Short Story / The Blossoming (Analysis)
Suzanne
It was the winter of 1984 when it happened. That was the year I went to the Summer Olympics in Los Angeles with my mother, Reagan beat Mondale for the presidency, and I gave birth to my first and only child. I was only sixteen at the time and I had no idea how I was going to get by. Looking back I wish I could do it all over again.
The man who impregnated me disappeared when I told him I was expecting. When I went to his dorm room to find him in my third trimester, his roommate told me he moved back home to Boston. I haven’t seen him in twenty-two years. Lucky for me, my mother took charge of everything and helped me get through the pregnancy. I don’t know what I would have done without her.
After high school, I studied philosophy and the arts at Columbia University. I eventually received my Masters of Arts and took a job working for the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. I never married and I lived alone in an upscale flat in Queens for almost fifteen years. And even though my life has always been empty in a way that can’t be described, I was for the most part happy. That all changed two months ago.
John
“John. John. Can you hear me, John?”
I opened my eyes to see a well-groomed man who appeared to be a doctor standing over me.
“What’s going on… where am I?”
“Just try to relax, John. You’re at St. Bart’s Hospital.”
“Where am I?”
“St. Bart’s Hospital,” the doctor said slowly. “How do you feel?”
“My head hurts.”
“Just breathe deep and relax. We’ve got to run some tests on you now that you’re awake,” the doctor informed me.
“How come I can’t move?”
“Because you’ve broken a lot of bones, John. You’re in a full body cast but don’t worry about any of that right now.”
My head was pounding and my mind was like mush.
“How did this happen? How come I can’t remember anything?”
“All the answers will come in due time, John. Just relax.”
“No, I want to know now,” I shouted, my eyes filled with tears of despair.
“Okay, okay,” he said, walking to the side of the bed and putting his hand on my arm to comfort me. “You were on Interstate 79 and were apparently cut off by a semi-truck. Your SUV rolled eight times before smashing into the median. The Jeep was totaled but lucky for you an ambulance was only a mile or so behind you. They saved your life.”
Right when he said Jeep I knew.
“Oh my… I was with Ayden. How is he?”
“Not good, I’m afraid. He is in a coma. Now I am going to give you something to help you relax and take your mind off of things. And don’t worry, everything is going to be okay.”
Amnesia is a weird thing. Now that some time has passed I can remember bits and pieces of the accident but I’ll never forget lying in that bed and not remembering a damn thing. All I could do was wonder how badly Ayden was hurt or where my mother was or how long I’d been knocked out for.
Suzanne
Two months ago, on a visit to the doctor, I was diagnosed with an advanced form of Pulmonary Fibrosis. I was given two years to live. I originally made an appointment because I couldn’t shake this cough I’d had. Little did I know it was the symptom of a terminal disease.
The first thing I did was take an early retirement from the museum. They were very sympathetic to my situation. I had a moving company pack up my things and move me back home to Buffalo. I spent the first couple of months in my new apartment feeling sorry for myself. I cried a lot, cursed God, and Google’d my disease every day. Some afternoons I would drive to the Alleghany Forest and wander through the woods without aim. My only solace on those days was my surroundings. I particularly loved the way the balsams smelled when it rained, or the way butterflies danced on the air, or the way the wild daisies blossomed towards the sun.
On one of those trips to Alleghany I was sitting on at the peak of a small mountain watching the clouds roll in and out of the firmament. I began to think about all the regrets in my life, things that had been buried deep. It was on that day that I decided to make something right that had been wrong for so many years. A few days later I found myself on the steps of my mother’s doorway.
My mother looked surprised to see me as she invited me in.
“How are you feeling today? Would you like some tea?” she asked as I sat down at the coffee table.
“I’m here today to tell you something very important. It requires your full attention.”
“I’m listening,” she replied hastily, turning to look at me with condescending eyes.
Wasting no time, I told her, “I want to find my son.”
John
The hospital bed became my own personal prison; my thoughts tormented me as I struggled to remember what happened. The first time I saw my mother after the accident she spent the whole time crying. She shed so many tears that I wondered if something else was going on. My father spent my entire respite looking at me with sorrow and disappointment. I asked what was wrong but received no response. I got a weird feeling that they knew something I didn’t but I had no inkling of what it was.
One day, a man in a casual charcoal grey suit came in and pulled up a chair next to me. He introduced himself as Sergeant Bryant. He asked me numerous questions about the night of the accident but I couldn’t answer any of them because I simply could not remember.
After ten minutes of talking in circles, he asked, “Do you know who was driving that night, you or Ayden?”
“I don’t remember,” I answered, annoyed by his tenacity.
“The paramedics say you were the one driving that night. Can you think of any reason why you’d be driving Ayden’s car?”
I didn’t understand what he was getting at. I wasn’t going to be able to walk for weeks and Ayden was still in a coma. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why this was so important.
Suzanne
The whistling of the tea kettle sent shivers down my spine as I waited for my mother to reply to what I said. Silence filled the room like smog as she poured us both a cup of Egyptian Chamomile and took a seat at the table across from me.
Sipping from her cup, she glared at me and said, “What do you propose to say to him when you find him? What will you tell him? That you’re dying. That you’re sorry for abandoning him.”
“I didn’t abandon him, Mother.”
“Sure, you know that, but does he? Do you think it’s fair for him to meet his real mother who only has a couple of years to live? Do you think it’s fair to the adoptive parents? Have you thought about anybody but yourself?”
“You know what? I didn’t expect you to accept this with open arms but I did expect you to be a little supportive. Yes, Mother, I am dying. You don’t need to keep bringing that up, I know. And it’s my dying wish to see my only son before I go.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t support something I don’t agree with.”
“And why don’t you agree with it?”
“Because it’s not fair.”
“Don’t talk to me about fair, Mother. What’s not fair is you making me give my son away twenty-two years ago and now you want to sit there and judge me and tell me it’s not fair to find him. What if he knows he’s adopted? What if he wants to see me?”
“Let me ask you something since you think I’m this awful person who forced you to give your son up for adoption,” she said, setting her cup down abruptly. “What would you have done had you kept him? Where would you have lived? How would you have supported him? I only made the decision to give up your son because you could not. You didn’t know what to do but you damn sure didn’t want to wait tables the rest of your life. And look at you now. You’re a Columbia University graduate and worked in the city at one of the most prestigious museums in the world. You had every opportunity after the adoption and you made the most of it.”
“And not a day goes by that I don’t regret it all. I would give up all of those years at Columbia and the museum to spend one day with my son.”
“Well, then, so be it,” she said hastily, standing up and looking out the kitchen window. “I refuse to take responsibility for this. If you must find your son, then just do it, and leave me out of it.”
I left my mother’s house in tears that day but something inside me changed. Even though I didn’t have her blessing, I felt revitalized and motivated to find my son.
After contacting the adoption agency it only took a couple of days to find him. I was saddened to learn that he had been in some kind of car accident. He had been at the St. Bart’s Hospital in Pittsburgh for over a month. I packed my things and left for Pennsylvania the next day.
John
I was finally out of my full body cast and only had a week left in the hospital when Sergeant Bryant returned for a second visit. He came in with two other officers and stood at the end of the bed to address me.
“Now that you are getting better we have some matters to discuss. The night you came to the hospital you had a blood alcohol level 0.2. And according to reports from the paramedics you were the one operating the Jeep the night of the accident.”
I still couldn’t remember a thing about that night and I definitely didn’t like where this conversation was leading.
“I’m sorry to tell you that you are under arrest for the death of Ayden Tenet. He passed away last night. You are being charged with involuntary vehicular homicide and driving under the influence. These are both serious offenses and I suggest that you look into getting a lawyer. You will stay here for the remainder of the week and then be brought to county for attainment. I’m going to read you your rights…”
As Bryant stood there addressing me, my whole body went numb. I felt sick in a way that is indescribable. My hands began shaking violently and I was so sad that I couldn’t even shed a tear. I couldn’t believe that Ayden was dead. He was my best friend for over fifteen years and I would never see him again. I didn’t even care so much about the arrest; all I could focus on was Ayden.
I wish that I could remember that night. It wasn’t like me to drink heavily and drive but from time to time I’d have a couple of beers and drive home, but I never drove home drunk. Never.
I spent the next two days thinking about Ayden. I remember being six years old and meeting him in kindergarten. I remember fishing on Lake Lure, learning to play basketball with him, and riding our bikes all over the neighborhood. In high school, we played football together, took the same classes together, and were practically inseparable. Ayden was my best friend and I would trade my life for his in a second.
Suzanne
I drove all day to Pittsburgh and checked into a hotel a mile away from the hospital. I stayed up all night thinking about what I would say to my son. The next morning, I went to St. Bart’s.
The agency told me that they had contacted the adoptive parents and told them that I was coming. Still, I didn’t know what to expect as I took the elevator to the third floor. Walking up to the counter, I asked the nurse for the room number.
“What’s the name of the patient, ma’am?”
Looking at the name I had written on a slip of paper, I replied, “Ayden Tenet.”
“I’m sorry, but Ayden is no longer a patient here.”
“What do you mean?” I asked curiously, assuming he’d been transferred to a different hospital, or better yet, he was out.
“According to this,” the nurse said, reading from the computer, “Ayden succumbed to his injuries two days ago. I’m very sorry, ma’am.”
“Oh God, no,” I blurted as sadness drowned my body. I was embarrassed by my reaction but could not control it. I began trembling and crying erratically.
The nurse stood up from her chair and came around the counter to comfort me.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d take it so hard. Are you a friend or a relative?”
“I’m his mother,” I muttered, nearly hyperventilating.
“No, you can’t be. Mrs. Tenet already filled out all the paperwork.”
“You don’t understand. I’m his biological mother. I drove from New York to see him.”
“Oh, I had no idea,” she said compassionately, as she led me to a plush couch along the wall.
Before I could sit down I began coughing profusely. I hadn’t had a fit in a couple of weeks and this was one of the worst ones I’d had to date.
“Are you okay, ma’am? Please, have a seat, I’ll get you some water.”
As I continued to cough stridently I was thankful that the hospital was fairly empty with the exception of an elderly couple and a police officer down the hall.
Finally, the symptoms subsided and the nurse returned. She sat down next to me and attempted to comfort me. I accepted her condolences and tried to come to terms with what had just transpired.
“If you’re up to it, his friend John is in room 347 down the hall. He was with Ayden the night of the accident.”
“Really,” I responded. I didn’t know what I’d say to him but I’d come this far so I figured why not. After attending to myself in the washroom, I made my way to room 347. As I entered the room I saw a handsome young man, bedridden and looking out the window.
“John,” I said softly.
“Yes,” he responded, focusing his attention on me.
“I know that you don’t know me but I was wondering if I could take up a few minutes of your time.”
He nodded.
“I understand that you knew Ayden?”
“I did,” he said hesitantly.
“This is going to sound weird but did he ever tell you that he was adopted?”
“He did…”
I began to weep softly as I said, “I am Suzanne, his mother.”
He immediately sat up and seemed pleased to see me.
“Please come in and have a seat.”
John explained to me everything that had happened regarding the accident and for the most part I just sat back and listened. I wasn’t troubled by how it had happened, after all, nothing could bring Ayden back.
“Tell me what Ayden was like. Was he happy? Funny? Smart?”
“He was all those things and more,” John said smiling. He then proceeded to tell me everything he could about Ayden, be it good or bad. I spent the better part of my afternoon there.
I left the hospital that night bitterly content. I was overwhelmed with grief about his passing but John gave me something that I’ll never forget. He gave me Ayden. He brought my son to life in a way that I never thought possible. And I like to think that I gave him the opportunity to make amends for what happened. Whether he thinks that way or not, I’ll never know.
John called me at home a few months later to let me know he was okay. The Tenet family decided not to press charges for Ayden’s death but he still did some community service for the DUI. After a short conversation, he asked me for my address and told me he had something I needed to see.
A week later, a small box arrived on my doorstep. I opened the box slowly, taking in the moment. It was Ayden’s journal and one of the pages was flagged. On the marked page it read:
I often wonder about my real parents and what they were like. I found out that my mom was only sixteen when she had me. I’m glad to know that she gave me up for adoption because she was so young and not because she didn’t want me. I hope to some day meet her. Yesterday, I was at the park and I caught a whiff of some daisies and for some reason it reminded me of her. I know I’ve never met her but I like to think that maybe she is a gardener. And that maybe when she’s tending to her flowers, she daydreams about me. One thing is for sure, every time I see a daisy I think of her. I wonder if she ever thinks of me, too.
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