FLAKES BLOOM - Chapter 01 - C.J. Renner

FLAKES BLOOM by C.J. Renner

 Chapter 1 (Annika – 2006)

             She loved the snow.  For the tiny pieces of white brought a handle, or rather thousands of tiny handles.  Each flake gave presence to the invisible that was already there, but could not be sensed.  Riding on her motorcycle in the summer, she could, with effort, believe that she was cutting through the world, everything blurry and unnatural.  But this snow, the first of the year, let her see the air separating before her.  It allowed her eyes, rather than her mind, to tell her that she was riding in that delicate seam of inexistence.  Like tracers hinted at the deadly stream of fellow bullets, so the snow uncloaked the air which was not merely the space between everything, but was comprised of very real and tangible substances: nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen, and here, in Kiev, Strontium-90 and cesium-137.
            The ground had not yet frozen so the snow melted as it hit the pavement instead of turning to ice.  This allowed her to ride without having to cut back, save at the turns.  She was on her winter bike— an old Voskhod 175.  Unlike her Dnepr, she could feel and hear each pop of combustion, even with the wind rushing past her ears.  To the passengers of the cars she was passing, her Vosk and cap-style helmet gave the impression that she was from a generation past.
            When she pulled up to the Bolnitsa, she cut her engine and coasted onto the sidewalk.  She leaned the bike on the kickstand and stood next to her for a moment, spying on its underbelly to see if it was leaking oil.  She thought she had smelled some when she pulled in.  Not seeing any drops forming, she pulled her plastic Lukoil bottle out from the side pouch and checked to be sure the cap was cinched tightly.  Though she made this same trip regularly, it always seemed to be this time, right before entering, that she felt like turning back.  She thought of what she would see inside: her mother lying with Aleksandr at her side; Papa would be sitting in the chair across the room and would likely have a magazine splayed across his lap with his head leaned back against the white concrete wall and his eyes half open.  It was not that she didn't want to be there… she did.  It was just that this was her only moment of freedom, because once she entered the Bolnitsa, she could not turn back.  She felt the same way when there was a movie at the cinema that she had been waiting to see for months – the day it came she would suddenly feel like not going.  But, she always went, just as she never got back on her bike in the hospital parking lot.
            As she approached the room, her father stepped out.  He walked to her, put a hand on each of her shoulders and squeezed them.  "Good, good.  I'm glad you're…"  He looked at her helmet, deliberately frowning, "Why do you ride that mototseekl, you know it's a death wish in this weather."
            "I ride slowly, you know that."
            "Well, at any rate, I'm glad you're here.  I've got to go get something to eat.  Watch Aleksandr, will you?"  He gestured for her to enter the room.
            "What about Mama?"
            "Well, it's not one of her good days.  Just go and watch him, will you?"
            "That's where I was going, before you stopped me."
            "Okay, go ahead."  Grigori turned and began down the hallway.
            She pulled off her gloves and forced them into her pocket.  "Will you?  Will you?  Will you?"  She muttered as she repeatedly used her pleading arms to mimic her Papa's gesturing toward the door.
            "Hey, Annika.  Want anything?"  Grigori called from down the hall.
            She had thought he was gone.  "Ah, sure… a Coke."
            Grigori snapped his fingers, turned around, and proceeded toward the cafeteria.  Annika took off her helmet and clipped it back together so she could carry it by its strap.  She walked into the room.  "Hey Aleks."
            "Shh… she's asleep."
            "Oh, sorry.  How are ya, fella?"  She whispered.
            "Papa was pissed that you rode here, huh?"  He said without turning away from his mother.
            "Yeah, I guess.  He knows I'm safe though."
            "I heard you tell him that you ride slowly.  He still believes that?"  Aleksandr stood up.
            "They believe what they –"
            "Your hair!"  He had turned and ran softly over and reached his hand up.  Annika bent down and he tugged gently at the ends of it.
            "Do you like it?"
            "It makes you look like mama."
            "That's not exactly what I was going for."  She walked over to the mirror above the sink and used her hands to try to stick it up as much as possible.  "There, is that better?"
            "The same."
            Annika went over to the bed and sat down gently near her mother's thigh.  Aleksandr joined her.  Annika put her hand on her mother's arm and rubbed up and down, careful to avoid the plastic tubes.  "Papa said she was worse."
            Aleks looked to his sister.  "You know I—"
            Irina's body gave a start and they turned to her.  She opened her eyes, looked to Annika and almost immediately her eyelids seemed to glide shut even though the eyes behind them were still focused.  "I'm fine, you go to work."
            Aleks looked back at his sister and mouthed "Work?"
            Annika shrugged her shoulders.  "You're feeling better then?"
            "Yes, yes, don't worry about me.  I'll be just fine right here."  Irina used her hands while she spoke, touching own collar bone when she said "me" and patting the hospital bed at "here."
            Annika searched for a reaction that would steer the conversation toward normalcy for Aleks sake.  "What did they give you for food this morning, Mama?"
            Irina opened her eyes again and this time kept them open.  "My Sasha."  She reached a hand up to Annika's cheek.  "I've been so looking forward to tomorrow.  I was thinking we could try that deli on the east side.  We could walk there and look…"
            Aleksandr pulled his mother's hand away from Annika's face.  "Mama!  Mama stop!"  He crossed his arms and lifted them slightly so he could hide his face in his sleeves.  "You're scaring me," he whimpered, muffled by his clothing.
            "It's okay."  Annika's wide eyes belied her calm voice.
            "My Sasha, I feel like we're on holiday."  Irina brought her hand back up to her daughter's face and played with a lock of her hair.  "Everyday's a holiday.  It's like we're strangers here, no family, no friends."
            This time Annika removed her mother's hand herself.  "Who's Sasha?"
            "Oh, don't be silly."
            "Mama, I'm not being silly."
            "Tomorrow we can…"  Irina's voice faded and her eyes closed again.  Trying to stay a rock for her brother, Annika tried not to let her thoughts dwell on the way her mother's eyes closed made her look like she was dying.  She tried not to think that maybe this distant conversation would be the last she would have with Irina, and it was hard for her not to swallow audibly when she concluded that even if her mother did speak in the future it seemed likely that it would be more of the same gibberish.          
            Aleksander, who had been looking up at his sister, looked back to his mother's hand, "Why won't mama get better?"
            "She's…"  Annika paused, she would have given anything to be able to get this sentence out without hesitation, but the next best thing would be to get it out without a wavering voice.  She put herself elsewhere:  her feet were drifted over by gentle mounds of browned leaves.  Stilled there for an indeterminate time, the wind had brought the leaves here as if on purpose.  The knot in her throat loosened and her own planted legs began to enervate the brittle leaves.  They flittered and danced for a moment, struggling for the buoyancy to overcome their own weight – and then all at once they began to tumble upward tickling the underside of her chin and nose.  As they passed she could see infinitesimal yet sharp, bright light leading through the veins on each, greening.  It was from here that Annika was able to say: "she's okay, she just really needs her sleep right now."
            Grigori cleared his throat behind them.  He was leaning against the door frame holding a Coke.  "Annika, doll, can I talk to you for a minute?"  He gestured to the hallway.
            As Annika stood from the bed, her brother tugged her sleeve.  Annika looked at him.  He stood on his tip-toes and pulled her shoulder down  "Can I come with you?"  He whispered to his sister with his eyes still one Irina.
            "No, brat, you watch mama."
            "But I don't want…"
            "It's okay, I'll be right there." She pointed to the hallway, then patted his head and watched him turn back and take Irina's hand.  She wasn't sure if it was the way he moved, but for a moment she was struck by how adult her little brother seemed.  But her feeling was not that this was one adult moment plunked down in a childish tale, but that for this moment she saw the actuality – that he had always been this man she saw just now, and she was glad to leave Irina in his care for a bit.
            Outside the room, Grigori sat on the arm of an empty bench.  He cracked open the can and handed it to her as she sat down.
            "Nothin' like a Coke."  Grigori said staring straight ahead.  His presence loomed from next to her and above and his voice seemed to emanate from his gut creating something like what she had pictured God's voice sounding like as a child.
"Sure."
            "Your mama was talking about Sasha?"
            Annika had a mouthful of Coke, and she was in no rush to swallow it.
            Grigori took his cue.  "She had been all morning, I was kinda hoping she'd stop."  He looked down at her, she was also looking at the blank wall across from them.  "I guess, maybe, in a way, I was kinda hoping she wouldn't though."
            Annika looked up at him.
            "You know how sometimes you have to lie, I mean not even so much lie as just not say absolutely everything?"  His hands were folded on his leg.  They kept looking like they were going to spring into his usual grand gestures, but he kept them deliberately motionless.
            "Okay."
            "Like, maybe for a surprise party or something, I mean certainly there is a need to lie in some…"
            "Yes, papa, I get it."
            "Okay, I'm sorry, I just…"  He took a slow breath.  "You see, this Sasha, this is a real person.  He was a friend of your mama's."
            "I've never heard of him."
            "Yes, he died a long time ago.  In fact, I've never met the man, but he and Irina, they were very close."
            "Before you met her?"
            "Yes.  Look, there's no way to say this.  I've always tried to be there for you and your brat.  I mean I love you both, you're a big part of my life, I mean practically the whole thing."
            Annika faced him and put her hand on his hands.  "Papa, whatever it is, it's no problem."
            "Thank you, dochka, but let me finish.  This Sasha, from what your mama has told me, he was a wonderful man.  I think I would have liked him.  But he…"  Grigori took a hastened swig of his coke and swallowed.  "He is your real papa."
            He looked at Annika with an expectant look on his face, but she gave no reaction.  She stilled herself, careful not to move her hand nor change her gaze.  As they sat, she suddenly realized that she was still wearing her coat.  It was eventually a bead of sweat that ran down the right side of her torso that caused her to move.  She removed her hand from his and pressed against her side to catch the bead with her shirt.
            "How could—"
            "She was pregnant with you when we—"
            "No, how could you never tell me?"
            "I don't know, it seems so bad now, but think of us— the family.  I mean, I've always..."  He paused to find his words.
            Annika stood and faced Grigori.  She leaned down slightly and took his hands again.  "Grigori…papa, I've never known this man.  You are my papa.  This doesn't change that.  It's only blood."  She stood straight again and began to walk back toward the room.
            "Annika, I don't know much about him, but I'll tell you everything I know, okay?"
            "Thanks, papa."
Since she had arrived Annika felt like she was on a winding set of railroad tracks, taking her into and out of rooms, passing her by her mother and Grigori like scenic vistas.  She had no power to slow down and take them in, she could only fill up with them as much as possible and mull them over later on down the line.  This was an uncomfortable contrast to a usual visit where the excitement of an hour was walking to the vending machines.
            Annika rode the rail back into her mother's room.  "Aleks, how are you?"
            "She's just been sleeping.  Is it time to go?"  As he spoke he walked to the tiny in-room coat closet where he had dumped his hat and gloves on the floor.
            Grigori entered and stood next to his chair.
            "Sure, I brought your helmet.  It's outside."  She picked hers up off the chair and unclipped the chin strap.
            "You know I don't like him on that thing."
            "It's only a couple of kilometers and I'll be extra careful."
            "Yeah, it's just a couple kilos, papa."  Aleksandr was frantically trying to get his arm into the second sleeve of his coat.
            "You be very careful."
            "I always am, papa."  She left with Aleksandr walking tall right behind her.
            After she turned the engine over she revved the throttle.  She always did this when it was cold, but she gave it a little extra for Aleks.  "Hold on now."  She shouted.  She felt his small hands grip her waist even tighter.  She popped the clutch and they sped straight out of the lot and onto the road, returning to her place between the white flakes.