her exterior crumble. Seconds later a nauseous feeling overcame her, and she rushed to the bathroom, fell to her knees, and emptied the contents of her stomach in the toilet. She tucked her dangling hair behind her ears and rested her hands on the white porcelain throne as clear liquid continued to come up. When the flow had finally stopped, she slowly lifted herself up. Her knees cracked as her legs straightened. Standing, she made her way across the linoleum to the small wooden vanity. A toothbrush and a washcloth freshened her up instantly, but neither removed the excruciating pain of reality tearing through her head.

Scene 2
The corners of his mouth turned up. Eileen’s cheeks warmed. Within milliseconds, her insides felt mushy as a
Popsicle on a hot summer’s afternoon. He was tall, handsome, clean-cut, and somewhere in his early twenties. His broad chest sculpted his tailored blue suit, and the scent of his cologne, geraniums with a woody musk base was a delight to her nose. Her mouth filled with saliva. Now she understood the hype in psych class about Pavlov’s dog. She swallowed several times.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She stood before him, mesmerized. Was jet fuel pumping through her veins instead of plasma? All she knew was that her head was definitely in the clouds.

Scene 3
“Bitch!” Eileen murmured, as the wicked woman’s hot-iron tongue singed her flesh with each syllable. Eileen hated the word bitch—mean spirited and derogatory toward women. She’d sworn she’d never use it. But in Frances’s case, the word just fit. Eileen worked to pull herself together. This was obviously no Cinderella story. And she didn’t need to be Einstein to forecast that there would be no fairytale ending.

Scene 4
“Okay, but did you make sure the gun is still here?” Sammy asked.
“No, but he wouldn’t take the gun. We only have it in case someone breaks in.”  
“I don’t think he’d take it either, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you checked. You remember no one thought Tony would try to commit suicide either.”
“That’s ridiculous!” There he goes again comparing James’s emotional state to his father’s. “If it’ll make you shut up, I’ll show you,” she shouted. Eileen stormed to her bedroom. The sea-blue walls looked red through her enraged lenses. She grabbed hold of the doorknob and slung opened the closet door. It crashed into the plaster. But she didn’t care. Sammy had hit a nerve—severed the damn thing with his ice-pick tongue. Eileen pulled out the footstool that James had made her in shop class from beneath the rack of clothes. She saw Sammy watching her tensely. With her feet planted firmly against the wood grain, she reached high on top of the shelf where she kept the gun beneath an old blanket. Sammy offered to help, but she ignored him. Hadn’t
he done enough? She ran her hand along the wooden shelf and could feel a metal handle graze her fingertips. With her fingers locked around the metal, she pulled her hand back for Sammy to see. The proof was in her grasp. He was going to eat his words. All of them—choke on them like a big fat side of beef. 
 

                        This is reconstruction of Chapter 1 for this site. It differs in pagination from the novel which is in full pagination.
      
                        In Her Heavenly Father’s Hands
                                             Chapter 1


March 18, 2011
    The sun was unusually hot for this time of year in Decatur,
Georgia. Thirty-eight-year-old Eileen Wilcox’s nerves, coupled
with the recent hike across the parking garage, had left her feel-
ing sweaty. Now, she sat stoically in a small wooden chair, the
worn seat cushion clinging to her thighs like cellophane. Her
caramel-colored five-foot-six-inch size-ten frame slumped over
slightly. Her feet were planted firmly on the tight-woven brown
Berber carpet. The sound of the twelve o’clock news filled the
room from a forty-two-inch plasma television anchored to the
wall. But the headlines seeped in one ear and out the other seem-
ingly unnoticed. And although her dark brown shoulder-length
hair shone more than silkweed following the trip to the beauty
shop the day before, a similar sparkle was missing from her eyes.
Eileen’s eyelids were hung at half-mast and her pupils were fixed
on a small section of the opaque colored walls. At that moment
there were a million other places she’d rather be than the waiting
room of Imagery Breast Center.
    “Eileen Wilcox,” a sweet, gentle voice echoed through the
large space. A medical attendant stood at the entrance to the

 2 
exam rooms in her paisley smock and white slacks. Manila file
folders were clutched in her arms like a strapless purse.
    Eileen’s thoughts intertwined tighter than a fisherman’s knot.
What on earth was she doing here? Tingling—damn tingling up
and down her arms. Her skin crawled with the irritation of fleas
while her big loving heart felt as if it was slowly shriveling in her
chest. The thought of death pushed up through her throat, lin-
gered on her tongue, and left her mouth dry as a shot of gin. She
swallowed repeatedly, hands clasped in her lap, fingers jittery,
and thumbs engaged in a wrestling match.
    The room was full of middle-aged women, all races and so-
cial status. But none of them looked happy about being there:
postures stiff, faces void of smiles. Most also appeared nervous.
Some flipped through popular women’s magazines, but they
weren’t reading any of the articles or enjoying the pictures.
Pages spent only a split second between the tips of their fingers
before being turned. Eileen wondered how many of them had
also found a lump in their breasts.
    Her body sat among them, but her spirit felt severed, as cut
off as a castaway on a desert island. Her mind was a million
miles away from the shores of civilization, stranded by the fear
of CANCER.
    “Eileen Wilcox? I’m not sure who that is,” a silver-haired
elderly lady holding a brown cane said, turning toward the
attendant. “Maybe she’s in the restroom.”
    The attendant shuffled the manila folders in her hands and
called another name.
    “Sheila Pete.”
    “Here!” A short, brunette stood and walked timidly over to
and through the open door.
    Eileen was lost in her memories of the deaths of her grandma
Martha and mother, Aundair. Both women she had loved dearly
had lost their battles with breast cancer.
                                           * * *
                                               
3
    Grandma Martha was a silver-haired homemaker. Her thick
busty frame was always covered with loose patterned smock
dresses that shielded her knees and hid her waistline. She was
a spirited and devoted Christian woman whose home was
always filled with joy. Just thinking about being at her grand-
mother’s house gave Eileen a warm and cozy feeling in the pit
of her stomach. Grandma Martha was sixty-four when cancer
took her away. A faithful woman, she’d never questioned the
Lord about the cancer. On her deathbed she told them that if
God took her home it was because he had more important work
in heaven for her to do. The rest of the family didn’t share her
grandma’s sentiments. At the funeral, Eileen, stricken with grief,
even found herself questioning how God could let her grandma
die after all she’d done to please him. Still, life went on and, in
time, the pain eased. Eileen thought about Grandma Martha often.
She knew she couldn’t live up to her grandmother’s saintly
standards, stretching herself thinner than pie dough to serve on
every church committee known to Baptists. But there were
definitely similarities. Eileen loved cooking big meals for her family,
and she always put her children’s needs above her own in the
same loving way.
    Eileen’s mother, Aundair, was another story. She was a
lonely woman who had turned to hoarding cats after their dad
had left her. The only bright side was that Aundair kept them
on the outside of the home. Eileen hated them, especially how
they’d sunbathe Cleopatra-style all over Aundair’s front porch
and force her to step over them to get into the house. But other
than Eileen and her brother, Sammy, they were her mom’s only
connection to the outside world.
    Eileen often wondered how her life would turn out, with her
father being so much of a rolling stone that no one knew what
town he actually lived in, and her mother, Aundair, so heart-
broken by this sudden departure that she could have been a poster
child for the clinically depressed.

 4 
Her brother, Sammy, tall with long spidery limbs, actually
resembled their disappearing dad, Albert. Albert had vanished
when Eileen was in grade school. People said that he left with
a woman half his age. Eileen resented him for what he did to
all of their lives. After he left they stopped inviting friends to
their home. Neither Sammy nor she could explain their mom’s
depression, rarely changing her clothes and barely speaking to
them, as if they were invisible. And when she did speak—out
came a web of negativity that Eileen needed a hatchet to break
through.
    Most peculiar was that Aundair would stare out the window
for hours at a time as if Albert were magically going to skip up
the concrete driveway as if it were a yellow brick road, back
home to her. Eileen had told her mother a million times that
they didn’t live in Kansas.
                                             * * *
    “Eileen Wilcox.” The medical attendant stood in the door-
way again. This time her right foot tapped against the Berber.
And she irritatingly flicked a lock of her long brunette hair
behind one ear and heaved a deep breath. Her manicured finger-
nails tapped repeatedly against the folder. Her hot red polish
shone as if wet, but Eileen still didn’t notice.
    “Is Ms. Wilcox still here?” The words elevated sharply and
blew through the air with a sense of frustration.
    Suddenly, Eileen’s eyes opened, locking onto the young
woman’s face.
    “Oh. I’m sorry.” Eileen thrust her shoulders forward,
grabbed her black purse from the floor, and pushed down on
the arm of the chair, lifting herself up to her feet. Throwing the
thin strap over her right shoulder, she shuffled quickly across the
carpet to the open doorway.
    “I’m so sorry,” she apologized again.

5
    “That’s okay, Ms. Wilcox.” The lady’s voice softened.
“Please follow me.” She escorted Eileen to a small dressing
room, pointed out twelve gray metal lockers, dangling keys, and
toilet packets used to remove deodorant. The attendant then
handed her a powdery pink gown to put on and turned and
walked away. Eileen sighed, looked at the lockers—miniature
versions of the metal lockers she’d rented on campus at Arizona
State University where she’d graduated with a bachelor’s
degree in management back in the early nineties. She selected one
up high, inserted the key, and opened the door. Then, Aundair
surged back through her mind.
    Eileen eased down on the wooden bench, recalling her
mother’s illness.
                                              * * *
July 1993
    Eileen stood in the doorway of her mom’s bedroom and watched
Aundair sitting alone on the edge of her bed, massaging her
chest. Aundair’s hair was tied back into a loose and sloppy bun.
Gray strands started at her temples and ran through her hair
in cropped rows. Her fifty-year-old mother looked sixty.
    Eileen had been home from Arizona State only a few
months. It was strange being there after living on her own for
four years. It seemed like just yesterday that she’d arrived on
campus for freshman orientation, was seated in the big aud-
itorium, and listened to the admissions coordinator say, “Look to
your left and now your right—one of the people seated next to
you won’t be here in four years for graduation. And that person
might be you.” Thank goodness she couldn’t get that story about
The Little Engine that Could out of her head.
    However, Sammy had seen about Aundair the entire time
Eileen was in college. It was time for her to step up to the plate
and help out. She knew it hadn’t been easy on him. She hoped
 
6 
that moving back into her mother’s home would lessen the bur-
den on Sammy. But she realized that soon she’d need her own
zip code and a much more cheerful environment to rest her head
at night. The last thing she wanted to do was to get trapped in
Aundair’s cave.
    Aundair’s mustard walls were lit that day by an inverted
bowl-shaped light fixture. As Aundair’s arm lifted to put on her
floral cotton gown, Eileen stepped nervously into the bedroom
across the sea-foam-green carpet.
    “How long has that been there?” Eileen immediately asked,
noticing a large marble-sized lump on her mother’s left breast,
near her armpit. Aundair swiftly lowered her arm and didn’t
respond. Pain from losing her grandma Martha to cancer moved
through Eileen’s body.
    “Mom, answer me!” Eileen screamed. Her throat stung as she
stretched her vocal cords. “How long has that lump been there?”
    “Just a couple of months.” Aundair quickly slid her gown on.
    Eileen didn’t believe her. From the size of the lump, it had
 been there much longer. How could she have not noticed it? Fear
buckled her knees, and she sat down on the bed next to her mom.
    Aundair looked down. “What difference does it make?”
    “That’s why your chest has been hurting. That damn thing
is huge. You should have told me that you had a lump. You need
 to see a doctor right away!”
    “No!” Aundair turned her head swiftly toward the wall.
    “You’re going to see a doctor and that’s that!” Eileen stood.
Her arms hung stiffly at her sides. Her fists tightened and nails
dug impressions into the palms of her hands.
    Aundair simply crawled into bed. Frown lines around her
mouth deepened as her back plopped against the wooden head-
board. Wordlessly, she yanked the covers up hard, covering her
clavicle. 
    Eileen blew out in frustration, warming her top lip with the
steam from her nose. Then, she stormed over to the door, flipped 

7
off her mom’s light, and stepped hard into the hallway on the
squeaky parquet floors and pulled the door tight.
    “Ridiculous!” Maybe I should have checked Aundair into the psy-
chiatric ward for treatment after my father left. Nothing at Arizona
State had prepared Eileen to deal with someone so damn stub-
born and suicidal. Still, there was immense guilt gnawing at
Eileen’s flesh for not noticing her mom’s lump sooner. Why on
earth does life with Aundair have to be a chess match? In this case no
didn’t mean no. If Eileen was positive of anything, a doctor was
going to be in Aundair’s future.
    The following Saturday morning Eileen was in the small,
square kitchen standing over the worn, olive-colored gas stove,
cooking breakfast. Her head angled slightly, she peered across the
white speckled Formica countertops and porcelain sink through
the single pane window out into the backyard. The flowers she’d
gotten from the nursery had bloomed; daylilies, bright yellow
and orange—cheerful colors that gave the rundown old house
life. They were supposed to inspire her mother to go outside
and smell the flowers. At the very least, open the drapes and let
the sunshine in, but they hadn’t. Eileen hated losing her temper
with her mom, but backing down about the doctor wasn’t an
option. By her own ruling, the long straw was in her hand, not
Aundair’s. The contest of wills was over. She would win! She’d
have the final say even if it meant dragging Aundair to the
doctor’s office kicking and screaming—by any means necessary.
    Eileen finished cooking breakfast and called Aundair to the
table. She got her mother a chair cushion from the utility closet,
tied the straps to the back of the chair, and lovingly placed break-
fast on the rickety old wooden table: a plate with two strips of
bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, toast—dark—and a tall
glass of orange juice. All prepared the way her mother liked.
Aundair shifted her eyes toward Eileen and exhaled. The sound
whistled about the small room. But Eileen was used to the silent
treatment. Instead of getting angry she telephoned the doctor

 8 
in front of her mom just so there was no misunderstanding that
she meant business. Despite the fact that the doctor hadn’t seen
Aundair in years, the nurse apparently sensed the urgency in
Elieen’s voice because she promised to contact the breast clinic
right away to schedule her mom a mammogram.
    The scraping sound of Aundair’s fork against the half-empty
plate caught Eileen’s attention. Her mom’s hand was gripped
tightly around the metal handle as if it were the devil’s pitchfork.
She raked her eggs across her plate from one side to the other.
Maybe her mom deemed Eileen to be her oppressor, an author-
ity figure who was stripping her of her rights. Despite how things
looked through Aundair’s fogged perspective, Eileen couldn’t
wait for her mom to submit willingly to an exam. Aundair’s eyes
rose slowly with a piercing glare.
    “Damn!” Her eyes packed fire in a chilling way.
    There had been no advanced warning to save her grandma
Martha’s life. If Aundair had cancer, they might still be able to
save her. But it was evident that her mom had raised the white
flag of surrender. Eileen understood that without immediate
treatment, cancer could spread like a wildfire. There was no
way she would sit around twiddling her thumbs in ignorant
bliss allowing that to happen. What kind of daughter would
do that?
    Thirty minutes later, Aundair returned to her bedroom.
Eileen scraped the remaining food into the trash and stood at
the kitchen sink washing the breakfast dishes and stacking them
neatly in the grooves of the plastic drying rack. The telephone
rang. Quickly, she dried her hands on the striped kitchen dish
towel, tossed it over the sink, and picked up the receiver.
    “Hello,” she said, crossing her fingers.
    “Ms. Barker,” the lady responded. “This is Doctor Legare’s
office.”
    Eileen’s eyes widened. “Yes, I’ve been waiting on your call.”
    “I’ve gotten your mother an appointment this afternoon at
the Community Breast Care clinic.”

 9
    “Thank you for working her in so quickly.” Eileen pumped
her fist with joy. She’d hoped they’d get her mom in before the
end of the month but never expected same-day service. However,
she didn’t kid herself—getting a mule to budge would be easier
than getting her mom there.
    Immediately, she called Sammy for reinforcement, and once
he arrived, Aundair didn’t stand a chance. They were confronta-
tional and intimidating as school yard bullies. But this wasn’t the
time to be polite. The stakes were much too high.
    Eileen took Aundair to the breast clinic that afternoon. As
her mother took a seat in the waiting room, Eileen stood at the
front counter and checked her in. There was a comfortable and
caring aura—light and airy—not at all what she’d expected.
Large vertical windows let in lots of sunlight. Oak chairs with
brown and mauve speckled cushions were placed along opposite
walls of the room and provided comfortable seating. Magazines
and health pamphlets were displayed in two black metal racks
screwed vertically onto the wall.
    They waited in the lobby for the medical assistant to call
Aundair. After ten minutes, a tall blond woman appeared in
the doorway in crisp white medical attire down to her white
moccasins.
    “Aundair Barker.” The lady smiled.
    Eileen stood, slipped her arm around her mom’s arm, and
helped Aundair to her feet. Arm in arm, they followed the
attendant to a small dressing room where her mother traded her
clothes for a pale green gown and white robe. Eileen had gone
back with her mom, in part to ease her fears, but also to ensure
Aundair cooperated.
    Once Aundair went into the mammography room, Eileen
twiddled her fingers, back pressed against the hall wall, smiling
as office workers and patients walked by. She prayed that the
lump was benign. Fifteen minutes later, the exam room door
opened and her mom slowly walked out. The attendant told

10 
them that the physician had to check the quality of the images
and then directed them to a small waiting area. Eileen grabbed
Aundair’s hand and led the way. They passed the time with pulp-
free orange juice, graham crackers, and Phil Donahue scrolling
across the twenty-five-inch television. Soon they were allowed
to leave.
    The mammogram was questionable for cancer, and days later
the doctor decided to do a biopsy for more information. Days
after the biopsy Eileen sat at the kitchen table reading a romance
novel and having a cup of tea in her favorite porcelain mug. It was
the first time she’d relaxed since learning of the lump. Suddenly,
the quietness of the room was interrupted. Eileen looked up, laid
her book face-down, and rushed to the telephone.
    The doctor was on the other end.
    “Is Aundair Barker there?” he asked.
    “This is her daughter, Eileen Barker.”
    “I see. Well, I need to speak with your mom for medical
reasons.”
    “She signed a release form so you can speak directly with me
about her health.”
    The doctor spoke, and the room seemed to shift a bit. Eileen
sat down at the table. Her worst fears had been confirmed:
Aundair had breast cancer. She stared at the grains in the oak
cabinet for what seemed to be an eternity after he said the words.
This was the first time she’d noticed the swelling of the wood
door below the sink. And as the physician explained the next
steps Eileen’s legs trembled.
    “I’d like to get her scheduled for chemotherapy right away.”
    “You’re certain it’s cancer?”
    “Yes. The tumor is about five centimeters in diameter and
progressive. I hope to shrink the tumor using chemotherapy and
then remove the breast. I’d like to get her in as soon as possible
to discuss my recommendations and see how she feels about it.”
    “I understand.” The mug turned slowly between her
fingertips.

 11
    “I’ll let you talk to my receptionist, and she’ll set up the
appointment.”
    “Thank you for everything, Doc.”
    The receptionist got on the phone, and Eileen made
Aundair’s appointment. After hanging up, she sat motionless,
tormented by dreadful memories of Grandma Martha’s funeral.
    Suddenly, she hurled her mug against the wall. Tea splat-
tered down the plaster like paint thrown against a canvas, and
the cup shattered into tiny pieces on the floor—useless and bro-
ken porcelain—exactly how she felt at that moment.
    Overwhelmed, she let her head fall toward the table, and
she buried her tear-soaked eyes in the bend of her arm. Why is
this happening to me? Her chest felt heavy. Her mind was singed
like blades of grass during a summer drought. Deep within
there was still life, but the diagnosis made her exterior crumble.
Seconds later a nauseous feeling overcame her, and she rushed
to the bathroom, fell to her knees, and emptied the contents of
her stomach in the toilet. She tucked her dangling hair
behind her ears and rested her hands on the white porcelain throne, as
clear liquid continued to come up. When the flow had finally
stopped, she slowly lifted herself up. Her knees cracked as her
legs straightened. Standing, she made her way across the lino-
leum to the small wooden vanity. A toothbrush and a washcloth
freshened her up instantly, but neither removed the excruciating
pain of reality tearing through her head.
    Ten minutes had passed since the doctor had rocked Eileen’s
world. Now, she exited the bathroom and walked slowly toward
her mother’s bedroom to deliver the devastating results. Eileen
entered. Aundair sat up and cleared the sleep from her eyes with
her fists. Eileen carefully explained the size of the cancerous
tumor, but Aundair’s facial expression remained the same. If only
Aundair would show some emotion, she thought. With news so
devastating Eileen wanted her to be angry, cry, or even swear--
hell, feel something—much as she did when her precious Albert

12 
had vanished. Anything but sit there quietly—a damned bump
on a log. Aundair reached in her nightstand and pulled out some
paperwork and handed the documents to Eileen.
    “A burial plot!” Eileen shrieked, and threw her arms up
high. Her beloved mother had picked out her final resting place.
“When did you buy this?”
    “Some nice man came around the other day selling them.
I just don’t want you and Sammy to be worried about all that
when I’m gone.”
    “Shit, Mom!” Every muscle in Eileen’s face strained. Was
a blood vessel about to pop? Her fist clenched. Needing some
space, she headed toward the bedroom door but turned swiftly
back toward Aundair. The woman hadn’t opened the front door
in ten years other than to feed the damn cats, and now Eileen
learned that she had welcomed a salesman with milk and cook-
ies. “You aren’t going to die, Mom! We are going to beat this!”
    “I don’t want you worried about me.”
    No fire. No fight, just a white fuckin’ flag waving in the
wind. Eileen’s hand smacked against the wall. “Damn it, Mom!”
Eileen had always watched her language around her elders but
this was one time that she wasn’t going to be a choir girl. She
walked back toward the bed, balled up the paperwork, and tossed
the wad on the floor. “That’s what I think of your damn burial
plot!” Her chest tightened. The faint feeling of her brain cut off
from oxygen bent her knees and lowered her body to the bed.
    Aundair leaned forward, touched her back gently with her
hand. “I’m just taking up space anyway, baby. There’s no sense
in my health saddling you and your brother with debt.”
    Eileen turned. “Ooh! Just stop!
    Eileen wanted to hate Aundair for hating life. But she
couldn’t. Deep down, she had her grandmother’s bleeding heart.
The feeble woman sitting on the bed needed her, even if she was
too damn blind to see it.
    That night, trying to make sense of everything, Eileen
thought about her own destiny. Cancer was probably dormant

 13
in her body, waiting to spring into the limelight. After losing
Grandma Martha to cancer, and now having Aundair diagnosed
with the disease, she couldn’t help but worry. There was cer-
tainly more to this domino than met the eye. And she’d have to
get to the bottom of it. But for now, she had her hands full with
Aundair’s reaction to receiving treatment.
    Aundair started chemotherapy that month and three months
later had her left breast removed. Afterward, Eileen and Sammy
waited on Aundair hand and foot, and while her mom’s behav-
ior still qualified her for a visit with a psychiatrist, the cancer at
least had disappeared for the time being.
    However, by early January of the following year, the cancer
had returned. Eileen was sitting in the exam room of Aundair’s
oncologist when he revealed the devastating news. There was
cancer in Aundair’s bloodstream making its rounds to her or-
gans. Eileen became dizzy and grabbed the wooden arm of the
chair. But refusing to give up, she agreed to let him try to kill
the cancerous cells with a more aggressive, experimental che-
mothera cocktail that itself could prove deadly. By the end of
the month as Aundair’s condition deteriorated, Eileen realized
the chemo had failed. In a nutshell, Aundair was going to die.
Soon, they began every attempt to make their mom’s last days as
comfortable as they possibly could.
                                                * * *
    “Ms. Wilcox!” The attendant called into the dressing room,
 “Is everything okay in there, Ms. Wilcox?”
    Eileen stood, bumped her head on the edge of the open
locker. Her hand brushed across her head. There was no blood,
and she hoped it wouldn’t bruise. “I’ll be right out.” She unbut-
toned her short-sleeved, royal-blue shirt. It slid down her shoul-
ders, and she hung it across the locker hook. Using her teeth,
she split open a toilet packet, tossed the wrapper in the can, and
cleaned the film of deodorant from beneath her arms.

14 
    “Here goes nothing.” She tossed the pad, locked the locker,
and dropped the key in the pocket of her dress pants. All she
could do was pray for the best. Eileen slipped on the powdery
pink gown and exited the small dressing room. This was no
walk through the park. Her guard was up—way up. The
mammogram would confirm if the lump in her breast was cancer.
Although time had served as a buffer since Grandma Martha’s
and Aundair’s deaths, time was of no comfort now. She had a
lump in her left breast. At three centimeters it was smaller than
her mother’s lump, but it was a lump all the same. Eileen fol-
lowed the attendant to another small room where she introduced
her to a medical technician and walked away.
    “Good to meet you, Ms. Wilcox.” The blonde with shoulder-
 sweeping hair held out her hand.
    Eileen extended her arm and took it. “Hi.” Their hands
parted and she stood momentarily and massaged her temples.
Her brain was a pincushion for her thoughts. Fear, worry,
optimism and fear again had plunged in and out her brain all day
leading up to this moment.
    She stepped deeper inside the twelve-by-twelve-foot room.
Soon she found herself shivering with her breasts completely
exposed. The huge machine linked to a twenty-one-inch monitor
breathed heat, but not enough to shake the chill off her arms.
Standing before the powerful life-changing beast, she was quietly
intimidated by its size. The medical technician asked her to step
forward. It would only take three steps to move her body there.
Yet, Eileen hesitated.
    “Are you okay, Ms. Wilcox?” The lady leaned her thin frame
against the machine.
    Eileen nodded that she was fine, took a gut-wrenching
breath, and complied.
    “Push your shoulder forward a little, Ms. Wilcox,” the
technician instructed.
    Eileen hated having a mammogram, but given her family
history, she didn’t have an option. The pain was much as she’d 

15
remembered. Her naked breast was inserted into the large, cold
machine, and her flesh was tightened down on with the force
of a pair of vice grips on a navel orange. She closed her eyes tightly
and let her mind wander.
    Eileen worked as a management analyst for the Army Corps
of Engineers. She had been in the job now for more than ten
years. Being employed by a government installation offered her
tremendous growth potential, flexibility, and security—all of
which she needed, being the sole provider for her boys.
    The arms of the machine spread apart, and the attendant
shifted her position. As the sequence repeated, she shut the
process out again. Minutes later, Eileen’s shoulder dropped. A sigh
of relief eased through her lips as the pain ceased. She
stepped backward, rubbed her breast with the palm of her hand, and
slipped the gown back up over her shoulders, grateful the
test was finished.
    “We’re all done, Ms. Wilcox. You can wait in the lobby
outside the locker room. The doctor wants to take a look at the
images to make sure they’re clear. He’ll send them to your family
physician within a week.”
    “Thank you.” Eileen headed sluggishly toward the seating
area. Déjà vu: the medical technician’s instructions, small
packages of graham crackers, three ounce plastic cups of
orange juice, and the View and four spirited ladies had replaced
Donahue on the television. The only thing missing was Aundair
in the chair next to her. Minutes later, the attendant walked in
and told Eileen that she was free to leave.
    Eileen walked back to the locker room and dressed. She
wanted to leave everything in her Heavenly Father’s hands the
way her grandma Martha would have advised. Yet, there was
no denying that she was worried the results would be positive
for cancer. Working for such a large facility she had heard
heroic stories all the time about women who survived the
disease. She’d even attended women’s programs and shook

16  
hands with ladies who’d beaten the odds and lived normal,
fulfilling lives.
    Now, walking out of the breast clinic she hoped remember-
ing their testimonies would lift her spirits. But there was no eu-
phoria or sense of relief—just dread lingering around her brain.
Why can’t I focus on the positive stories? Relish in their
triumphs. Hell, who was she kidding? As selfish as she sounded—that
was someone else’s life.

Straw Dreams Scenes

Scene 1
“Good night, Ella,” Emma replied, and as Emma’s weary head hit the comfort of the pillow, she sighed, grateful that they had made it through the first day at the farm, but as the room became pitched dark, a hopeless feeling overcame her. At first she  attributed it to the fear of the strange and unfamiliar sounds of the Jones farm at night, but amidst the darkness she realized that her concerns ran much deeper. No longer having her father as a confidant, Emma worried about their dark and dismal future, and how they’d possibly get through life with the evil one as their guide.”

Scene 2
“Your father kept this diary,” Ruth said. “And it has some pretty alarming details inside about his life.”
 Emma looked at the diary. It was old and wrinkled and looked to be covered in some sort of brown hide. She picked it up in her hands and held it close to her face, smelling the material encasing it. Then, she placed it down on her lap and slowly opened the cover. “Is there anywhere in particular you’d like me to start?” asked Emma.
Ruth reached for the book and turned about midway and then placed it back down. Emma took a deep breath and began to read. Page after page she turned, becoming more emotional with each second. She changed positions several times, but Ruth sat quietly, knowing that she needed time to absorb the scandalous lines of text.  Emma ran her fingers through her hair several times, agitated by the diary’s contents, and then chewed slightly on her bottom lip, visibly showing signs of distress.  Her obvious discomfort magnified as more details about her father’s secret life were disclosed. After about fifteen minutes, she placed the book down on the coffee table and quietly stood up to compose herself.
“Are you okay?” asked Ruth.
Emma quietly walked over to the window and looked out into the night. She was bewildered about the discovery. A part of her was happy that the big family secret was finally out in the open, but an even bigger part was angry for her whole world, as she had known it, had been a lie. The fairy-tale family she had envisioned never really existed, and her father’s diary demonstrated this.

Stop The Music Scenes

Scene 1
After about fifteen minutes Willie yelled, “Bring me another beer.”
    “I think you’ve had enough, honey,” Barb replied in a soft gentle voice. 
Brielle sat in her bed and cringed. Why couldn’t she just give him the beer so she wouldn’t get hurt? She thought. She ran to the kitchen to make sure Barb was all right. Willie was angered by Barb’s response and jumped from the chair as if it was on fire. He rushed to the kitchen were Barb was standing and with a wave of his hand smacked her across the face. 
    “When I tell you to do something you don’t ask why, you just do it!” he shouted. 
    Brielle’s heart beat faster and faster. There was no doubt in her mind that the music
would play especially loud this night.

Scene 2
    “Oh, pipe down. I’ll go home in a hour and untie them. When I’m done, I’ll even call the police. Maybe now they’ll notice me,” Dexter said. “Heck, I’ll be their knight in shining armor. A fuckin’ hero I’ll be. Dexter to the rescue!” He laughed and Brielle stood quietly in dismay. Afterwards, he passionately kissed her on the lips. Without giving it another thought, Dexter told her to get into the car and Brielle complied.

Scene 3
Around six the next morning, Brielle awoke with a pounding headache. She lay still for a moment trying to focus and then turned only to find …lying naked beside her. Brielle was aghast. She looked down at her own body and saw that her dress was also off. Frantic, she rubbed her eyes in disbelief. Unfortunately, the scene didn’t change. Oh, no! What happened? What have I done? she thought. 

This is a reconstruction of Chapter 1 text for this site. It differs in pagination from the actual novel which is in full pagination.   

                                           Chapter 1

                                           The Journey
           
         IT WAS AN EARLY spring morning, and
through the cracked window of the Greyhound bus,  
Brielle could smell the freshness of the breeze. It
caressed her face like a soft, gentle hand sweeping
slowly across her eyebrows and massaging her rosy
cheeks. For the very first time, as its coolness
seemed to soothe her soul, she felt at peace. When
the engine of the bus roared, an occasional sputter
of black smoke blew from the exhaust and encased
the rear in a dim dusty cloud. Brielle hardly budged
an inch as the blanket of darkness obstructed her
vision. Instead, she patiently waited until it began to
clear. The smoke soon resembled a block of Swiss
cheese enabling her to see only bits and pieces of
the city. She peered through the mesh of small holes
hoping not to miss anything spectacular. Soon all
the smoke cleared, providing Brielle with a perfect view.
        She sat nestled in her seat gazing out the
window at all the busy people scurrying on their
way.   Some of them trotted along the endless
sidewalks, while others sped by in brightly painted
automobiles    quickly stopping as the signal flashed 
 
2

its ruby light before them. Brielle wondered what
life had been like for many of them. Most appeared
almost expressionless as if they were just
unconsciously going about the day. Many of their
movements seemed robotic. She chuckled as she
spotted one couple whose motions we're
synchronized. It was as if they had practiced
walking in step for years. Each limb was
strategically placed in the same position at exactly
the same time. How peculiar, she thought.    
         The city was crowded, and the potpourri of
sounds was so loud that at times the noise became
almost deafening. Mesmerized, Brielle found
herself constantly studying people's expressions
from a distance. Every time the wheels of the bus
screeched to a halt, she saw it as an opportunity
to gaze upon the passersby. At one stop her eyes fell
upon a stout man sitting at the bus stop reading the
newspaper. Examining him carefully, she looked
him over from head to toe. It was as if she was a
scientist looking through a large magnifying glass,
and the city folk were her specimen. Brielle never
liked science in school and had never paid much
attention to her surroundings before, so this sudden
curiosity was amazing to her. Although on the
surface she couldn't explain it, deep down Brielle
felt excited as she speculated about the city folks'
existence, and at that moment, she couldn't tear
herself away from the gentleman at the bus stop. He
was dressed in a mechanic's uniform similar to the
one that her dad wore. It was the same shade of
faded green and covered with grease and oil. Brielle
recalled how hard her mom would scrub trying to
get the oil out of her dad's shirts. "That damned man
must have  taken a bath in oil," she'd fuss in a low

 3

tone while constantly looking over her shoulders.
She didn't dare let Brielle's dad hear her complain.
        Brielle's childhood was different from that
of most little girls. She never participated in the
things that many of them did, like sleep overs and
parties. Her dad rarely let her have company or even
play outside much. He was always afraid she'd
reveal his big family secret. Brielle, on the other
hand, was likewise afraid that someone would
discover it. Instead, she did a lot of the things that
grown-ups do, like helping with the dinner and the
other daily chores. Sometimes on weekends she'd
get up at the crack of dawn just to get an early start.
Folding the laundry was Brielle's favorite chore.
Sometimes she'd snatch her father's shirts out of the
dryer just before it stopped spinning and then cradle
them in her arms for minutes before folding them.
"Child, are you going to fold them or wear them?"
her mother would ask. Brielle would hold the warm
shirts close to her face and inhale the fragrant aroma
of the fabric softener. The shirts smelled the best
when they were piping hot. It was like standing in
the field of wildflowers down at the neighborhood
park. Brielle sometimes stopped there on her way
homefrom school, just to enjoy the fragrance. Often
she'd stand in front of the dryer and picture herself
there. Her mother always said that she had a vivid
imagination. If only they could always smell this
fresh, she thought. Strangely, it was peaceful at
home when her father's shirts smelled fresh. Some
days after her dad returned home late from his daily
ritual, the odor was unbearable, and his mood was
likewise intolerable. He would enter the house
angry and ramble on loudly for minutes. Most times  

4

Brielle knew that he didn't understand a word he
had just said. Her mom would nod her head up and
down signifying yes as he spoke, but it was clear by
her facial expression that his questions had
confused her. Still, Brielle loved her dad dearly and
always rushed to the front door to give him a hug,
even if it meant holding her breath. He'd pat her on
the head like a small puppy dog and then stumble
over to his big chair where he would plop down and
pass out cold for hours. It always made her sad to
see him in this state. When his shirts smelled fresh,
he was very attentive to her. He'd hug her so tight
that her shoulders would ache and her cheeks would
turn a pale blue. Brielle would hang on desperately
seeking every minute of his affection. She never
complained about these moments together because
they were so few and far apart. Yet, she couldn't
hide the fact that it bothered her that the odor was
more frequent than it had been in the past. In fact,
she hardly smelled the freshness of his shirts
anymore, except at the dryer.            
         Brielle's need to be loved by her father was
strong, and she tried to be near him as often as she
could. At times she would get her coloring book and
crayons and snuggle on the floor next to his feet
while he slumbered. Later that evening when he got
enough energy to get up from his chair, she would
follow him around the house. Keeping her distance,
she was careful not to appear too much like his
shadow. He seemed to become annoyed when
people watched him too closely. He never liked to
be crowded. Brielle respected that and took several
steps back when necessary.   The smelly shirt would

5 
 
hit the floor, after he ripped it off his chest, balled it
up, and tossed it across the room as if he were an
NBA pro shooting the winning shot through an
imaginary hoop. When he wasn't looking, Brielle
would rush to pick it up and put it in the laundry
basket. She knew her mom would be upset to find it
there, especially after she had just finished
vacuuming the floor. Brielle always went out of her
way to fix things if it meant they wouldn't argue
and the music wouldn't play.            
         As the bus proceeded, Brielle continued to
watch in amazement at all the similarities to her life
that she found. She speculated if there were other
women like her. As she pondered the thought
sadness crept into her big brown eyes and a tear
trickled down her honey-brown cheek. She quickly
wiped it away and glanced about the bus to see if
anyone had noticed. Comforted by the sight of the
sleepy passengers she rested her head once more
against the window. Surely there must be others like
me, she thought. If only I weren't so all alone.
        Brielle had managed to get caught up in a
life of abuse that was so overwhelming that she
simply lost sight of herself. All the hopes and
dreams she once had were squashed by her
oppressor. For years she had wanted to escape the
prisonlike environment that was created for her, but
she simply didn't know how. The thought of leaving
and being alone frightened her. She was always told
that she couldn't exist on her own, and somehow
over time she began to believe it. As a child she
loathed the abuse in her house and never believed
that she'd someday marry into it. Placing her palm
upon the glass Brielle mumbled,  "I  pray that the
rest of you soon find the strength you need.” She
was grateful to be leaving California and going to
Nevada, and Brielle hoped that she could start a
new life there.

6

        Once again the street light turned red, but
veins in her forehead began to protrude as she
concentrated on the horrible events that plagued her
mind. Her thoughts were scrambled as the visions
jumped back and forth from her childhood to her
marriage. At times the horrible images seemed to
intertwine. Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted
by a pleasurable sight. She spotted what appeared to
be a family standing huddled together at the side of
the road. Their coordinated outfits made up of navy
blue and white material made her feel that they
were a loving unit. A lot of effort went into dressing
everyone the same, she thought. She was overcome
with a warm and fuzzy feeling in the pit of her
stomach as she watched them.  Even the family’s
gestures demonstrated their affection for one
another. The mother was bent over gently brushing
some crumbs from her son’s face. Brielle expected
the youngster to shrug or turn away the way
children do when someone’s cleaning their face.
She had never met a child who actually enjoyed
having its face cleaned. She was stunned as he stood
perfectly still with a pleasant grin plastered across
his lips. “I can’t believe he didn’t fidget,” she
mumbled. Afterwards, the mother kissed the
youngster’s nose and put the handkerchief away.
The youngster then clung firmly to her legs
restraining her movement. The mother looked down
and caressed his face. It was far more affectionate
than the pats on the head that Brielle’s father would 

7

give. More amazing was the fact that she wasn’t at
all annoyed by her son’s actions. Brielle had seen
kids do this very same thing many times before, but
the parents always seemed upset by the sudden
cessation of movement.
        Brielle was even more curious about this
family now, and she continued to study them. She
quickly turned her attention towards the father, who
was openly displaying his love by cuddling his
toddler daughter tightly in his arms. Brielle watched
enviously as he placed a kiss upon the toddler’s
cheek. As the toddler shrieked with joy, Brielle tried
to remember how it felt to be loved that way. There
was so much pain in her house as a child that she
had lost touch with many of the joyous memories.
Her brain was cluttered now with the sounds of
music. She expected those loud thumping tones to
go away after she grew up, but they never did. They
seemed to follow her everywhere, sometimes
appearing at the worst moments. Brielle sighed.
“How remarkable the family appears.” She tried to
contemplate where the foursome was going, but she
didn’t have a clue. They were nothing like the
family she remembered. No, there is no comparison,
she thought. This family is special. There’s probably
only one in a million like this. 
        Anxious for a longer look, Brielle quickly glanced
up at the streetlight to make sure it was still red and then
back down at the family.  They reminded her of a portrait
she had once seen in a magazine entitled “The American
Family.”  It was the kind of family that likes baseball and
eats homemade apple pie.   It was the kind that hugs and
kisses upon exit from and arrival at the home, and one
that shares their thoughts  and aspirations at the

8

dinner table each night. I bet they even have a dog,
she thought. Yes, that’s the type of family that they
are. In fact, they are an exact replica of that portrait. 
Brielle had prayed and dreamt about having this
type of family for so many years that she was
touched by their mere presence. Her heart thumped
rapidly from the excitement, and she couldn’t take
her eyes off them. Her eyes gleamed with joy, and
although she only had them in sight for minutes, it
seemed much longer.
        The adjacent light began to shine bright
yellow and Brielle knew that it would soon be time
to go. The engine of the bus revved as if it was
about to move on, yet it sat stationary as if it was
granting Brielle the opportunity for one last look.
The family slowly began to cross the street, but
before they did, the young boy surprisingly looked
up at Brielle and smiled. He was about five years
old and displayed the most innocent and precious
smile she had ever seen. She was amazed that he
noticed her amidst the crowded bus, yet she was
overjoyed by this small gesture of kindness. “I hope
you never lose that smile,” she mumbled to herself.
“I pray that God never lets anyone take it away.”
The family proceeded across the street, and Brielle
waved slightly at the youngster. 
She continued to observe them as they
stepped up onto the curve on the opposite side. Her
view was somewhat lessened by the distance, but
the family picture was embedded forever in her
mind. When the street light turned green, the young
boy stopped and looked over his shoulder at the bus
as it continued slowly on its way. His mother stood
patiently as he watched. Not once did she seem
agitated and tug or pull him on. It was as if she
encouraged his fascination with life. She must be a
loving mother to take time out for such a small
pleasure as watching a bus, Brielle thought. How
wonderful! Relaxed, she rested her head against the
cool glass and slowly closed her eyes with pleasant
visions of the young family in her mind.

9

        The bus traveled smoothly for several more
miles, and by this time Brielle was totally limp,
almost comatose. The cool air continued to blow
through the crack in the window but she remained
asleep. Her coal-colored hair blew gently with each
surge, and although it danced upon her face it didn’t
irritate or awaken her. Brielle was finally resting.
That was why she didn’t notice when the bus pulled
into another Greyhound station and picked up
several more passengers. Brielle squirmed a bit in
her seat as an elderly lady sat down beside her but
not once did she open her eyes. Wonderful visions
of the family were still embellishing her thoughts.
        The elderly lady set her purse and Bible
down on the floor between her feet, and the bus
pulled out of the station and continued its journey.
Brielle’s body bounced and twitched as the driver
hit several potholes in the road, but her eyelids
stayed tightly closed. As she pictured the warm
embrace of the father and the little girl, she
unconsciously wrapped her arms firmly around her
chest snuggling herself in love. She felt so happy
inside, and she wanted that moment to last forever. 
        Her seatmate glanced over and smiled for
Brielle seemed totally at peace. She continued to
watch Brielle’s every movement, and although she
didn’t know the source of the young woman’s
happiness, it brought a small grin to her lips. What a
beautiful person, she thought, and then rested her
head against the seat, very careful not to awaken
the sleeping beauty.

10                

         The bus came to a screeching halt and Brielle’s
sleep and pleasurable thoughts were interrupted.
She was caught totally off guard by the shifting of
the bus. Startled, she fell forward and grasped the
seat in front of her to steady herself. Just as she did
a cool, wrinkled hand reached out and kept her from
continuing to fall forward. She glanced over at the
lady sitting beside her. Where did she come from?
Brielle immediately thought. She had no
recollection of the lady boarding the bus. Am I
dreaming? She couldn’t account for the woman’s
presence and it bothered her.
        Puzzled, Brielle quickly began thinking of
possibilities that would explain where the lady came
from.
        “Oh, my!” the lady said, a bit shake by the
movement. She smiled at Brielle and continued to
hold her just like a mother grasps its child from a
sudden shift in motion caused by the recklessness of
a fellow driver. Although Brielle was thankful for not
hitting her head, she was still bewildered. “That
was close, dear,” the woman said sweetly.
        “Thank you,” Brielle replied sincerely.
Then, she gazed down at the elderly lady’s hands
and was disturbed to see them covered with dirt. It
was evident that they hadn’t been washed for days.
Brielle quickly pulled her hand away causing the
lady’s hand to fall onto Brielle’s lap. Brielle quickly
brushed it away and then scooted backwards in her
seat. As she did, she noticed that the woman had left
a small speck of dirt upon her silk pants.

11

        “Oh, dear, I’m really sorry,” the elderly lady said as
she perceived that Brielle was unhappy with the stain.
        I can’t believe she touched me with those dirty
hands, Brielle thought. I can’t believe she’s so filthy.
She must be homeless or just poor. Why else would
she go around looking that way? I can’t believe that
she even sat beside me. Brielle felt superior to the
woman and became instantly annoyed by her presence.
She had forgotten all about the lady’s gesture of kindness.
Brielle then took out a handkerchief from her purse.
She wet the tip of it with her tongue and carefully brushed
across the dirt until it disappeared. Afterwards, she
abruptly turned away. The peaceful look that had rested
so gracefully upon her face moments earlier was now
replaced with a look for rage. 
         The elderly lady could not believe the beautiful
young woman’s reaction, but she continued to
apologize in hope that she’d be forgiven. Brielle
sat silently ignoring every word. It was as if she had
put up an invisible barricade between them. She coldly
disregarded the lady’s plea for forgiveness and pretended
that she wasn’t there. 
        Sadden by Brielle’s reaction, the lady sat back in her
seat folding her dirty hands tightly in her lap as if she
was trying to hide them. She now felt ashamed of her
appearance, and a teardrop crept from her eye. Prideful,
she wiped it away before anyone noticed. She knew Brielle’s
head would have hit the railing had she not grabbed her for
there was no way thatthe young woman could have unfolded
her arms in time. Still, she no longer felt worthy to have
helped.

 12

        Seconds passed and once again seeking some sign of
forgiveness, the elderly lady uttered, "I'm so sorry about
your pants.” 
        Brielle glanced quickly over at her and then away.
I hope she doesn't touch me again, she thought. "What
happened?" Brielle then asked the bus driver, trying to
avert the lady's attention from her. But before he
could reply, a beautiful German shepherd trotted across
the street. Brielle was sure he had caused all of the commotion.
        "Sorry folks. I didn't want to hit him," the driver yelled.
        "It's okay," Brielle replied, smiling. "He seems
more frightened than we do. I hope he'll be all
right." She was glad that the small life had been spared,
and she joyously watched the dog go safely on his way.
Now, more than any time in the past, she understood how
precious life was. At that moment there was nothing
more important to her than her freedom. 
         The elderly lady looked over and smiled. The
concern Brielle had displayed for one of God's creatures
convinced her that Brielle was a good person. She didn't
know why Brielle appeared so angry, and she couldn't
comprehend what was troubling the young woman to make
her place such importance on a small speck of dirt. Maybe
she'll find forgiveness in her heart, the lady thought. 
         The driver shook his head to gather his
composure and proceeded. As they traveled farther
out the traffic thinned, and the noise lessened with
every mile. The bus soon left the busy streets and
slowly crept up a long winding road. It was so
curved that Brielle became increasingly light-headed
with each turn. She  hadn't been this dizzy 
 
13
 
since  that day her head was slammed into the
kitchen wall. When the bus finally reached the top, a
long straightaway stood before them, and a          
strange kind of quietness fell upon the air. Brielle
couldn't explain the sensation that overcame her. It
was as if the entire population had vanished. She felt
eerie, sort of like she was actually a part of one of those
Friday night horror movies. It appeared as though everyone
had been swallowed up by a hole in the deep dark sky,
leaving only the bus and its passengers to dwell upon the
earth. The sky had gotten incredibly dark, and it was very
spooky. The elderly lady saw the disturbed look on
Brielle’s face and once again reached out to her. "Would you
like one?" she asked, handing Brielle a chocolate chip
cookie wrapped in Saran Wrap. Although chocolate chip was
Brielle's favorite, she refused. She couldn't imagine eating
anything that the lady had touched.  Besides, the woman
only had two, and Brielle speculated that by the looks of things,
she needed them more.
        After putting the cookies away, the elderly lady wiped
her hand on her pants in an attempt to remove the dirt
and extended it to Brielle for support. Doesn't she
ever quit, Brielle thought.
        "It's okay, dear," the woman said in the most soothing
manner. "Please, let me help you." Annoyed, Brielle turned to
verbally assault her but became startled. As Brielle gazed into
the eyes of the woman, she saw a vision of herself. She then realized
why she had been so angry. This fragile figure before her could easily
be her someday. Brielle had been afraid of being poor.  This was one

 14

of the reasons she had stayed in the marriage for so many years.
Frightened by the possibility, Brielle began to tremble.
        “Oh, my,”the elderly lady said. “Are you cold, dear?”
Brielle looked quietly at her seatmate. Miraculously, instead
of tuning her out, she actually listened to what the elderly
lady was saying. The woman’s voice was soft as a
whisper. Somehow, Brielle had been so distracted by the
dirt before that she hadn’t noticed. Her words were
compassionate and kind. And although the words at
times rolled off her trembling lips choppily, they entered
Brielle’s ears with ease. Brielle sensed a strange
connection with her. She looked intensely at the
woman’s dress, which was faded, torn, and missing
several buttons. She glanced down at her shoes. They
were covered with mud and contained a small slit that
her big toe frequently peeped out of. Even the jacket of
her Bible was torn and curled up at each end. Brielle
looked at her stained handbag. Every particle in
the universe appeared to be upon it. It was evident that it
had not been cleaned in years and was impossible to tell
what color it had originally been. None of this seemed to
matter to the elderly lady as she pulled the purse out of the
aisle by the strap hanging onto only one side and placed it
back between her feet. The gray in her hair had also
yellowed, adding years to her appearance.
That poor lady must be miserable, Brielle thought, and
a teardrop fell from the corner of her eye. She didn’t
understand how the feeble and poor lady could be
so concerned about her well-being.
 
15
           
         After severely critiquing the elderly lady’s
garments, Brielle looked again at her face expecting
to see an expression of distress and anguish. But
something altogether different happened. It was
obvious that Brielle was stunned because her mouth
hung wide open. Despite all the lady’s flaws and  an
obvious impoverished exterior, she bore a big bright
smile. It was the nicest smile Brielle had ever seen,
and the sight of it warmed her cold heart. This
small fragile lady had captured the ray of the sun and
the gleam of the rainbow with all its wondrous magic
and beauty between her teeth. Her face lit up, and
Brielle could see that the elderly lady’s smile bore no
falsities, just affection. At that moment even her
outward appearance escaped Brielle’s immediate
attention. Nothing else but the lady’s presence seemed
to matter. Brielle could now see that there was a much
deeper beauty hidden inside.
        She stared at the silk pants she was wearing and
her matching designer shoes. Then, she gazed
down at the Perry Ellis handbag sitting neatly by her
side. An emptiness engulfed her body as she rubbed
her fingertips across the flawless two-carat diamond
perched cozily upon her finger. Regardless of all her
material possessions, she hadn’t been happy. Even
with all her baubles and trinkets she hadn’t smiled
similarly to the elderly lady in years. Brielle looked
again and was amazed at the image before her. She
saw not gray hair but wisdom; not torn clothing
but character; not damaged shoes or dirty hands but
feet and hands that had no doubt worked hard
serving others for many years. Brielle gazed down
at the elderly lady’s hand now slightly shaking from
the tired muscles that had held it in place. Although
it was still painted with a film of dirt, Brielle place
her hand gently on top of it and smiled. A ray of
sunlight burst through the window of the bus at
that moment. And as it shined brightly upon the
woman's skin, Brielle saw her in a totally different light.
 
16

        "Don't worry about the stain," she said kindly, "it’s
only clothing." Somehow it no longer mattered. 
         The lady smiled sweetly at Brielle. And although Brielle
didn't know anything about the elderly lady's past, her curiosity
was no longer piqued. The lady's presence was simply enough. 
        The bus soon ventured down a long deserted road, but
Brielle felt safe as she clutched tightly onto the elderly lady's
hand. The woman soon fell asleep, and in an attempt to comfort
her, Brielle took out the cashmere sweater from her carryon
bag and covered the lady with it. Afterwards, she watched
intensely out the window as the dust blew briskly across the
fields and the tiny brittle plants shook from the vibrant wind.
At one time Brielle felt similar to those tiny plants-all dry,
brittle, and shriveling up more with each passing day.
"Mm?" she sighed. With her face pressed against the
window she continued to think about her past.
Brielle was so far in thought that nothing disturbed her.
The major imperfections in the road nor the small
bumblebee that sat stationary on the edge of the
glass didn't cause her to react. Brielle merely looked
at the bee in awe. Maybe at some time in her life
she might have been frightened. Perhaps at one
point in the past she would have even screamed or
attempted to smash the life out of the insect. Brielle
was thankful for her own freedom and so humbled by
the kindness of her seatmate that she simply glanced
pleasantly at it. Like he did the elderly lady, 

17

God put it on earth for a reason, she surmised. It
also deserved to be unharmed. Neither was intimidated
by the other or made a threatening move. "What beautiful
colors you have?" Brielle declared. The bumblebee
suddenly flew away. Brielle smiled, for such small
displays of beauty pleased her now.
        Brielle couldn't wait to get to Nevada and exit the bus.
Maybe I can finally put those horrible years
behind me, she thought. Hopefully I can forget all the pain
and start a new life. Periodically she gazed about at the
other passengers. Many of them, like the old lady, had fallen
asleep. With nothing left to do she became restless. She
closed her weary eyes and quickly faded off to sleep with
pleasant thoughts about her future in her mind. Everything
appeared to be okay at first, but like the many times before,
Brielle was unable to totally escape her past. The horrible
memories kept invading her thoughts. Her slender frame
became tense. The veins in her face surfaced, and her
fists clutched tightly into balls. She began to squirm
fiercely in her seat as she became haunted
by the memories of the music and where it all
began.