by Alessandra Harris
Short Story Set in the 1950s
My toes sunk into the hot grains of sand as I darted along the beach in Santa Cruz. I tried to ignore the lump in my throat and enjoy the day. Not worry. I found an open space on the crowded beachfront, and I abandoned my sun umbrella, bags, and Kenny trudging behind me.
“Careful, ya hear?” Kenny called as I ran toward the shore.
The pull of the tide and crashing waves beckoned me closer and closer until I could almost taste the saltwater on my tongue. At the water’s edge, a seagull cried overhead. It dove toward the water before rising again.
Though the sun kissed my exposed skin like a passionate lover, a chill coursed through my body when the frigid ocean water washed over my feet. I kicked the water defiantly. It was no match for me. I waded deeper and deeper.
Once at a depth where the water hugged my waist, I implored the waves to barrel towards me. As they peaked and broke, my body swayed with the water, trying to stay afloat while wanting to be completely lost in the beauty of the moment. Children squealed and played at the water’s edge, but I didn’t want to hear them. I swam further until the water touched my chin. I closed my eyes, focused on the ocean’s heartbeat.
But I knew I couldn’t trust the ocean. As I opened my eyes, a dark underbelly of a wave retreated, growing higher and stronger by the second, pulling me with it. Heart pounding, I flailed in an attempt to swim back to shore. Then came the wave: hard, fast, and all at once. Dark greenish water and white bubbles blurred my vision. Ocean water gushed into my nostrils and mouth. I clawed for the sand dissolving beneath my fingers.
This could be it.
But the wave washed me ashore. I found my footing and made my way back to Kenny.
“What happened, doll?” Kenny’s chestnut colored back darkened under the sun.
I wiped the perspiration and sand from my forehead and cast my eyes back to the ocean. “I had a blast.”
Kenny rolled over and perched onto his elbow. “Hand me a bottle of pop, would ya?”
I reached into the cooler, through the melting ice, and grabbed two Coke bottles. After handing Kenny his, I took a sip. The lump in the back of my throat caught my attention. Another sip and a wince. Same lump.
Kenny chugged his Coke and wiped his mouth. “I was thinking we could grab a bite out before heading back.”
I smiled, trying to push the fear aside. It’d been there for weeks now. Tumor? Had to be a tumor. That’s what happened to people like me. “Sounds nice.”
Kenny arched his eyebrows. “You okay, doll?”
An image of myself with a scarf around a bald head while undergoing radiation flashed through my mind. I blinked it away and focused on Kenny. “Yeah. Swell.” I fanned out the red and white checkered blanket and spread my body across the smooth surface.
“Mommy!”
I shot up.
A little girl passed by, crying and kicking up sand on her path. She fell into the arms of a woman a few yards away. My eyes locked with Kenny’s before I looked away.
Kenny grunted. “Damn ankle-biter.”
I laid back down. I swallowed hard with the lump still there.
***
Kenny navigated his Ford Thunderbird down the windy 17 highway from Santa Cruz back home to San Jose through the mountains. The radio played, but when “Your Cheatin’ Heart” came on, I switched it off. Kenny glanced at me and shrugged.
Outside the window, the shadows called to me, urging me to listen to their secrets in exchange for mine. I refocused on the road ahead. Piercing bright headlights of cars traveling in the opposite direction passed by with nor barrier in between. So close. One slip of the steering wheel, and bam! That’d be the end.
Kenny’s hand reached over and massaged my knee. “The burger was perfect, but you barely touched your food. You wanna catch a flick?”
I shook my head. “Not tonight, Kenny.”
“Fetch that map, will ya?”
I reached for the glove box and dropped it open. I reached under Kenny’s Smith & Wesson Model 36 and grabbed the map. I shivered at the cool touch of the revolver. I squinted at the squiggly lines on the map. “Just straight for a while, Kenny. Just follow the road.”
Kenny glanced at me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I didn’t want to ruin the night by telling him I probably had a terminal illness. So, I laced my fingers through his, brought them to my lips, and kissed the back of his hand. “I love you.”
Kenny smiled. “I love you, too.”
Was it enough? It had to be.
***
Monday morning I called into the cannery. I told them I had an appointment with the doctor and I’d be in a little late. That Kenny had to take me, so he’d be late, too. Our boss, Clive, ribbed me a little before shouting to hurry in. “You come up pregnant and this gig’s over for you. You hear?” he had said.
Sitting in the doctor’s sparkling white office, lump in throat, I wished it could be that simple. With Aunt Flow currently making a visit, it wouldn’t happen. This month at least.
The door to the reception area opened. A nurse adjusted her white cap. “Audre Davis?”
I rose, smoothing my knee length skirt. “Be right back,” I told Kenny. He had insisted he come inside. I followed the nurse back to an exam room.
“Dr. Welsh will be right in, hon,” the nurse said before leaving.
A layer of sweat coated my hands. After all, this was most likely the beginning of the end.
The door opened, and a dark-haired Dr. Welsh walked in. “The form says you have a lump in your throat, huh?”
I nodded.
Dr. Welsh approached, taking out a small light.
I opened my mouth wide, trying not to gag when he pressed a wooden stick to hold my tongue down.
He shined a light down my throat. “Uh hunh.”
I knew it.
Dr. Welsh turned off the light and took a step back. “Ms. Davis?”
Just get it over with, I wanted to say. “Yes, doctor.”
“How long have you had this lump in your throat?”
I couldn’t recall the exact moment I felt the lump, but a memory came to mind: Sam with tears in his eyes, on both knees, begging. Our baby girl wailing in her crib. “A few months, sir.”
“You’re here with Kenny Smith, I reckon?” Dr. Welsh peered over his glasses.
“Yessir.” Maybe he needed to call in Kenny to tell him the news also. Shame to be with Kenny less than six months and have to break that kind of news.
“Your chart says you’re thirty-five. Do you have any children?”
My heart sank like it did ever so often. “Yessir.”
Dr. Welsh removed his glasses, dangling them with one hand. “But not with Mr. Smith, I reckon?”
“No sir.” My gaze dropped to my hands. Sam’s voice rung in my ears. If you leave, you’ll never see Mae again. You want to leave us for him? Is he worth it?
“Hmmm. Any sore throat or burning in your chest?” Dr. Welsh asked.
My heart ached all the time ever since I’d told Sam that yes, I loved Kenny and I was leaving. But that wasn’t what Dr. Welsh asked. “No, sir.”
Dr. Welsh replaced his glasses. “Any other symptoms at all?”
Loneliness. Isolation. Regret. I shook my head no.
“Ms. Davis, there’s nothing wrong with your throat. Nothing wrong with you at all. You have what’s called Globus Sensation or Globus Hystericus. It’s when a person feels like they have a lump in their throat, but there’s nothing there. Lots of times it happens when a person is going through grief or something emotional.”
My heart sank. “So, I’m not dying? It’s not a tumor?”
“No, Ms. Davis. It should go away on its own. You take care now.”
After the doctor left, tears slipped down my face. I brushed them away with the back of my hand, but more took their place. I collected myself and followed Dr. Welsh’s path.
Kenny stood when he saw me. I brushed past him and hurried out to the Thunderbird parked on the corner.
“What’d the doctor say?” Kenny asked once we were seated inside.
I looked out the window. “Said I was fine.”
Kenny placed his hand on my forehead. “Are you?”
“I love you,” I replied.
“I love you, too. You know that, doll.”
“Kenny, I need to go back home.” Another tear trickled down my cheek. “To my home. To Sam and Mae. I love you, but it’s killing me to be away from them. I made a mistake, and I got to fix it.”
Kenny sighed real heavy. With a nod, he started the ignition and pulled away.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and swallowed my fear. I was going home.
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