My family and I live in Edmond, OK where I have been employed by the University of Central Oklahoma for the past five years. Edmond and Oklahoma City are connected not only by an invisible line across the highway, but by the people who live and work here. We remember and honor the survivors of not only the 1995 Bombing, but also those who continue to survive covert, personal attacks, the affects of which they have been forced to hide. I am one such survivor.

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Hannah

…for all who survived

With her hand still numbly holding the open door, Hannah’s eyes stared at the raindrops dripping off her umbrella. She ignored the thoughts that nagged at the back of her head, wishing she could shake them off as easily as she shook the umbrella she was clutching.  The raindrops pooled at her feet, capturing Hannah’s blank stare as she watched the puddle grow and change shape. It wasn’t until a pair of wet, black shoes hurried through accompanied by, “Excuse me; nasty weather isn’t it?” that Hannah broke her gaze, released the door, and stepped into the lobby to close her umbrella.

A cursory glance at the crowd of familiar faces acknowledged the occasional smile as Hannah sidestepped anyone who might detain her. Slipping into the ladies’ room, she drew a deep breath and hurried past the row of stalls, looking for feet under the doors. One pair of basic black pumps shifted positions, urging Hannah to duck into the first vacant stall.  Sliding the lock into place with a metallic click, Hannah exhaled a muffled, shuddering sigh, leaned her head against the door and listened. There was a quick stop at the sink, before the shoes clicked their way back into hall, leaving Hannah alone.

“It’s not safe…. We’re not safe. ” The words echoed through Hannah’s thoughts, bouncing off well-worn memories that hid behind the pulse pounding in her ears.

Hot tears mixed with cool dampness from the falling rain.  Their saltiness lingered on her tongue as she bit her lip. Hidden from the faces a few feet away, Hannah sat down on the toilet and let the tears flow. How ironic it was, she thought, that only when she was alone could she really hear this never-ending barrage of memories and voices inside her own head?

Hidden inside her mind where few could or would ever be granted access, lived a variety of parts, like reflections from one mirror into a wall of other mirrors. Various ages tumbled over each other in a panic. One cried because she didn’t understand what was happening. Another trembled in fright. Her twin hid within the shadows that stretched into the darkness. Hannah could feel the fear expressed by her younger voices and the anger that was building around it. The young frightened voices were not alone. Among the group of older personas the debate over how best to handle this crisis gathered volume.

“Just breathe slowly…in-out-in-out.”

“Forget the breathing! Let’s just get out of here!”

“Running away isn’t going to solve anything. We have to go out there and prove that we’re stronger than this!”

“We aren’t stronger than this. We aren’t even strong enough to get out of this stall.”

“This isn’t helping. Everyone be quiet before she starts ripping her arms open again.”

“Too late! Look at her; she’s already started.”

Hannah looked down at her arm. The reddened tracks displayed where she had clawed at her skin, raking her fingernails across tissue that had already been scarred from previous episodes. Drops of blood settled into a haphazard polka dot pattern in a jagged tear.

“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?”

“Great…quotes from Macbeth! Ancient literature isn’t going to help us with this mess.”

“Shakespeare’s too old. We should post it on the internet as modern morbid!”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Stop it, all of you! If no one has any helpful suggestions, just shut up. We’ve got to handle this before she makes it worse.”

Hannah tore off a length of tissue, mopped her face, and tossed the soggy, mascara-blackened wad into the toilet. She watched it circle the bowl and disappear as it was sucked into the drain. Her shaking hand unlocked the stall door. Cautiously, Hannah stepped out and scanned the room to make sure she was still alone. The unoccupied sinks were only a few feet away and the stall doors all stood ajar. Taking a deep breath, Hannah watched her black shoes walk toward the sink and stop in front of the closest basin.

How odd her hand looked against the chrome as she turned on the water.   The faucet spilled cool water into the basin, and Hannah turned her wrists into the flow. As the red blood melted into the stream of water, Hannah’s heated pulse began to slow its panicked race. The arguing stopped. The cacophony was calmed. The crying soon followed suit. By the time the bleeding was abated, only one tiny, sing-song voice remained.

“Rain, rain come and stay. Little Hannah cannot play. Everyone is hurt today.”

One by one, the silenced voices retreated past the little girl stomping in the rain puddles and singing her rhyme. As the last one slipped into the dark shadows, the little girl turned her face into the rain and lapsed into silence.

Hannah was uncertain how long she had stood at the sink staring at the stream of water. Cupping her hands, she took a drink and then ran her wet hands through her hair. Her scars reflected in the mirror, showing off their discoloration and jagged edges. Her usual excuse that they were the result of a childhood accident would not cover the newly torn flesh today.  Hannah turned off the water, pulled her sleeve down to cover the wound, and stared into the reflection of her coffee-colored eyes trying to make sure she had hidden the frenzied faces of fear that lived there. She could not leave this room until the veneer was back in place.

Beyond the bathroom door there were hundreds of familiar faces. Most had come to expect Hannah’s periodic eccentricities and odd behavior. A certain degree of social deviation was generally tolerated, but Hannah knew that there was an invisible line that separated what society would accept as unique and eccentric from behavior that would stamp her crazy and dangerous.

Hannah shook her head at the irony and impossibility of it all. Drying her hands, she reached into her purse and grabbed her makeup case as she heard the bathroom door open. Hannah quickly patted foundation over her nose and under her eyes before the new pair of black pumps turned the corner. Nodding at the acquaintance that quickly brushed past her, Hannah completed her facial touch-up then gently dabbed her arm, hiding the physical evidence of her inner pain. With a twist of the cap, she dropped the bottle back into her purse and practiced her smile in the mirror. As she left, she listened to her own black pumps making the typical click, click, click on the tile floor, unaware that the makeup bottle had deposited a small drop of foundation on her uniform black shoe and gravity was sculpting it into the shape of a tiny tear drop.

story by catherine walls, all rights reserved

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