A Stranger Here (CA - Mark)
Quote from Kaqurei on July 29, 2022, 3:20 pmTwenty-eight years ago, the same year we put a man on the moon, we also took some of our first fledgling steps towards removing the stigma of talking about death, and understanding the grieving process. Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross attempted to model it. The Kübler-Ross model has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance. It's a lovely model. But it's also flawed.
Grief is not a linear process. We don't pass seamlessly from denial to acceptance, like a road trip from Point A to Point Z. It's more like a trip you never planned to take. You get a call, and your world changes forever. You stuff your most important possessions into a suitcase, jump in the car, and go. And about twenty miles down the road, you realize you forgot your wallet. And your toothbrush. So you have to go back and start again. And then thirty miles down the road, your tank runs out of gas. And you're still thirty miles from the nearest station. So you get out, you grab your gas can, and you walk. And you keep walking. You keep walking because you have no choice.
It's a lonely road, travelled by too many, and spoken of by too few...
Dr. Weston set down his pen and closed the journal. He leaned forward on the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. Drew in a deep breath. Held it there in his lungs, until it started to burn. Then, slowly, he let it out through his mouth and opened his eyes. The sun greeted him cheerfully. He looked out the window. It was a clear, bright August morning. From his second-story hotel room, he could hear a robin twittering away to its mate in the tree just outside. A couple of cars drove by on the street. A normal, beautiful day.
He supposed the world had the right to keep on spinning. Eventually, his would too. But it would never be the same again. For now he'd taken leave from his practice in Pinerich. He meant to have gone back by now. It was only supposed to be a few weeks. Help his sister and brother-in-law get through the funeral. Support them as they made painful decisions, like whether to pack her belongings away in the garage, or leave her bedroom a holy sanctuary with everything just the way she'd left it that fateful Saturday. Whatever they did, he assured them, it would be the right thing to do, so long as it was the right thing for them. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There are no rules on this road. Don't hurry. The road is long.
May 10th, 1997. Three months ago. The day the world as he knew it changed forever. The night he'd gotten the phone call from his sister, the moment she told him that his niece was dead... it was the blackest night of his life. He wasn't sure the sun would ever rise again. It did, of course, the next morning, right on schedule. But the world still seemed just a little bit dimmer. One of the brightest lights he'd ever known had snatched right out of life, in her prime, with so much of a future ahead of her, so much still left to do in this world. And then she was gone, just like that. Just like blowing out a candle.
His head ached. He pushed on the desk to roll his chair backward. Pulled open a drawer. Fetched the Tylenol. It never did much for his migraines... but it was something. He'd run out of his prescription medication about a month ago. Still hadn't gone to pick up his refill.
It could wait.
He swallowed the pills dry and stood, after a moment. Went to the window and closed the old fashioned curtains. The happy little sun was stabbing his brain through his eyeballs, and the melody of the robin was a jackhammer into his skull. He was nauseous. He'd go to bed. Try to sleep it off.
Twenty-eight years ago, the same year we put a man on the moon, we also took some of our first fledgling steps towards removing the stigma of talking about death, and understanding the grieving process. Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross attempted to model it. The Kübler-Ross model has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance. It's a lovely model. But it's also flawed.
Grief is not a linear process. We don't pass seamlessly from denial to acceptance, like a road trip from Point A to Point Z. It's more like a trip you never planned to take. You get a call, and your world changes forever. You stuff your most important possessions into a suitcase, jump in the car, and go. And about twenty miles down the road, you realize you forgot your wallet. And your toothbrush. So you have to go back and start again. And then thirty miles down the road, your tank runs out of gas. And you're still thirty miles from the nearest station. So you get out, you grab your gas can, and you walk. And you keep walking. You keep walking because you have no choice.
It's a lonely road, travelled by too many, and spoken of by too few...
Dr. Weston set down his pen and closed the journal. He leaned forward on the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. Drew in a deep breath. Held it there in his lungs, until it started to burn. Then, slowly, he let it out through his mouth and opened his eyes. The sun greeted him cheerfully. He looked out the window. It was a clear, bright August morning. From his second-story hotel room, he could hear a robin twittering away to its mate in the tree just outside. A couple of cars drove by on the street. A normal, beautiful day.
He supposed the world had the right to keep on spinning. Eventually, his would too. But it would never be the same again. For now he'd taken leave from his practice in Pinerich. He meant to have gone back by now. It was only supposed to be a few weeks. Help his sister and brother-in-law get through the funeral. Support them as they made painful decisions, like whether to pack her belongings away in the garage, or leave her bedroom a holy sanctuary with everything just the way she'd left it that fateful Saturday. Whatever they did, he assured them, it would be the right thing to do, so long as it was the right thing for them. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There are no rules on this road. Don't hurry. The road is long.
May 10th, 1997. Three months ago. The day the world as he knew it changed forever. The night he'd gotten the phone call from his sister, the moment she told him that his niece was dead... it was the blackest night of his life. He wasn't sure the sun would ever rise again. It did, of course, the next morning, right on schedule. But the world still seemed just a little bit dimmer. One of the brightest lights he'd ever known had snatched right out of life, in her prime, with so much of a future ahead of her, so much still left to do in this world. And then she was gone, just like that. Just like blowing out a candle.
His head ached. He pushed on the desk to roll his chair backward. Pulled open a drawer. Fetched the Tylenol. It never did much for his migraines... but it was something. He'd run out of his prescription medication about a month ago. Still hadn't gone to pick up his refill.
It could wait.
He swallowed the pills dry and stood, after a moment. Went to the window and closed the old fashioned curtains. The happy little sun was stabbing his brain through his eyeballs, and the melody of the robin was a jackhammer into his skull. He was nauseous. He'd go to bed. Try to sleep it off.
Quote from Adriana on July 29, 2022, 6:24 pmLittle did he know...
Outside the door, a figure loomed, quietly at first, as he confirmed the room number was the one the receptionist had given him. Then, he tapped his knuckles twice on the door.
"Room service," his burly voice said. Then, as he saw an older woman pushing an actual room service cart go by, openly side eying him, he cleared his throat in shame.
"It's uh, it's Bob. We're going to breakfast. Hope you're dressed."
Bob had met Dr. Weston approximately two times. Once, at Kimberly's graduation ceremony. Her whole family was there. A lot of folks were there - she was the youngest, and one of the few women, to graduate into the Police Academy program to date.
Then, he met him at her funeral.
Dr Weston didn't know it, but he may as well have been family. Kimberly and Bianca had been joined at the hip through elementary school. She was as tightly knit as as blood to the Chapman's. By proxy, anyone who was family of Kimberly's, was well regarded by Bob.
On the other hand, Chapman was well aware he might not be as easily regarded. After all, it was due to the negligence of his own department that Kimberly had departed the earth in such an untimely fashion.
Little did he know...
Outside the door, a figure loomed, quietly at first, as he confirmed the room number was the one the receptionist had given him. Then, he tapped his knuckles twice on the door.
"Room service," his burly voice said. Then, as he saw an older woman pushing an actual room service cart go by, openly side eying him, he cleared his throat in shame.
"It's uh, it's Bob. We're going to breakfast. Hope you're dressed."
Bob had met Dr. Weston approximately two times. Once, at Kimberly's graduation ceremony. Her whole family was there. A lot of folks were there - she was the youngest, and one of the few women, to graduate into the Police Academy program to date.
Then, he met him at her funeral.
Dr Weston didn't know it, but he may as well have been family. Kimberly and Bianca had been joined at the hip through elementary school. She was as tightly knit as as blood to the Chapman's. By proxy, anyone who was family of Kimberly's, was well regarded by Bob.
On the other hand, Chapman was well aware he might not be as easily regarded. After all, it was due to the negligence of his own department that Kimberly had departed the earth in such an untimely fashion.
Quote from Kaqurei on July 29, 2022, 9:57 pmDr. Weston lay with his eyes buried in the crook of his arm when Officer Chapman knocked at the door. Those two quiet taps each felt like a railroad spike to the head. Weston drew in another deep breath and exhaled slowly, breathing out his pain like the smoke from a firedrake's nostrils. Unfortunately, it did not clear his head of the throbbing agony. He wanted to lay there, pretend to be asleep or out, and wait for the police chief to leave. But he didn't do that. He wouldn't do that.
He braced himself and sat up from his bed. Squinted at the floor, looking for his shoes. He looked at his wrist for the time, but realized he'd not put on his watch. It was still over on the desk, by his journal.
He was painfully aware it had almost been five minutes by the time he got himself together and opened the door, trying not to squint too hard as the light from the hallway stabbed into his head. In spite of how he felt, he looked rather well put together: a stately young man with clear blue eyes and combed sandy brown hair that was already greying a bit on the sides, though he was only 37. He half expected Chapman to have given up by now and gone. But he had not.
"Officer Chapman," he said, extending his hand to shake. "My apologies. I... er... I must have missed your call. Breakfast? Of course. Breakfast. I think Natalie mentioned it. Let me get my glasses, I'll be right with you."
He actually didn't get a call, and Natalie hadn't mentioned it. The visit was a surprise, but he made polite excuses to show that he wasn't bothered. He knew Sargent Chapman really only from stories Kimberly had told. The man was like a second father to her. Breakfast. Breakfast would be good. Get to know him a little better. And the medicine would kick in soon... take the edge off the pain.
Dr. Weston lay with his eyes buried in the crook of his arm when Officer Chapman knocked at the door. Those two quiet taps each felt like a railroad spike to the head. Weston drew in another deep breath and exhaled slowly, breathing out his pain like the smoke from a firedrake's nostrils. Unfortunately, it did not clear his head of the throbbing agony. He wanted to lay there, pretend to be asleep or out, and wait for the police chief to leave. But he didn't do that. He wouldn't do that.
He braced himself and sat up from his bed. Squinted at the floor, looking for his shoes. He looked at his wrist for the time, but realized he'd not put on his watch. It was still over on the desk, by his journal.
He was painfully aware it had almost been five minutes by the time he got himself together and opened the door, trying not to squint too hard as the light from the hallway stabbed into his head. In spite of how he felt, he looked rather well put together: a stately young man with clear blue eyes and combed sandy brown hair that was already greying a bit on the sides, though he was only 37. He half expected Chapman to have given up by now and gone. But he had not.
"Officer Chapman," he said, extending his hand to shake. "My apologies. I... er... I must have missed your call. Breakfast? Of course. Breakfast. I think Natalie mentioned it. Let me get my glasses, I'll be right with you."
He actually didn't get a call, and Natalie hadn't mentioned it. The visit was a surprise, but he made polite excuses to show that he wasn't bothered. He knew Sargent Chapman really only from stories Kimberly had told. The man was like a second father to her. Breakfast. Breakfast would be good. Get to know him a little better. And the medicine would kick in soon... take the edge off the pain.
Quote from Adriana on July 30, 2022, 6:08 pmBob was patient. He had been around long enough to know the world didn't revolve around him, and no matter how anxious he was, things that were outside of his control would happen at the pace they were intended. So when Dr. Weston answered the door five minutes after he announced himself, Bob was in the same position he had been - hands folded neatly in front of him, looking up and around occasionally.
"Oh, no, no call. I'm sorry to drop by unannounced. Truth be told, I got an anonymous tip about a strange recluse taking up long term residence in this establishment." he said, voice low yet soft, a small smirk at the corner of his lips. He put a foot in the door to keep it from latching shut while he waited for Dr. Weston to get his glasses.
"Anywhozits, call me Bob, please. I'm "retired"", he said, making air quotes with his fingers. "Just an old busybody who likes to occasionally poke his nose where it doesn't belong. I still do some of the administrative work for the department, that's about it." he peered inside as he spoke, no more than a sweeping glance from left to right-but of course, gathered much more information than could be had by sight alone.
Bob was patient. He had been around long enough to know the world didn't revolve around him, and no matter how anxious he was, things that were outside of his control would happen at the pace they were intended. So when Dr. Weston answered the door five minutes after he announced himself, Bob was in the same position he had been - hands folded neatly in front of him, looking up and around occasionally.
"Oh, no, no call. I'm sorry to drop by unannounced. Truth be told, I got an anonymous tip about a strange recluse taking up long term residence in this establishment." he said, voice low yet soft, a small smirk at the corner of his lips. He put a foot in the door to keep it from latching shut while he waited for Dr. Weston to get his glasses.
"Anywhozits, call me Bob, please. I'm "retired"", he said, making air quotes with his fingers. "Just an old busybody who likes to occasionally poke his nose where it doesn't belong. I still do some of the administrative work for the department, that's about it." he peered inside as he spoke, no more than a sweeping glance from left to right-but of course, gathered much more information than could be had by sight alone.
Quote from Kaqurei on July 31, 2022, 7:18 pmWeston grinned a bit at the joke. "I suppose I match that description," he said.
The hotel room was tidy; it looked more like the man who had been living there for the past few months had checked in only just yesterday, or planned on checking out that afternoon. Yet the suitcase at the foot of his bed negated the latter possibility. Though it was zipped closed, it's sunken face revealed that it had arrived overfull, and was now empty. The bed itself was made, and though it bore the crinkled mark of his body from when he had laid down, the blankets were still tucked. He had not bothered getting comfortable.
His journal, some pens, his watch, glasses, and the open Tylenol bottle sat on his desk. There was a crumpled brown paper bag in the waste bin by his desk, perhaps remnants of the fast food he'd picked up for dinner the night before. Otherwise the room seemed rather vacant of his personal belongings.
"It's no trouble," Weston said as he put on his glasses and adjusted the strap of his watch. He capped the Tylenol bottle and put it back in the drawer. He glanced back at Chapman and smiled a little apologetically, in case the man were wondering why the room was kept so dim. "I've got a bit of a headache this morning," he said without any questions needing be asked. "And it's a pleasure, Bob. You can call me Mark."
Weston grinned a bit at the joke. "I suppose I match that description," he said.
The hotel room was tidy; it looked more like the man who had been living there for the past few months had checked in only just yesterday, or planned on checking out that afternoon. Yet the suitcase at the foot of his bed negated the latter possibility. Though it was zipped closed, it's sunken face revealed that it had arrived overfull, and was now empty. The bed itself was made, and though it bore the crinkled mark of his body from when he had laid down, the blankets were still tucked. He had not bothered getting comfortable.
His journal, some pens, his watch, glasses, and the open Tylenol bottle sat on his desk. There was a crumpled brown paper bag in the waste bin by his desk, perhaps remnants of the fast food he'd picked up for dinner the night before. Otherwise the room seemed rather vacant of his personal belongings.
"It's no trouble," Weston said as he put on his glasses and adjusted the strap of his watch. He capped the Tylenol bottle and put it back in the drawer. He glanced back at Chapman and smiled a little apologetically, in case the man were wondering why the room was kept so dim. "I've got a bit of a headache this morning," he said without any questions needing be asked. "And it's a pleasure, Bob. You can call me Mark."
Quote from Adriana on July 31, 2022, 7:40 pmBob made a small gesture with a palm out, shaking his head. "I understand completely. Are you a coffee drinker, Mark? I know a place that makes a mean cup."
He asked for courtesy's sake, but he fully intended to visit said establishment, anyway. Not only did they have great coffee, but they had a worthy breakfast.
Bob made a small gesture with a palm out, shaking his head. "I understand completely. Are you a coffee drinker, Mark? I know a place that makes a mean cup."
He asked for courtesy's sake, but he fully intended to visit said establishment, anyway. Not only did they have great coffee, but they had a worthy breakfast.
Quote from Kaqurei on August 2, 2022, 8:24 pmMark clipped his shades on over his glasses and stepped out into the hallway to join Bob. He closed the door and nodded.
"I am, actually. Instant or black, usually. Bit of a sadist that way," he said with a half smile.
Mark clipped his shades on over his glasses and stepped out into the hallway to join Bob. He closed the door and nodded.
"I am, actually. Instant or black, usually. Bit of a sadist that way," he said with a half smile.
Quote from Adriana on August 2, 2022, 8:46 pm“Let’s get you fixed up.” Bob began down the hall and to the squeaky, musky elevator. At the bottom, as he walked out, he thanked the desk clerk as he grabbed a mint, then proceeded to the sleek dark sedan parked right out front.
“Three months is a long time in a hotel,” he remarked, opening the driver door. “I don’t need to tell you that.” He turned the key and the engine purred to life. He took his aviators off the sun visor and put them on. One might’ve caught a glimpse of the photographs- of his wife, Bianca and Kimberly, at Bianca’s high school graduation.
”Not ready to go back to work, I take it… understandably.”
“Let’s get you fixed up.” Bob began down the hall and to the squeaky, musky elevator. At the bottom, as he walked out, he thanked the desk clerk as he grabbed a mint, then proceeded to the sleek dark sedan parked right out front.
“Three months is a long time in a hotel,” he remarked, opening the driver door. “I don’t need to tell you that.” He turned the key and the engine purred to life. He took his aviators off the sun visor and put them on. One might’ve caught a glimpse of the photographs- of his wife, Bianca and Kimberly, at Bianca’s high school graduation.
”Not ready to go back to work, I take it… understandably.”
Quote from Kaqurei on August 2, 2022, 9:18 pmMark leaned back in the passenger seat. He saw the photo, but tried not to let his eyes linger on where it was now hidden.
He took a deep breath. A lot of his chest. But the only response he managed was, "Yeah." Something of a chuckle. A swallow. He tried to collect his thoughts and attempt that again. "Yeah, three months is a long time. I can't seem to leave just yet."
Something keeps me here. I don't know what. Ghosts, maybe. Ghosts of what was, what could have been. What should have been. Can't turn my back on it. Not yet.
"I used to spend summers here in Middlecrest," he said. "When I was a kid."
A pause.
"I am ready to get back to work. Itching for it, really. But I just... This nagging feeling there's still something here I need to do." A forced chuckle. "I can't seem to shake it."
He looked over at Bob. "I... Didn't get a chance to thank you. At the funeral. What you said... It meant a lot."
Mark leaned back in the passenger seat. He saw the photo, but tried not to let his eyes linger on where it was now hidden.
He took a deep breath. A lot of his chest. But the only response he managed was, "Yeah." Something of a chuckle. A swallow. He tried to collect his thoughts and attempt that again. "Yeah, three months is a long time. I can't seem to leave just yet."
Something keeps me here. I don't know what. Ghosts, maybe. Ghosts of what was, what could have been. What should have been. Can't turn my back on it. Not yet.
"I used to spend summers here in Middlecrest," he said. "When I was a kid."
A pause.
"I am ready to get back to work. Itching for it, really. But I just... This nagging feeling there's still something here I need to do." A forced chuckle. "I can't seem to shake it."
He looked over at Bob. "I... Didn't get a chance to thank you. At the funeral. What you said... It meant a lot."
Quote from Adriana on August 3, 2022, 6:35 amBob made no immediate response. There was a twitch where his jaw met his temple, a swallow, and his grayish eyes flickered shut in a snow blink behind the glasses. He drove steadily and cautiously onto the main road; his Crown Victoria, lovingly called Bessie, handling the roads with quiet ease. He didn’t intend to make Marks head any worse, and took it easy
It was hard to get the words to come out. The first word was always the hardest. He spent the drive quietly searching, but there drive was short, and he wouldn’t find them until he parked in the lot for the small-but busy-diner.
“I, uhm..” he took the glasses off and rubbed a hand down his face. “We’re… not there yet, and that’s alright. If we had a bleeding wound open for everyone to see, people wouldn’t ask ‘how are you’? with that pitiable look in their eyes that makes you feel ashamed. They’d tell you to go get help.” He looked straight ahead and cleared his throat. There was a lot he wanted to say. He was sorry. Kimberly should have been prepared. He was chief, and it was his duty to make sure his team got home safe. In time. In time.
In the meantime… he had an idea about what Mark needed to do.
“….Anyway, I cant let Maggie see me all fogged up in the eyes, she’s ruthless. And she talks a lot. I’ll be right in, go get us a seat by the window if you don’t mind.”
Bob made no immediate response. There was a twitch where his jaw met his temple, a swallow, and his grayish eyes flickered shut in a snow blink behind the glasses. He drove steadily and cautiously onto the main road; his Crown Victoria, lovingly called Bessie, handling the roads with quiet ease. He didn’t intend to make Marks head any worse, and took it easy
It was hard to get the words to come out. The first word was always the hardest. He spent the drive quietly searching, but there drive was short, and he wouldn’t find them until he parked in the lot for the small-but busy-diner.
“I, uhm..” he took the glasses off and rubbed a hand down his face. “We’re… not there yet, and that’s alright. If we had a bleeding wound open for everyone to see, people wouldn’t ask ‘how are you’? with that pitiable look in their eyes that makes you feel ashamed. They’d tell you to go get help.” He looked straight ahead and cleared his throat. There was a lot he wanted to say. He was sorry. Kimberly should have been prepared. He was chief, and it was his duty to make sure his team got home safe. In time. In time.
In the meantime… he had an idea about what Mark needed to do.
“….Anyway, I cant let Maggie see me all fogged up in the eyes, she’s ruthless. And she talks a lot. I’ll be right in, go get us a seat by the window if you don’t mind.”
