HIDDEN WOMAN by Vicki Allen-Hitt

The doorbell rang, and I looked out the peek hole. It was my sister Carol. I slipped the chain from the first lock. 

“Come on, Sis. Hurry. Open up.”

My hands shook as I un-bolted the other two. 

Her complexion was ashen, her eyes glassy. “I need to sit down.” She stumbled to the sofa. “Could you get me a glass of water? I need to take my pills.” 

As she dug into her purse for her medication, I hurried to the kitchen and returned with the water.

Two weeks before, she’d phoned. Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been crying. “I have bone cancer. It’s metastasized.”

In shock, I said nothing for a few seconds. “Why you? Why not me? You have the children and Ben.” The tears streamed down my face. “You know how much I love you.”

She swallowed three pills one by one and laid the glass aside. “I need to know once I’m gone, you’ll be okay.”

I gripped her in a bear hug. “What will I do without you? You’re the only person in my life.”

She gently pushed me away. “I want to find a therapist who deals with your kind of problem.”

“How will that help?  I haven’t left this apartment in twenty years. Can she work miracles?” 

“Just keep an open mind.”

Three days later, Carol called again. “I’m bringing a therapist tomorrow. Agoraphobia is her specialty.”

That morning, I showered and washed my hair, which I seldom did. Afterward as I wiped the mirror, I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. In the years I worked, I had my nails and hair done weekly. Now grey streaked my hair, wrinkles lined my face, and dark bags hung under my eyes.

As I waited for my sister and the therapist to arrive, my heart raced. I got the sweats and thought I was going to vomit. Staying busy was my way of coping with stress. I cleaned the kitchen, mopped my bathroom, and straightened my clothes closet. The doorbell rang, but I felt rooted to the floor. The thought of letting a stranger into my apartment terrified me. I walked to the door. My hand trembled as I struggled with the locks.

Carol and the therapist entered the apartment. “I want you to meet Joanna.” 

We shook hands. Joanna had a youthful energy. Her cream silk blouse and navy slacks showed off her toned body. 

My sister grabbed the chair and fell into it. Her clothes hung on her skeletal body. She looked much older than fifty. 

“Can I get you two something to drink?” I asked.

Joanna held up her cup. “I just went to Starbuck’s.”

“Nothing for me.” My sister struggled to stand. “I’m leaving. I’ll call you later.”

I locked the door behind her. Twisting a tissue, I sat on the end of the couch. I found it difficult to speak. “Have a seat.” 

In a soothing voice, Joanna said, “Your sister made this appointment. I need to know if this is something you want.”

“I want to do this for my sister. To be honest, after all these years, I’m not sure I can change.”

“Why don’t you help me understand what happened? Where would you like to start?”

“I guess when I noticed my anxiety worsened. After graduating from college, my first job was with an ad agency. Soon I was promoted to the head of HR, which paid a terrific salary. By thirty, I had an office with a window overlooking Broadway, but I wasn’t able to enjoy the view very often. I was too busy.” 

“Did you enjoy your job?”

“I did until I began to deal with sexual harassment cases on a daily basis. Then the company wanted me to enforce a professional dress code.  It’s not easy to tell grown women how they should dress. 

“On the day this all began, what was different than any other day?”

  “I had more cases, angry workers, and they took their anger out on me. Every person came in yelling. They frightened me.” 

“What did you do after work?”

“I headed to the gym. To be truthful, exercise helped me control my anxiety attacks, which I’ve had all my life. With my high-powered job, they became more frequent.”

“You said you’ve had these attacks all your life. Can you tell me what brought them on?”

“Trying to please my parents with good grades and attempting to fit in with my peers. But the most traumatic was the death of my younger sister.” 

“How did that happen?”

  “Mom needed to grocery shop and asked me to watch her. My girlfriend called, and we jabbered away.” I covered my face. “My sister got out in the backyard and fell into the pool. I dove in to get her, but I wasn’t strong enough to save her.”

 “How did your family handle her death?”

“My parents didn’t blame me, but I felt if I hadn’t been on the phone talking to my girlfriend, my sister would be alive.”

Joanna leaned in. “Did your anxiety worsen?”

“Nightmares haunted me. They still do.”

“What did you do to cope?”

“Physical exercise helped. Plus, on Fridays, I’d treat myself to a shampoo and set. The friendly atmosphere usually relaxed me. That day for some reason, the cacophony of hair dryers, the snipping scissors, and the continual chatter between hairdressers and their clients unnerved me more than usual. I felt a headache coming on from the chemical smells of hair dyes and perm solutions.

  “I’d been going to the same beauty salon for the past five years, mainly because it was only three blocks from my apartment. My hairdresser, Margie, was a friendly, out-going woman. I told her I needed a dye job. As I waited for her to mix the color, I heard what I thought were gunshots. Maybe three or four. I had trouble getting a deep breath, and my heart tightened. I’d never been more frightened in my life. I jumped out of the chair and dashed out the back door. I ran until I reached at my apartment. Once inside the lobby, I jabbed the elevator button over and over.”

  “As you look back on the incident, do you believe it was gunshots you heard?”

“I have no idea. At the time, I thought they were real.”

“Go on.”

“Once inside, I bolted my door, gasped for breath. I flopped onto the couch, trembling. I had trouble breathing. I hugged my body and tried to control my shaking. Since that day, I haven’t left my apartment. Not when my father or mother passed away, or the births of my sister’s two children. I order everything I need.”

“How long has it been?”

“Twenty years. My savings got me through a few years. I inherited money from my parents, and my sister helped me financially.”

“Have you allowed yourself to grieve your loss? Cried?”

“I’m afraid if I start crying, I’ll never stop.”

“I promise you will stop. Crying is exhausting.”

Joanna waited for me to compose myself before she asked, “Do you want things to change, or are you doing this only to please your sister?”

“I’d like to have a life again. I’ve missed so much, but if I haven’t been able to do it in twenty years, it’s hard for me to believe it’s possible now.”

“It will be a slow process. I need to know you’ll try.”

“If nothing else, I want to do it for Carol.”

“Have you taken your anxiety meds today?” 

“Yes.”

“We’ll start with a very small exercise. You’ll step outside your apartment for one minute and do a deep-breathing exercise. Let’s try it now.”

I paused at the door. “I don’t think I can do this. All my muscles are cramping. I can’t breathe.”

“Sit on the edge of the sofa and take some deep, slow breaths.”

After I inhaled and exhaled for a few minutes, my body relaxed, and I walked to the door. The next hurdle was dealing with my four locks. My heart raced as I grabbed the chain of the first lock, and my fingers stiffened. When I twisted the second one, my hand cramped. By the time I’d opened the fourth lock, I was exhausted and leaned against the wall. “Maybe next time. I need to lay down and rest.” 

Joanna said, “If you back down today, it won’t get any easier. You’ll have a week to come up with a new excuse. Remember, you only need to step over the threshold.”

I opened the door and glanced both ways down the cavernous hall. Seeing no one, I slowly dragged my foot to the lip of the door and stepped on top of the doorsill. I felt like a dog on a leash that didn’t want to go for a walk.

“One more step and you’ve done it.”

As I lifted my foot, it felt like I wore leaded shoes.