Alicia

When Alicia was four, she had gotten angry with her mother and tried to cross the street by herself, not seeing that a truck was fast approaching. Her mother ran out to grab her and was struck down with a horrific thud. In her dying words, Alicia's mother whispered hoarsely to her daughter, 'This isn't your fault! Don't you ever blame yourself! Promise me, Alicia, promise me! Say you promise!' 'I promise, Mommy!', Alicia had agreed, sobbing.

Of course, Alicia never forgot that moment. Not a month went by that she didn't wake up in the middle of the night at least once from a bad dream. Not even when she went to live with her grandparents, not when she went to the University of Toronto and not when she married (and later divorced) Adam. That was the one constant in her life--the memory of the truck slamming into her mother's abdomen.

By the time she turned twenty-five, she had met with seven different pyschiatrists, had joined (and later abandoned) a fundamentalist Christian group, had been addicted to several varieties of painkillers, and had once been found sobbing uncontrollably in a women's change room.

Now thirty, she is back living in Vancouver and working at a legal firm. She is seeing a man named Alain and things seem to be going well.
'I'm going to visit Mother today,' she says quietly at breakfast.
'You say that as if she's still alive,' Alain says.
'In my heart, she is.'
Alain frowns slightly. 'You're an adult now, Alicia. You have to let this go.' They have been having a similar conversation for the last three months now. Alain is a psychiatrist with an office just off near Cambie and 18th.
Alicia gets up. 'Well, I have to go.'
'Fine.' Alain goes back to his oatmeal with raisins.

At the gravesite, Alicia plants another white rose. Apparently, she is the only one that seems to come here regularly, as there are no other flowers at the gravestone. She pulls out a worn photo of her mother from her wallet. In the picture, her mother is twenty-seven and beaming. She kisses the photo and puts it back into her wallet.

'I can't', she says as Alain reaches out for her in bed.
'We've been seeing each other for a almost a year now,' Alain says gently, though he is breathing fast.
'I know. We will...when the time is right,' Alicia replies.
Alain sighs loudly. 'You keep saying that. The time will never be right.' He gets out of bed. 'I can't see you anymore, Alicia. I'm sorry, but this thing with your mother, it's...it's just out of hand.'
Alicia closes her eyes.

It has been two months since Alicia has stopped seeing Alain. She doesn't even seem to notice. Every Sunday, she still visits her mother's gravesite, though. Her friend, Marnie, says over the phone that 'the best way to honour someone's memory is to go on living a great life'. Alicia hangs up on her.

Walking home from the office one night, she gets the sudden notion to walk over to the street where her mother had been struck down. Alicia hasn't been there since the day of the accident. Her heart is thudding and she can barely breathe as she approaches the intersection. 'Mommy', she whispers. She stands at the corner and watches the traffic. There are a few passerbys but they don't pay any attention to Alicia. 'Mommy,' she whispers again. Finally, an older man notices that Alicia seems dazed. He stops and begins walking slowly toward her but it is too late--she has already walked into the street. The timing is perfect; the blue Dodge van cannot stop in time and Alicia is struck down. The old man runs out in horror. The driver of the van seems defensive as he gets out. 'It's not my fault, she's crazy! She just walked in front of me! You saw it!'

Alicia reaches out and grabs the driver's pant leg. 'Don't blame yourself,' she whispers.The driver pulls his leg away wildly. 'What!? You crazy or something!? He glares out at the crowd that is beginning to gather. 'It was her fault, you saw it!'

The old man is cradling Alicia's head. He can see the life fading out of her eyes. She pulls at his collar. 'It's nobody's fault,' she says quietly and closes her eyes one more time.

'What!? Is she dead!?,' the driver asks wildly.
'She's gone,' the old man intones.
'It wasn't my fault! You saw it!'
'That's what she said.' the old man replies.