When 'Almost' Changes Everything
Vignettes from my life
“You almost died.”
The emergency room doctor shakes his head as he taps a pen on the clipboard in his hand.
A nurse settles a damp cloth on my forehead as I shake uncontrollably. I’m thirsty, and something burns in my veins, as if my blood is on fire.
Something sticky is in my eyes, and while I can’t keep them open, they won’t quite close. I pant, sucking in air as I press my tongue against the back of my front teeth.
I want to fight the nurse when she hangs another IV bag on the pole, but I’m too weary to protest, even if it means whatever weight I’ve lost will creep back as the fluid empties into me.
“We’re almost there.”
My father sighs, repeating his answer as my little brother whines in the backseat beside me. I sneer at him, tired of his constant complaining, of his continuous questions, asking once again if we’ve reached our destination.
It’s hot and we’re all sweaty, but my mother has somehow been able to nod off, napping in the seat in front of me. Her neck is damp, her mouth open.
Almost means nothing when it seems like we will never reach Disney World, which I am starting to believe does not actually exist after suffocating in this car for nearly twenty hours.
“I almost said yes.”
My friend gasps as I admit that I nearly accepted a marriage proposal the night before. It’s not as if he isn’t a good guy, but I don’t love him.
I don’t know if I can ever love someone that much, enough to say the words that will bind my life to his. Enough to mean them.
“You idiot,” she hisses, not entirely joking. “You love that car he speeds around in, especially when you’re sitting in the passenger seat. You’ll never make enough money to buy something like that on your own.”
The other customers in the restaurant glance over as she squeezes my hand across the table, and I wonder if she’s right.
“I’m almost better.”
My Aunt Susie is a terrible liar, but I humor her with a nod.
Christmas is in a few weeks, and both of my twin cousins are out of state prison at the same time for once. She wants to be home with her sons and their younger sister for the holiday, which is her favorite time of year.
“I can’t wait for that eggnog,” she groans before sucking hard on the end of her cigarette, and I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is looking into the room.
There’s no smoking in the hospital, but it’s freezing outside, and my aunt is dying. If someone has a problem with her, they’ll have to go through me first.
“She’s almost ready!”
My grandma calls out to my mother as she zips up the back of my wedding gown. Tiny ivory buttons fall over the zipper once my back is covered, but I can’t see it from my angle of sight in the mirror.
What I can see is that I am less than an hour away from making a big mistake. Of choosing to legally join myself to a man who complains that I expect him to work, who has no goals or plans, and most importantly, spends an hour on the phone with his mother every day. His mother, who is boycotting our wedding because I’m not good enough for her baby boy.
When I step into the hallway, my mother clasps her hands together with a proud smile, and I know there’s no going back.
“He almost fell!”
I wait for my mother to continue her tirade as my little brother grins at me. She’s holding him against her shoulder, but he’s too big for her to manage and she can hardly stand up straight.
He sticks his tongue out at me as she shuffles through the yard, away from the tree we were climbing together. Although he was the one who begged me to help him sit on the lowest branch, she was furious when he started yelling for help as soon as his butt hit the bark.
She’ll complain about me to my dad when he gets home from work, but we’ll both be in trouble when he can’t hold back a smile.
“I almost passed.”
My son waves his test results in front of me, and I hold out my hand, waiting for him to slow down and let me take a look at the computer printout.
The state high school graduation test has five parts, and he passed four of them without the assistance he is supposed to have according to his IEP. On the day of the test, he told me no one read the questions to him, and he wasn’t given any extra time.
Usually I would have called the principal to complain, but I let it go, deciding to wait for the scores before starting a fight I’m all too used to by now.
“I’ll never pass the writing section, because my fine motor skills suck. Do you want to play Mario Kart?”
I wonder if anyone at his school knows my son at all.
“I almost never think about it anymore.”
When I’m alone and hear the echo of my voice inside my head, I wonder who I’m kidding. Why do I bother lying, when no one else is here, and I know better?
If I don’t think about it, why would it come up in any conversation, especially one I’m having with myself?
Maybe if I deny it, it won’t be real. It didn’t actually happen, or maybe it did. It happened to another me, from another time, and I am someone different now. Someone who doesn’t have to carry it inside her anymore.
Can I be someone who has that choice?
“You almost lost him!”
My mother growls at me as I hug my toddler to my chest. He’s bundled tightly into his snowsuit, and I need to take him to daycare before going to work.
I’m shaking as I block out her voice, willing myself to go. For one moment, I turned my back on my son as we stood by my car in the driveway, and in that moment I was putting my key in the lock, he ran towards the street.
The empty street, barely plowed and yet, heavy with the possibility of a car’s arrival at any time.
Yes, he could have been hit, and it would have been my fault. But right now, he is safe in my arms, and I pull the door to my mother’s house closed behind us, shutting her accusations out as we brave the cold together.
“I’m almost gone.”
When my grandma whispers, I lean close, hoping I have heard her incorrectly. She’s smiling, and I wonder what she is thinking about.
During my grandfather’s last days, ten years earlier, he called out to his mother in his delirium. He laughed and waved his arms around, as if he was joking, teasing the parent he loved and lost nearly thirty years before.
My grandma suddenly opens her eyes wide and asks me to heat up a can of chicken and stars soup. She takes two small, careful sips of it from a spoon before pushing the bowl away. It is the middle of a cold winter’s night, and I understand now that she will never eat again.
Here’s another vignette-style story by
This is beautiful, Maisie. What a clever format. I love how you've penned each one. It's made me think if I could do that :) 🤍
Every one of these vignettes made me think of 'almost' moments in my life. 'Almost' indeed can change the course of our lives. Great piece of writing!