Whispers from the Chamber

Synopsis: A “tail” about two friends.

It’s called “The Chamber”.  I’m inside and strapped horizontally to a rock-hard table. I’m immobile. It’s claustrophobic in this small room. I have nothing to do but count the lime green floor to ceiling tiles. It smells of bleach and it’s chilly.  I’m covered only by a paper-thin blanket and the goose bumps are rising all over my body. It’s so quiet.  I can hear the arms of the clock on the wall slowly rotate until it’s my turn. How many came before me in this windowless room? The needle wasn’t properly placed into my artery and the more I squirm, the more uncomfortable it becomes. The tape holding the needle in place is causing a rash and it’s itchy but I can’t scratch. I try to remember as much about my life before it’s too late. Somebody has turned on a faucet and I hear the water flowing which reminds me of the sound of the rain pelting our basement home as I lay in bed before falling into a deep sleep. The beautiful calming image is quickly shattered by the squeaky faucet turning again and the flow of water abruptly stops. I’m reminded of my fate. I hear footsteps coming towards me from somewhere outside the chamber and the whispers outside grow louder. It’s my turn! Without warning or fanfare, a pink translucent fluid begins to flow like a stream through the plastic tube and into my arm. It stings. It won’t be long. How did I get here?

My earliest memories are competing for my mother’s breast with hungry and determined siblings. When we weren’t struggling for our mother’s feeding, we were fighting for her attention. I was the oldest and biggest and saw my younger and weaker siblings weren’t getting their share of mother’s milk so and I decided to permit them to take their nourishment first.

It was always cold, damp, and musty in the basement where we lived but we cuddled next to the warmth and safety of our mother and each other. It wasn’t much of a home but we made the most of it. I could hear the muffled conversations, fighting, and footsteps of those who lived above us. We never met them but I wondered who they were. I often awoke in the middle of the night while my brothers and sisters slept to see mother quietly slip out into the darkness of the night to find food. I would close my eyes and awake in the morning always to find her nearby and protecting her family.

After returning from one of mom’s evening sojourns she introduced us to her new friend. His name was Tom and life got better with him around. He would return home each day with food and mom could focus on us. Tom did his best to befriend each of us but I could tell he was only interested in mom and had a bad temper. For the first time, I saw mom was happy. As time progressed, we would be awoken to terrible arguments between Tom and mom. Tom would storm out into the night and mom would become depressed. I did my best to comfort her but I could never relieve the pain of abandonment she felt. Tom would return days later, apologetic, and life would resume a happy hue until the next argument and the pain would begin again.

Our life was a roller coaster of good times and bad times punctuated by the elation and depression we witnessed in mom. Tom and mom got into a vicious argument one evening and I sensed Tom would turn violent. I couldn’t stand by knowing that mom could be seriously injured. I gently tossed mom aside and stood face to face with Tom. I stared deep into his eyes and challenged him to make his move because I knew that I could beat him. Seconds turned to minutes as we faced each other down. Although I was young, I was bigger and stronger than Tom. He knew it, eventually blinked, and stormed out of the basement humiliated. Tom didn’t return. Mom’s reaction was a mixture of splendor in seeing her eldest grow into a strong and capable protector but she was also saddened because she knew life would become hard again.

“Tom” was replaced by yet another “Tom” and so on.  Each of us had grown a little older, wiser, and stronger. We would venture out into the world and attempt to survive on our own only to return to the safety of mom. I was more comfortable, confidant, and successful than my siblings so it wasn’t long before I was returning home with enough food for the entire family. I could see the twinkle in mom’s eye when I returned with the bounty. She felt proud and fortunate that that I was able to help the family.

After a few months, the original Tom returned and mom was happy to see him although I had assumed much of the responsibilities for providing for the family.

He and I assumed an uneasy truce. Tom knew that I was the breadwinner and man of the house. He felt like an interloper but knew not to challenge me again. I was awoken one evening by mom.

She gently kissed me with tears in her eyes and then did the same to each of her offspring, careful not to wake them.  Tom quickly hustled her out of the basement. She had the happy look of an eloping bride in her eyes and I knew they would never return. I did my best to console my siblings. I told them mom was on a long vacation and she left me in charge. I told them to watch out for each other and I assumed all responsibilities for our family.

A few days after mom left, I noticed the muffled conversations and footsteps above the basement had disappeared. In the weeks to come, the construction upstairs began and was growing closer to our basement home. The footsteps and conversations of the workers suggested they were to begin work within the basement. I was frightened for our safety and I told the others to remain silent when the workers were nearby.

One late afternoon I returned home with the food only to find our basement home empty and family was nowhere to be found. I returned each day expecting to find my siblings reunited but a new family now occupied the basement. I overheard one of the new occupant’s rants that squatters had been living in the basement and were removed by the county authorities.

As I hid watching and listening, I was grabbed around the neck. I struggled to free myself but the man was too strong.  I bit his hand which made him angry. I was lifted into the air and carried to a van and thrown into the back. The door slammed. It was dark inside and smelled of urine. As he drove, he made no attempt to drive cautiously and deliberately made violent turn’s causing me to slam repeatedly against the walls.

I must have been in the back of that van all day. I knew there were others with me because I heard them cry and slam against the walls. It was dark when we arrived at the county facility.  The driver was particularly brutal when he removed me as his arm was still red and swollen from my bite. We could hear the crying and screaming from inside.  The doors swung open and we were thrown into a packed room and those inside were not happy to see additional inhabitants to the already overcrowded facility.

After a day spent in a hot and dry van, the water faucet was a welcome sight. The bigger residents created a barrier around it and one of the smaller new arrivals was pushed away as he attempted to take a sip. I had seen this pack behavior before and knew that it was time to stand our ground. I picked out the biggest resident in the room and stood toe to toe with him. We were evenly matched in size and strength. I stared right through his eyes and told him without saying a word that we would eat, drink, and sleep without molestation or he would regret knowing me. I saw the muscles through his massive body twinge the deeper I stared. At last, the same imposing muscles relaxed and he gave the “nod” to the others to allow us to make ourselves comfortable.

Bland food was served twice daily with all the water we could drink. The monotony was punctuated by visitors coming to this crowded, loud, and smelly facility. We were told they were there to adopt us and to look “sharp”.  

The visitors were mostly children with their parents. My roommates would run to them seeking adoption only to be rejected because they were too old or not “cute” enough. The youngest and smallest of our group were often the ones picked by the families.

The approaching holiday season was usually the busiest time of the year for adoptions and the staff would adorn some of the hardest to adopt with ribbons and bows. I was big and looked menacing so I was provided with a large red bow to wear around my neck. It was humiliating wearing that bow but I played along because I wanted a “forever home”. A man, woman, and little boy came to visit the facility. For most of their visit they were focused on the youngest and cutest of us. The little boy caught my eye and we stared at each other. I cautiously approached him not wanting to scare him away and he extended his hand to me. He returned to his parents and before I knew it, I was taken from the facility and was off to my new home.

“You look so handsome in your red bowtie.

“I’ll name you ‘Thomas’ because I married a ‘Thomas’ who was quite the heartbreaker.”

Life was great in the suburbs as I had never known such light and space. The food was good and plentiful and the boy and I became friends. My favorite part of the house was the attic where I would find privacy. I often lay awake at night praying my siblings and mom were as happy and safe as I was.

Months turned to years and the boy grew older and spent less time with me. While I didn’t share the same bond with others in the house, I could still tell that something was happening.  I heard whispers about a move and a “new home”. It was exciting to think that we would be moving. I had never known any other city and was looking to leave the unhappy past behind.

The talk of a move turned to reality when the moving company truck arrived. As each piece of furniture was removed, the home became sadder and eventually felt like a cold shell. I stayed up in the attic during all the commotion but was eagerly anticipating our departure in the family car. I heard the doors to the moving truck slam shut and the big engine start. I ran downstairs as the car sputtered to life but I was too late.  I stood watching from the front lawn as all vehicles drove away to a new life without me.  I was all alone in the world. With a broken heart, I tried to think of my options before the new owner arrived and I would be on the streets.

As summer turned to autumn and winter was quickly approaching, the new owners of the home hadn’t arrived but the rains came. I grew to welcome the opportunity to meditate as the rain pelted the roof as I pondered my fate and fell asleep. I was awoken by a commotion outside the house where the garbage cans were placed. As I stepped out on to the back porch to see what was causing the noise, I caught a glimpse of an object running from the yard. I went to the sidewalk to see where the object and standing at the corner a block away was a lone figure about my age but taller and stronger. We each stood staring at each other. We could have turned and gone our separate ways but for whatever reason I waived the figure towards me and I met “Duke” who was thin and malnourished from being on the streets. His soaking wet appearance may have appeared intimidating to some but I trusted him immediately and invited him inside out of the rain. He eagerly lapped up what food was left behind by my former family. In between bites of food, Duke told me his story.

Duke said he was a cast off but unlike me being left behind by the family I thought loved me, Duke was driven to a desolate part of town and thrown out of the family car.

Duke was a loner like me but we turned into a pretty good team.  Together, we planned to leave the house after winter and before the new owners would eventually arrive. We would try and make it in the world. Duke was taller than me so for every step he took, I made several. It was hard for me to keep up with him especially when he ran. Every so often Duke would turn to see that I was lagging behind and wait for me to catch up.

We scrounged for food wherever it was abundant. Drive-in fast-food joints were the best places for us. There was always lots of food being dropped by the carhops or thrown from the cars. We enjoyed sneaking up to the food tray hanging from the car window and Duke grabbed the food and we ran off. Trash cans behind restaurants and grocery stores were easy pickings because Duke could push them over spilling the contents.

We would also stake out picnics and weddings. We would eat our fill from the buffet table or the plates left by the guests.  Another favorite tactic was to stand outside dining room windows like

Dickens’ characters and appeal to the generosity of the occupants. They quite often left us food on the back porch. Success breeds competition and poachers would shadow our movements. I couldn’t blame them. Life was hard on the streets but Duke would have no part of it and would scare the poachers off.

It was Christmas Eve and Duke and I were standing in front of a stately home with a large living room window revealing a happy family sitting at the dining room table. We were cold and shivering and the family inside had sympathy for us. The back door opened and a hand was holding a large turkey leg but this time it wasn’t placed on the porch as usual. We were being motioned towards the house. We had seen this cruel teasing before and were always careful but that night we were hungry. Duke told me to wait in safety while he approached and would get the turkey leg. He was inches from grabbing the sumptuous piece of meat but was grabbed and pulled inside. The door slammed closed and I worried about my friend. It wasn’t long before Duke appeared at the living room window. He was cleaned up and wearing a red ribbon just like the one I had at the county adoption facility. Duke and I stared at each other with admiration and love knowing it would be the last time we would see each other but I was happy for him.

I returned to the reliable strategy of rummaging through grocery store garbage cans. As I was leaving in the early morning after scrounging the trash bins over night, I spied a large old 1940’s style car enter the parking lot. It barely fit into the parking stalls designed for modern, smaller cars. The little old lady driving it required several attempts before managing a partial positioning between the stripes. She was elegantly dressed in a tailored dress with matching hat and shoes. She pushed her grocery cart to the entrance of the store and stopped as the sliding doors opened, glanced again at her grocery list, and entered the market as if she owned the place. Every morning, she went through the same routine.

When she exited, she was accompanied by a clerk who would help her load the bags of groceries into the spacious trunk of her vintage car. She removed a tiny purse from her tailored coat, opened it, and removed a bill which she handed to the clerk. She backed the car from the parking stall just missing another vehicle and happily went on her way. There was something kind and special about the old woman and I wanted to know her. So, one morning while she supervised the careful placement of bags into the trunk, I sneaked into the back seat and hid from view. I heard the heavy trunk close. She got in the car and started the massive V8 motor. The classical music that soon flowed from the old radio speakers was relaxing. The car squeaked and moaned as she clumsily maneuvered the car home.

The car slowed and came to a stop. The old lady got out of the car and opened the trunk. I heard her approach the window to the back seat where I was hiding. She leaned into the window and told me in an elegant voice,

“You can come out, now.

“Wait for me at the door to the kitchen on the back porch”.

As she returned with the grocery bags, she placed the key into the lock and opened the door. I hesitated to enter the massive kitchen. In a comforting tone, she said,

“Don’t be frightened. 

“Please come inside”. 

Why was this so easy? I saw plenty of teases and tricks before.  She turned on the lights to the massive kitchen and I was in another world of plenty. The old lady was in her eighties but amazingly agile physically and mentally. She was a war bride and married just after college. She loved her husband and spoke of him often but she was a widower now as he had died decades before. Although she mentioned family and there were plenty of photos around the home, the only visitor was the mail man. 

Looking around her house it seemed the only thing she was lacking was companionship; and that’s all she wanted from me. Her schedule was always the same and I would stay out of her way most of the time. She would awake and go to sleep at the same time every day. She would visit the market daily and return with her groceries. I watched her perform her chores around the house as she swept, dusted, and cleaned. The highlight of each day was the mail delivery. Six days a week she greeted her friend, the mailman, with a glass of ice water or lemonade hoping to find a letter or card from family. Watching the disappointment in her eyes as she leafed through the mail only to find a bill was heart wrenching and even the mail man would wince in witnessing her disappointment. She was a strong woman and would murmur,

 “Maybe tomorrow”.

Dinner was our special time together. I’d watch her stand in front of the large 1950’s style refrigerator and say,

“What shall we have for supper, tonight?”

She was an excellent cook and must have made her husband a happy man. I spent hours watching her prepare the meal, set the table, and reveled in her prideful announcement,

“Its supper time”.

The dining table was huge and could seat a dozen people. The old lady was a student of Emily Post and every detail of the table was set according to traditional principals. Before eating, she recited a prayer and I often wondered what places in her life she visited and who she was with during those sentimental minutes.  Dinner was followed by dish washing which she did by hand. Each dish, glass, fork, spoon, and knife were all were carefully cleaned, dried, and placed in their allotted spot.

Each evening, she preferred to listen to the radio or read. The fireplace was huge and the flames lit up the room, filling us with warmth and good cheer.  I listened to her read passages from an assortment of books from history to the classics. She read aloud for my pleasure and her diction was exact with careful attention to punctuation and emphasis within each passage. She had the habit of scratching my head just before yawning and saying, “Time to call it a day. 

“See you in the morning, dear”. 

She would slowly head up the staircase, grabbing the railing, close her door and fall into a deep sleep as I heard her snore.

I would savor the evening alone in the massive living room with the flicker of the flames in the fireplace keeping time to my heartbeat and know how lucky I was. Each morning, I would hear the creaking of the stairs as she carefully descended. Her routine consisted of making the coffee, bringing in the newspaper from the porch, and taking a peek into the refrigerator to plan her shopping for the day. This was my favorite time of day. The sun was out and the birds chirped. She always elicited my input of those food items which should be included on the list and it was my habit to run into the kitchen the moment I heard the massive refrigerator door open.

One morning, the door to the old refrigerator was stuck and she struggled to open it. It suddenly swung open just as I arrived in the kitchen and stood behind her. She stumbled over me and her frail head hit the counter with a dull thud. Blood oozed from her broken skull and I panicked. Nobody knew I was living in her house. What if I was blamed for her injury? She had always prepared for such an eventuality because she lived alone. She was barely conscious but had enough clarity and energy to press the emergency button on the amulet around her neck. The amulet sparked to life with the words,

 “Are you ok?

“We’re sending the police”.

She became still and a blank expression came over her face. The white kitchen floor turned to red from her blood.  My instinct was to run but I cared for this woman and thought it best to hide until help arrived. First the police, then the paramedics, and finally the coroner arrived. She was covered, strapped into the gurney, and wheeled out of the home she occupied for most of her life. The home was now cold and empty just like after the boy and his family moved away.

The police began to secure the home and searched it top to bottom. I was hiding and planned to leave after the authorities locked it up. The policeman shouted out to his partner,

 “It looks secure.

“Let’s get it locked up but we can’t leave this straggler behind to starve to death”. 

Just then, a strong arm reached in and grabbed me by the neck just as the county official did many years ago. I was placed into the back of a smelly van and watched the home I shared with the most wonderful person I ever knew fade from view.

I waited for months in the county facility for somebody to adopt me and as the population of inmates grew, it was inevitable that the unadoptable would have to be removed.

The pink translucent fluid has stopped stinging.

I know it won’t be long because I’m beginning to feel numb all over. I can still breathe. Wait, the last breath was difficult and shorter than the rest. Let me take another breath. I struggle but can’t move and my struggling is making it even harder to breathe. I’m panicking but still alive. The hands on the wall clock are still moving but becoming blurry. I try to take another breath but my lungs won’t fill!

Darkness.

All is quiet and still. I can barely make out some whispers from the chamber talking about me in the past tense. I feel no pain, regret, or loss.  The darkness fades quickly and my body warms as I find myself in front of the old lady’s fireplace with my best friend Duke as the old lady is cooking our supper in the kitchen. We’re wearing our red bows. 

We’re together again!