A Wind From the Heart of Rita

Nelson was an icy town with a cruel wind always blowing through the streets. Even as summer came to the New England village, a bitter chill slithered in and out of every shop.

After forty-one years, Rita Morris was leaving. Her bags were packed and her house was sold. The moving sale was over. The train left in two hours. And everyone in Nelson, even Rita, hoped her leaving would take away the frost and chill.

Nelson had a secret. The town was ashamed. They were ashamed of what happened to Rita, ashamed of what they saw happen, ashamed of what they allowed to happen. And every shopkeeper, police officer, and postal worker eventually came to hate Rita because seeing her reminded them of something terrible.

Rita’s father had been a difficult man, a violent man. Every weekend he drank. He was angry when he drank. Rita, alone, lived in fear and abuse, moving from one emergency room to another.

Every Saturday night, he beat her. Year after year, night after night, while her friends went to the movies, Rita went to the hospital. By sixth grade she was wearing make-up to hide the bruises. In the yearbook picture she couldn’t smile. Her jaw had been wired shut. Before she was twenty-three, Rita suffered eighteen broken ribs, three broken legs, two broken arms, and a ruptured spleen. Everyone knew. No one tried to do anything.

When Rita’s father died unceremoniously three weeks before her twenty-third birthday, the town breathed a sigh of relief. With the death of that monster, Nelson tried to return to normal. They hoped the sinister secret would finally sleep and they would be able to forget, be able to heal.

But the stain of a child’s blood still clung to the streets. The icy wind that blew from a child’s broken heart still fell through the town, freezing it within a prison of shame. Everywhere that Rita walked was cold, no matter how warm her smile. They hated her. They hated her because she was a mirror and their reflection was hideous and unbearable.

They avoided her at the supermarket, ignored her at graduation. It made them uncomfortable when she started to teach at the high school. And as she reached out, tried to make friends, to date, to build a life, they found it too awkward to accept her.

They were like children torturing an animal, watching it struggle, half wanting to undo the horrible act, half wanting the animal to die quietly, to bury it, forget it. As Rita struggled and gasped for life, they kept their hands in their pockets and their faces toward the ground, ignoring her.

So after forty-one years, after most of her dreams had come and gone, she was leaving. She had never married, never had children. There was nothing left to struggle for. She was empty of fear because she was empty of hope.

Steve Dalson was the last person in Nelson to see Rita. He worked at the train station as the ticket clerk. He had known Rita, watched her grow up. But he never got involved, never helped, even though a part of him always wanted to. He was ashamed just like everyone else. Being around her made him feel guilty. So when she came to the train station, when she walked up to the counter, he was quite uncomfortable.

"Um . . .uh . . . hello Rita."

"Hello, Steve."

"Goin’ on a trip hey?" Steve said these last words, hoping it would end their conversation.

"No Steve, I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m going to leave. I’m going to leave Nelson."

"But why?" The words tumbled stupidly out of his mouth. He felt like an ass. Everyone knew why she was leaving. She shot him a simple look that said everything. Enough already.You’ve won. You’ve all won. I’m leaving. There’s nothing left now. There’s no need to make me feel worse.

She took the ticket and went back to the bench. The next ten minutes were long ones for Steve. He had so much to say; so much he always wanted to say.

But everyone wanted to say something. Everyone had wanted to do something. It was too hard for them. It was too late now. They all had excuses. Steve had them too.

How can I say something now? Now! After forty-one years. I can’t! I can’t do it! She would yell at me. She would hate me. She would just say something...something awkward. I’ll just let her go and that will be all. But . . . but. . . .

A train whistle interrupted his thoughts. Rita gathered her things and moved outside.

Steve looked at her as she started past him. He avoided her eyes, paying attention to her fingers as they moved towards the door. Her breath was soft but he could feel her breathing. Just as she was leaving, at the last second, he found himself holding her arm . . . tightly. Surprised, Rita looked up.

"Rita . . . Rita." There was a silence that lasted forever and then he said it,

"I’m . . . I’m sorry."

For forty-one years, she had waited for someone to say it. Forty-one years she had waited for someone to care. Now . . . here . . . here it was. It was here and it didn’t seem real.

At first she had wanted someone to really be sorry. But as the years went on, she wanted someone to say it just so that she could throw it back. She had always imagined herself screaming to a faceless crowd.

You bastards! You let him do that to me! You let him beat me! Torture me! All alone and not one of you ever . . . ever tried to help me! I was a damn child! And now I’m treated like a leper? Damn you! Damn all of you!

And here it was. The moment was here. Here was her chance to unleash the pain. But she didn’t want to. She just stood there, closed her eyes and took it in. Because even though it came forty-one years late . . . it still felt good. It felt so good to have someone finally say something real to her. It felt too good. All she could do is move toward the train, holding her hand over her heart.

Steve had expected more of a reaction. He expected rage, expected hatred, expected something. He had waited for what he thought he deserved, for what they all deserved. It wasn’t there.

All that was left was the final picture of Rita as she stepped onto the train. She paused slowly, looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were big, soft with tears and kindness. Her face was grateful, the most thankful expression he had ever seen. And her lips slowly mouthed the words . . . Thank . . . you.

And only then, only then in that moment did he realize what had been lost, how much had been lost. And how easy it would have been to save it.

As the train sped away to the distance, a cold wind blew over Nelson, icy as the darkest of storms. Steve shuddered as he realized the freezing chill for all those years had not come from Rita’s heart. . . .

It had come from his own.

John Grace, M.D.

Class of 2000

First Place, Prose