They say that those whose lives have been so agonizingly taken from us at such a young age tend to linger just a bit longer to enjoy life’s simpler pleasures. Mary-Ann had learned this bitter lesson one November evening. Lately, she had taken a fancy to watching game show re-runs on her trailer’s small television while eating whatever stale bag of chips happened to be closest. If she was in a good mood, she would treat herself to a quart-sized carton of ice cream and then throw the excess waste on the floor. The whole trailer was littered with wrappers, boxes, cans, and bottles; the skeletons of anything that happened to catch her eye at the supermarket.
Earlier that day she had forgotten that the Melrose family had been on a streak of six games on “The Family Feud” and had taken a shower instead. Not knowing whether or not the family had continued the streak, she cursed herself. It would ferment in her mind all day tomorrow. This particular night, Mary-Ann was catching up on an old episode of “Wheel of Fortune” from the late eighties.
On the way to the refrigerator, Mary-Ann stubbed her cigarette out into a plant pot. The hydrangeas had long ago died of thirst, and the soil was likely composed more of ash than dirt. Next to the neglected plant was a beautiful copper frame inset with a picture of her daughter, Molly. It, too, had been neglected for quite some time, and spots of grime now streaked the sunny glow of her daughter climbing across the monkey bars.
Mary-Ann plopped back onto the sofa and cleared away a spot on the table in front of her to rest her slippered feet. Vanna was turning letters to the category of “THING”. “Cardboard cutouts!” she screamed aloud when the letter “C” was flipped twice. The contestant spun the wheel, and mesmerized, Mary-Ann went off into another of her daydreams.
She was more than good at the game shows. Perhaps she could apply for one of the shows and earn a nice handful of cash. It would help pay the bills, and it was all she could do to afford what she had now. Heck, if she went on enough game shows, she might even be able to move out of her trashy trailer and afford a proper home.
The next puzzle came up, and Mary-Ann studied the structure of the words, calculated the possibility of articles, and carefully weighed the puzzle’s category. “PHRASE” in all caps stared her back in the face. When the contestants called out a letter, no matter how logical the choice, she condemned them for their decision. When they bought a vowel, she criticized them for their heedless waste of money. Mary-Ann would never have the need to buy a vowel.
When there were sufficient letters for her to guess the answer, she stood, crumbs falling from her lap to the floor, and as if some life-altering epiphany were upon her, shouted, “The Unsinkable Molly Brown!” An invisible fist assaulted her in the depths of her stomach. Bellowing her daughter’s name in such a comical fashion only brought up feelings of self-loathing. And how cruel life was! She soon came to the realization that her poor drowned child had been mocked by the callous puzzle.
Mary-Ann sat down feeling dizzy and light-headed. She needed to throw up, but couldn’t find it in herself to do so. She lay on her side for some time, and eventually shrugged off the ridiculous idea that her beloved game show was somehow responsible for bringing up old pains. The next puzzle was up and she fervently solved it, “Day of the Dead”.
Again, poor Mary-Ann had been subjected to a tortuous and laborious joke. How could they keep doing this to her! She struggled to the bathroom and opened the toilet lid. She vomited the night’s Cheetos and light beer, hating herself every infinitesimal moment. Holding on to the sink helped her retrieve her bearings, and she recomposed herself in front of the tiny mirror. The taste of stomach bile still lingered, so she grabbed a small bottle of mouthwash and quickly gargled the blue liquid inside. After Mary-Ann lowered herself and spat out the mouthwash, she heard a tiny voice. Go, it seemed to say. Go.
“Who’s there?” she could barely mutter and grabbed the rubber plunger in defense.
Once more, the voice beckoned her to Go, go, go…
Rational thought told Mary-Ann that the traumatic revisit of her personal tragedy had brought on some sort of mental lapse. She was creating phantoms in her mind; she was hearing voices. And when the little voice once more told her to go, she screamed, “Where?”
It said no more and Mary-Ann felt she had taken care of that problem with a mere verbal lashing out. Her frustration had gotten the better of her, and similar to when one punches a wall or screams into a pillow, she had vented the problem away.
She returned once more to the sofa, and with a determined resolve, placed all of the show’s previous egregious insults into the category of mere coincidence.
It was time for “Wheel of Fortune’s” final round, Mary-Ann’s favorite part of the game show. “PLACE” was on the screen this time. After the contestant had offered her four letters and the ever-popular RSTLNE were up on the board, Mary-Ann had to guess:
_ L A _ _ R _ _ N D
“Playground,” she only whispered this time. “Playground.”
The beer cans around her feet detracted from her efforts to reach the door, and she ferociously kicked them out of the way. She threw on her boots and winter coat, and set out for the playground.
It had been some time since she had last laid eyes on the swings and benches and merry-go-round. She had aged much since then, too. When she reached the snow-laden scene, she wondered what had possessed her to do such a thing in the first place. It was absurd to think she could find answers here.
A gust of wind scraped at her face, and she turned her face to avoid it. It pushed the swings on the swing set forward, an eerie squealing coming from their chains. Most of the swings came to rest after the wind had died down, but one continued to sway back and forth. Mary-Ann’s head, in a melodic synchronicity, leaned with it. She heard the tiny voice again and closed her eyes.
Her tears froze nearly as they were shed, and when Mary-Ann looked up again, the swing was abandoned. Instead of one little voice, she heard a hundred, and they all seemed to laugh as they ran; sweet and innocent little voices that called for her to follow. Among the slides, she heard the giggles of small girls and the pure glee of children at play. She intruded farther into the playground, and came upon a glowing light that shone somewhere down the stretch of benches. All the voices gained volume as she neared the brightness; they seemed to be heading for the light as well.
When she reached the monkey bars, she heard an unmistakable chuckle. Her knees hit the snow and she cried for what seemed an eternity. A child’s hand appeared in front of her face, and then she was looking into the brilliant blue eyes of Molly.
“It’s time for me to go, Mommy,” the girl said, and she giggled. “Say ‘bye-bye’, Mommy.”
Mary-Ann froze. She could say nothing!
“Bye-bye, Mommy!” the girl said again.
She could barely utter a “b--” before her daughter had started off toward the light. Mary-Ann fell to the ground and choked as she inhaled in some snow, mortified that she had not said goodbye. Her daughter had left her and she could not even say goodbye! She turned over and looked at the star-lit sky. Her head was spinning, her whole world spinning. Slowly, like a wheel finally coming to a stop, the spinning ceased, and she knew that she had it all solved.
“Bye-bye,” Mary-Ann said. “Bye-bye.”
