Free Fall (Revision)

Free Fall
By: Claire Bendig

I was falling. Failing. Falling. Failing. My limps spread out in an attempt to parachute through the white sky. Scared. Sky. My cheeks were pinned out, spit hitting my eyes. Nose. Lips. Lashes. The sway of my cot under the ship deck knotted my stomach and I searched for comfort. My mother’s face appeared in the distance, hands clutching a wrinkled letter. I desperately sought out. il Mama! Hands. Imeh! Touch. Her eyes looked past me and I turned, my throat tight. I begged to not let go, Shakraan! Shakraan! I heard the horn of the ship that was to take me from Lebanon to Ellis Island and watched as my own body waved from the deck.

I stared out at the window in front of me and watched the sky swirl with dark, thundering clouds. The streets were empty, glowing dully by the yellow street lamps. The sidewalks were wet from last night’s rain and the smell of cement wafted towards me. I could see the face of the boy who insisted he was my son yesterday. He said his name was George or Harry, I did not know what to believe. He looked so disappointed and my heart hung heavy in my chest picturing his eyes welling up with a pool of my own mistakes.

“There you are! You were supposed to be in the dining rooms an hour ago, Elaine. Derek is waiting for you,” a woman with curly hair appeared beside me, a hand on my boney shoulder. Her name tag read Joanna and I suppose I’ve met her before.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I responded. I pulled my robe tightly across my chest and followed Joanna out the door. I glanced back at my room as we left and saw a plaque on the door. It read Elaine Richardson. I assumed that was my own name since it was attached to my room. I thought that Richardson seemed like an odd name for a Lebanese woman.

We walked down a linoleum hallway. The ground was comforting in its familiarity. I proudly recognized all of its lines and smudges. I had a connection with the ground beneath me. When walking, my chin was always tucked down, eyes drifting to my toes. I had more time to think when I looked at the ground; I had less eyes to look into and less smiles to mimic.
Joanna nudged me to a table and I sat down. She handed me a glass of water and a plastic cup of pills. Each pill was a different color; I called them anger, sadness, and happiness. I swallowed them in one go and looked around the room.

Nine Tables. I counted nine tables, three occupied by grey and wrinkled. One grey man was in a blue suit similar to my daughter’s husband’s suit. I remember him wearing it to take my daughter to her first school dance, we spent all morning pinning up that wild mane of hers. There were two women in the corner. They wore blue, paper uniforms similar to Joanna’s.

“Elaine,” I turned around to see a bald man with long arms and a wide smile. I knew this man. He was familiar with his familiar clean scent and familiar chipped teeth.

“So good to see you again,” I exclaimed, I held out my hand and he kissed it softly. I didn’t have a clue who he was, perhaps he was my doctor or a brother I forgot about.

“How are you doing today?” He looked like a kind man. “Did you have anything to eat with your pills?” Now that he mentioned it, my stomach was sloshing uncomfortably.

“Could you fix something up for me, Dear?” The man nodded and brushed my hair back. I could feel the frizz around my neck, it was straw.

The man and Joanna whispered, glancing over at me. I nervously fiddled with my night gown and remembered when my father explained to me that I had to leave Lebanon for good. He explained to me that I was to marry a nice man in America. My father’s face was stoic, but his eyes were grieving. He handed me the letter with the wedding arrangements and I remember crumbling it. It was the first time I yelled at my parents. I stared off to the middle of the table at the pile of crumpled mail until steam wafted into my face.

The kind strangers returned with a plate of steaming mashed potatoes. I hated mashed potatoes, they reminded me of the sludgy snow that would pile up on my porch in Michigan. I’d wake up early before the children to clear that porch and for what good? One of the children always ended up slipping. I dipped my fingers into the potatoes, swirling them. The man wrapped my hands around a spoon. It was cold like the snow. I looked up finally, my lips covered in sweet butter and gritty starch. My eyes fixed onto the man’s chest. He was wearing a visitors name tag.

It read Derek Richardson.

My hands began to shake and soon I’m falling. Was this man my husband? Why
did he not look familiar, surely I’d remember the man I had been married to since I was fifteen years old. Mama and Papa had arranged a marriage with a distant cousin in American and sent me to him when I was only fourteen. Surely, I’d remember the face of the man I grew to adore.


“Elaine, do you remember me?” He took my hand I looked at his wedding band. I remember us working day and night at the local butcher to afford our home. It wasn’t until I was twenty four, when we bought proper wedding bands. He insisted that we had ours engraved. I took his hand and twisted the ring searching for the initials.

E. R. was etched on the bottom. My heart thudded with the prospect of knowing the man before me. I smiled widely and threw my arms around him.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Oh, my sweet Elaine.” He tilted my head up and our lips touched. I opened my eyes and yelped, stumbling backwards.

“Get him away!”

“Elaine, I’m so sorry!” He put his hands up and stepped backwards.

“Who are you? Don’t touch me! Haven’t you ever learned that its disgraceful to touch a married woman!” A woman with curly hair and a name tag that read Joanna came up to me. She guided me to the corner of the room and sat me down on a couch.


“Joanna, who was that man!”

“That was your husband, Elaine.”

“il Mama would never let me marry someone so old.” How could she think that I would be with such an old man? I was only sixteen years old. “I really think someone should escort him away.” I put my hands on my lap and looked down at my hands. They were wrinkled and covered in liver spots. I reached up and felt my face, the skin was soft and delicate and full of creases. I looked across the room at the man’s back as he walked out of the room.

I was falling. Failing. Falling. Failing. My limps spread out in an attempt to parachute through the white sky.

I heard the screams on my first child and pulled him to my chest, desperately scanning his face for abnormalities. He was perfect. He was smarter than I could ever dream of and worked in Detroit’s Ford Industry everyday. He had two sweet babies that called me Nana. They were blue eyed darlings.

I was lying in the middle of the living room floor. My dear child Emma was playing on the piano and my youngest Gregory was dancing around the room, bless his soul he loved to move. The children were filling the room with a flourish of sound and I could hear Derek fixing up some drinks to celebrate the opening of our very own butcher shop.
I loved animals, I collected them to comfort me. I left out dishes of milk for the alley cats, had a yard of chickens, and two dogs. The daily stripping of cow flesh made me sick and I refused to eat meat. Only when I felt sad did I continue to eat lamb because it reminded me of my grandmother’s grapeleaves.

I tasted the spices of cumin on my tongue and the sharp mint of Tabuleh against my teeth. The continuous process of folding grape leaves with lamb and rice took me back to a childhood where il Mama would scold me to keep the grape leaves tight. I’d make them for my children to bring me back to the memories of my childhood home.

I pressed on the empty flesh on my stomach, longing for warmth of my home cooking. I looked across the table at Derek and he handed me a takeout box of Grapeleaves. I smiled at him and gobbled them like they were the pills to my sanity. We smiled at one another and I felt completely content with accepting that it was my husband across from me.

“It seems like you are feeling good today, Elaine.” I smiled and swallowed my next bite.
“Today has been better than most. I wrote you a letter earlier this morning, in case I forget.” I handed Derek the crumpled paper in my robe pocket.

Derek unfolded the letter and leaned back in his chair. His eyes glossed over after a few minutes. He set down the letter and stared at it.

“You don’t want the children to come visit you anymore?”

“It would be selfish to have them come here. Most days I don’t know who you are or even who I am. Soon I won’t remember anything, the bad days will be every day.”

“But the children won’t want to just leave you.”

“I’d rather their image of me be when I have a touch of sanity. Bring the children on a good day and then we will say our goodbyes.”

“Wouldn’t that be too painful, dear?”

“I’ve said my goodbyes before.”

“You don’t have to always be so strong.”

“I’m begging you.”

“Okay, my Elaine.”

Derek stood up and kissed my forehead, brushing away the tears that curved down my face. He pulled me close and when we let go, my husband was replaced with an older, bald man. He had the same green eyes as my husband, but was decades older.

“Doctor, I’ve been sitting here all day waiting for my pills! I don’t have all day!” How could this man be paid for standing around? The man straightened up and smiled sadly at me.
“I’m so sorry for the wait, I’ll got get you your pills now.”

“Shakraan.” I smiled and leaned into the back of my chair. I watched as the familiar figure walked out of the room and wondered why I left like I was falling.