Bring Me Back

Bring Me Back

By: Taryn Plendl

TEXT COPYRIGHT© 2012 TARYN C PLENDL

All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Epilogue

Chapter 1

~Ally

People always say the truth shall set you free.  I think I’ve spent too many years running from the truth to know for sure.  Somehow, I don’t feel like I’ll ever be free.  Free from the memories, free from the nightmares…..Free from the truth.

***

It has been three years since my parents died.  The circumstances are public knowledge, minus the details you would only have when you are the one who was there, yet it remains something people aren’t willing to talk about.   I’m not sure I want to talk about it, but not having the choice, due to everyone’s own insecurities just made it worse.  I crave a normal conversation. 

One without pity or sadness, and one without someone who writes every detail down on a pad of paper.  I have seen so many therapists.  “
Give it time Ally, there is a grieving process.”  It’s called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. “What you’re feeling is normal.” 
If that is the case
,
never in my life have I wanted to be
less
normal.

***

I never went back to that house.  I spent six months at an inpatient facility, recovering from my injuries, and much to my extended family’s disappointment, I bought my own place in just outside of Durango, Colorado.  I find it is completely ironic that the money I have now came from such a dark moment in my life, and it now enables me to isolate myself from the world.  Agoraphobia—that is my
newest
label, however, it is one that I can live with. 

I spend most of my days sleeping, and my nights exercising, working on my hobby of mosaic art, and running.  Night time is the only time I feel comfortable leaving my house.  Maybe it is the fact that I am able to run away, to feel some sort of control.  I couldn’t run the night my parents died, so I run now.  The only thing I can’t do at night is sleep.  I won’t allow myself to relive that moment, and I do, every time I close my eyes at night.  I know I’m messed up—I don’t need a therapist to tell me
that.

Chapter 2

~Ian

The realtor assured me this home would be private.  I was hoping for a place far from any other houses, but this will have to do.  My new house sits at the foothills of the mountains just outside of Durango, CO.  The only house around mine is less than a quarter of a mile away.  Nothing else for miles and miles.  I asked about my neighbor, concerned that I would have to deal with someone meddling in my business. “She is a young woman who is very private, Ian.  I assure you that you won’t even know she is there.” This came from my realtor, who just so happened to sell the house to my neighbor two years before.

I needed space to deal with my new life, the one without Laney.  I loved Laney from the moment I saw her.  She was carefree and full of life, so much so that I craved her almost like a drug.  She made me feel better than any drug ever could.  We met our freshman year in college, and dated the entire time.  We were going to be married after graduation, but a senior ski trip changed everything.

***

Laney and I had an amazing weekend skiing at Wolf Creek and enjoying the hot springs.  We cuddled at night next to the fireplace in the condo we rented and sipped wine.  I could talk to Laney about anything or nothing at all.  We had a natural comfort with each other.  Laney and I did almost everything together—we ate, studied, ran, and slept—everything. 

There were very few times that I could remember, since meeting her, in which we had been apart for any length at time.  Recently we had stopped running when Laney started to complain about pain in her legs.  Having had shin splints and stress fractures in the past—I was on the track team in high school, I could understand.  We found other ways of exercising, and recently had started swimming. 

She had felt pretty good the first day on the slopes, but by the end of the second day, I spent most of the night rubbing Laney’s right leg.  The pain was pretty severe, and we had assumed that she hurt it somehow skiing.  When it didn’t subside after two days, she decided to go get it checked out. 

I expected some sort of muscle injury, ligament injury, hell, even a broken bone, but what I never expected was Ewing’s Sarcoma.  The next few weeks flew by at an almost surreal speed.  Laney spent several days in the hospital getting x-rays, CT scans, MRI’s and finally a biopsy for staging.  The cancer had started in her femur and had metastasized into her chest and lungs.  She started aggressive chemotherapy and maintained it for close to six months before she lost her fight.  Sometimes it doesn't matter how much you want something, or how much you want to believe, sometimes you just have to watch helplessly as it all slips away. It never occurred to us that she wouldn’t beat this. 

I never left Laney’s side, right up until her last breath.  I was heating up some dinner for the both of us, and went to check on her.  She was so frail in the hospital bed that now took up the center of her parent’s living room.  I kissed her forehead and she opened her eyes, smiling.  She never stopped smiling, even through all of the pain.  She was the strongest women I have ever known.  She patted the bed next to her and asked me to lay with her for awhile.  I climbed in and held her, caressed her hair, kissed her and told her how much I loved her.  When I woke up after dozing off, she was gone. Watching somebody you love suffer is far worse than suffering yourself.

I lost a part of myself that day.  A part I don’t think I will ever get back.  Somehow, I managed to make it through my last semester of college, and decided I just couldn’t stay in Colorado Springs.  I was able to secure a job as an Editor with a small publishing firm in Durango that would allow me to work from home, and decided to find a place where I could deal with my suffocating grief, alone.

Chapter 3

~Ally

It was close to 3:00 p.m., I was expecting Ronnie with my groceries soon.  Ronnie was a seventeen year old boy who worked at the local grocery store.  When I moved here two years ago, I had worked out a delivery service with the grocery store, and Ronnie had been delivering my groceries ever since.  It worked out well.  I would email my list to Bob, the owner, and the groceries were brought the next day.  Nobody ever asked why.  Sometimes I wish they would.  Somehow I felt that if I could say it out loud that it would help me realize that it was an issue.  I lived in a world where I had set rules for myself, and those rules could not be broken. It was self-preservation, healthy or not, it is what kept me going.  People had long since stopped trying to change me, help me “
deal”
with reality
. 
In fact, I can’t remember when the last time I had a phone call was.

The doorbell rang and I opened it to let Ronnie, the delivery boy, in.  “Hi Ally,” Ronnie said as he went through our normal routine of setting things out on the counter.  He handed me the receipt and I wrote a check.  “Ally, Mr. Roberts asked me to give you this,” He handed me an envelope.  “He wants to know if you will have any other pieces soon.”  I had been selling my mosaic designs at a local art boutique in town.  It brought in a few extra dollars, but mostly I just put it back into my next design.  “Please let him know I will have several finished next week.”  I said as I walked Ronnie to the door.  “See you next week Ally.”  He said, as he walked back to his car. 

The one thing I liked about Ronnie, is that he didn’t linger.  He also didn’t know enough about me to pity me.  He was the only other person who had been in my house besides myself, and Ronnie never went passed the kitchen.  It had taken quite a long time before I let him passed the front door.  The anxiety of it almost overwhelmed me for a time, but eventually I realized that Ronnie didn’t look at me like everyone else.  He was very much in his own teenage world with the typical teenage issues.  I’m sure he only saw me as a very private and eccentric artist, not a shell of a broken human being.  He didn’t have time to over-analyze me and therefore I didn’t have to hide.

***

I put away the groceries and made myself a sandwich for dinner.  I carried the plate to my back room that was used as my studio to work on my projects.  I was working on a mosaic table from colored glass.  I had mapped it out several times, but still wasn’t completely happy with the way it looked.  I figured I would fiddle with it until it was time for me to go for a run.