Thursday, 22 December 2016

A View From The Tree

A View From The Tree
by Leslie Johnson

“Whoopsie Daisy! OOH! Deep breath! Deep breath. I love the roller coaster!”
“It’s not a roller coaster, you idiot.” Green Ball shouted down to me. “Mr. Davidson is moving us out of the garage.”
“Really? Wow! That means it’s almost Christmas - the most magical time of year! Whoo hoo! Oops - bumpy ride - bumpy ride. Steady as she goes, Mr. Davidson - steady now! Are we down?”
“Everybody, quick! Close your eyes!” Gold Ball barked. PPOPP! The lid to our plastic tote pulled away and light streamed into our darkness. “Slowly, now. Open your eyes. Blink - blink!”
“Wow - they’ve painted the living room since last year. I like that colour - what would you call it? Buttered Rum? Nice and look - the alcove is Moroccan Red! They look nice together. I like it. Goes so well with the faux brick wall.” Red Ball exclaimed.
“I can’t see anything - what is buttered rum?” I shouted from my place near the bottom of the tote.
“There’s the tree.” Red Bulb continued. “Gosh it’s a beauty - so full and lush. Breathe deep guys - that’s pine - isn’t it nice. The Davidsons never go with artificial - they love the real thing.”
“Would you shut up! You’d think none of us had been here before - but we have. We’ve all been here. We don’t need the commentary.” Green Ball snapped.
“Good grief, Where is your Christmas Spirit?” Gold Ball demanded. “Lighten up or you’ll be at the back of the tree where no one can see and admire you.”
The tote fell silent for a minute. “Look, the lights are on. It’s that pretty? Red Ball was back to her commentary.
“Okay, here comes Mrs. Davidson. Get ready people. It’s our turn.” Gold Ball smiled. “Be brave now - there’s plenty of room on this tree for all of us. Whoopsie Daisy!”
And he’s gone. Red goes next then Green. My tote companions disappeared one by one as Mrs. Davidson reached inside and pulled them out into the world and onto the tree. My stomach turned over with anticipation. Who was I going to be near this year? Which way would I face? I surely didn’t want the back view again - the wall. NO one wants the wall. It’s depressing to be back there - you can’t see anything and have to rely on others to tell you what’s going on. Except the cat comes by every once in awhile - she likes to hide in the back corner and bat at the lower ornaments. Bad Kitty!
Most of my fellow decorations are gone. The ribbons, the shiny balls, the hobby horses. I can count six of us now, languishing on the soft bed of cotton that lines the bottom of the tote. That’s when the world goes dark. What the….
“Guess you’re one of us now, Little Popsicle Stick Rudolf.” The half walnut shell with the cotton ball beard chuckled. “You’re no longer good enough to be on the tree.”
I was crushed. After years of hanging in the front near the top, then moving down to the bottom and finally being hung at the back of the tree - this was my destiny. To languish in the bottom of a stupid plastic tote, waiting to be thrown out. It would be better to be discarded! At least then I wouldn’t feel the pain of rejection every year. This was the worst.
We waited for the tote to be moved out of the way - muffled voices reached us but the words were unclear. “Is that Penny’s voice?” I asked, straining hard to hear.
“Don’t know.” said Walnut Santa. “I can’t make out nothing.”
The tote lid was unexpectedly pulled away. I was blinded and quickly shut my eyes. A soft hand scooped me up. “There you are!” said Penelope kindly. “Time to find you a new home. And you and you and you.” The six of us were slipped into a paper sack. We were jostled and jolted for a time before the bag was reopened. Gently Penelope pulled us out and carefully placed us on a small artificial tree. The pretend needles were more ticklish than real ones and they didn’t smell very nice. But the view was terrific.
“This is fantastic!” Walnut Santa said. “I haven’t been hung on a tree for years. I love the view!”
I looked around the room. It was small and nondescript. The furniture was shabby and worn, and there was Penny standing next to a tall, thin man I didn’t know. “See Max! They are lovely. All the little ornaments I made in elementary school. Aren’t they perfect. They are just what the tree needed.” She smiled as the man squeezed her closer.
“I’m glad your mother never tossed them out. They go nicely with the ones I made.”

I looked around, as far as my little bubble eyes would go and hanging to my upper left was a cinnamon stick star. She winked at me!  I blushed.
It really is going to be a magical Christmas - isn’t it?

Sunday, 25 September 2016

Karma Is A Bitch

Karma Is a Bitch
By Leslie Johnson


Dillon tapped the steering wheel of his large Dodge half-ton, keeping time with the song on the radio. He felt good. It was Saturday night. He had dropped Suzy off at work and was now headed to his best friend’s house for some fun.
Andrew and his twin brother Aaron had recently purchased a five-bedroom house on the north side of town. Over the summer it became “Party Central”. Most weekends there were a group of no less than ten guys hanging together, shooting hoops in the backyard, ordering pizza and sitting around in the garage or out on the parking pad drinking beer. Sometimes girls were invited, but more often it was just the guys.
When they bought the house, Andrew offered to rent Dillon a room. Dillon turned it down for two reasons; he was trying to save money so living at home was a more prudent choice and although he loved Andrew like a brother, he didn’t really care for his twin. Aaron was a darker version of Andrew, more sullen and moody. He was a bit of a loner and most people would have nothing to do with him if he didn’t come as a package deal with Andrew.
Dillon drove down the street, scouting for a parking spot. Noticing there were none, he pulled into the back alley and parked along a neighbour’s fence. He felt a twinge of guilt as he slammed the door closed. He’d been told by a couple of police officers it was illegal to park there. But that was months ago and people had continued to park in the alley without consequence. He shrugged it off. He was there to have fun and besides, pleading ignorance always worked.
“Dillon!” Andrew called out. “How’s it going, man?”
“Great, bro.” Hoisting the two-four he was packing he handed it to Andrew. “The price of admission.” Andrew took the beer and stashed it inside the third old refrigerator in the garage. Then opening the first one, he tossed Dillon a cold beer.
“Suzy working?”
“Yeah. She’s coming by after work to pick me up. Then it’s back to her place…”
“You dog. You two getting serious?”
“I don’t know. She brings up the topic of living together occasionally, but I ignore it. I’m happy with things the way they are.”
“Good man! You don’t need a woman tying you down.”
“You talking about that fox you’re banging?” Aaron said as he walked up behind them. Dillon immediately bristled.
“Her name is Suzy and don’t you dare talk about her like that.”
“She’s got long blonde hair, legs that go all the way to the floor and she smells like heaven on a summer day. I’m not dissing her, I’m in love with the bitch.”
Andrew put his hand on Dillon’s arm. “Let it go. He’s just trying to get to you.” Then he turned to his brother. “You can be such an asshole, man. Grow up.”
“Grow up!” Aaron mimicked, rocking his head back and forth. Andrew rolled his eyes and pulled Dillon away.
“How can you live with that asshole.” Dillon demanded. Aaron was the only issue the boys had with each other. Neither could see the other’s side.
Andrew shrugged. “He’s my twin…”
“Yeah, I know. You’re linked together in some mystical way. I’ve heard it before. Doesn’t make him any less an asshole, though.”
“That be true.”
The housemates, Mason, Phillip and Justin and Justin's brother Tim were playing basketball in the backyard. Dillon wandered out the small side door to watch them. He pulled a lounge chair into the sun and sat down, cheering on the boys and refereeing disputed fouls and points.
As the light dimmed, the mosquitos became a nuisance. The boys finished their game and everyone moved inside. Andrew was chatting to some girls in the far corner. Aaron was sitting on a stool by himself on the parking pad out front. There were several empty cans littering the ground by his chair.
Someone had put some music on, the bass was thumping against Dillon’s chest. He loved feeling like this - like life just couldn’t get any better. He wandered over to Andrew, dragging a chair with him. The moment he saw her, Dillon’s heart dropped. Jessica. What was she doing here?
“Hi, Dillon.” She said. “Long time, eh?”
Embarrassed, Dillon nodded. “Ayup.” Under his breath, he whispered, “Not long enough.”
Jessica watched Dillon. She knew she had made an impression. She hadn’t wanted to come, but Danielle insisted. Having recently broken up with her latest boyfriend, she wasn’t in the mood for people, especially men. Still, she dressed with care, and posing in front of her mirror, she knew she looked hot and sexy. Seeing Dillon squirm only confirmed this and she smiled. Conquest!
Dillon wasn’t smitten, though. Jessica misread the signs. He was uncomfortable because she was unpredictable. He never knew what she would do next. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, but she was deadly too. She took and never gave, she demanded and never backed down. She was high maintenance. He was always terrified that she would make a fool of him.
Now alcohol is the great divider of all things; girls and their panties, men and their brains and couples find themselves on opposite sides of right and wrong.   
Dillon was no exception. A few beers later, he forgot to be afraid of Jessica.She was playing her A-game; witty, funny and charming. He began to wonder why he ever let her go. His senses numbed, he allowed himself to be lured to the far corner. With soft words, Jessica reeled him in until he was swimming in the deep blue pools of her eyes. Seduced by the beer and flattered by her attention, he was completely under her spell.
He forgot about Suzy. He even forgot he had invited her to join him when she got off work. He shrugged off his good sense and the nagging feeling that he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing.
Leaning in, lost in a haze of beer and perfume, he kissed her full lips. They parted easily, opening to a cool mouth that tasted like vodka and cranberry juice. His tongue sparred with hers and he groaned with desire. Jessica smiled. She had him right where she wanted. Nuzzling his neck, she worked him into a frenzy. He wanted her. She was so glad Danielle had insisted she come out.
A shadow fell across the entwined couple. Dillon looked up to see Suzy standing there, hands on hips, mouth set in anger. He tried to extricate himself from Jessica, but she wasn’t making it easy. “Let go!” He snapped, shoving her back. With a smirk, Jessica released him, leaned back and smiled. There was about to be a floor show and she was at the center of it.
“You bastard.” Suzy hissed.
“What, hey, it didn’t mean anything, honest.” Dillon shrugged.
“I don’t believe you. If you wanted to get back with your ex, you only had to say so.”
“I don’t… I mean... I didn’t know… what?” Dillon’s brain was too addled to make sense of what was happening.
“Really - you weren’t sticking your tongue down this tramp’s throat?”
“Hey! I am not a tramp?” Jessica sniffed, indignant.
Danielle appeared at Jessica’s side. “Come on, Jess. Let’s go and let these two talk.”
Jessica looked at Dillon. She smiled her prettiest smile, kissed her fingers and placed them on Dillon’s lips. “I’ll be right over there… lover.”
Before she managed to get up, Suzy swung her large handbag at Jessica’s head and knocked her back on the couch. Danielle immediately leaped at Suzy, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling her down.
“Get the fuck off of me, bitch!” Suzy shouted, kicking Danielle’s shin and shoving her back. Off balance, Danielle stumbled and fell to the cement floor. Pain slammed through her body. Defeated, she began to cry.
Jessica glared at Suzy. She had a lot of contempt for any woman as pretty as Suzy, especially those who had no concept of the power they had. Suzy was too nice, too decent. She didn’t deserve Dillon. Licking her lips, she tasted blood. Tenderly she patted her finger against the split on the side of her lip. “You are going to pay for this.”
“Get over yourself, bitch. Oh, and if you want this asshole so much, you can have him. I don’t fight for men - they fight for me. And I don’t need to spread my legs to get them, either.”
“You take that back!” Jessica yelled scrambling to get up. If Andrew and Aaron hadn’t arrived, the fight would have turned nasty. Andrew pushed Jessica back to the couch and Aaron pulled Suzy toward the door. His grip on her was so tight, he left a large bruise on her forearm.
“Let go, let go, let go, you asshole.” She hollered as she stumbled after Aaron. Dillon watched the whole scene unfold, helpless to move. He was ashamed of himself, embarrassed that he’d been caught. He was also furious with Jessica for playing it up, making it seem more serious than it was. And he was annoyed that Suzy was so easily willing to let him go. He thought they had something more. Grabbing another beer, he stormed out into the yard, leaving the fight to those inside.
Suzy finally managed to pull free from Aaron. She stood in the driveway, panting in fury. “What the hell?”
“Just leave,” Aaron said, pointing down the street.
“No.” She says. “I’m not leaving without Dillon.”
“Leave,” Aaron growled.
“No”
“Get out!” He shouted at the top of his lungs.
“No.” She shouted back, equally loudly.
“I’m telling you for the last time… LEAVE.”
“What have I ever done to you?”
“Get out of my house!” Aaron shouted, his red face darkening in anger.
“I’m not in your house. I’m in the driveway.” Suzy snapped. “And I’m not leaving without Dillon.”
Aaron changed tactics. “Then stay. I sure would like to get me some. I was telling Dillon earlier, what a fine woman you are.”
Suzy looked at Aaron. He repulsed her. His face was bloated from drink, his eyes unfocused and dull. There was even a little spittle hanging from his lip. She shuddered. “The only way I’d ever - ever - sleep with you is if I was dead. You disgust me.” She turned to go back into the garage. Aaron grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Wrapping her in a tight embrace he whispered in her ear. “Come on. Don’t be difficult. I know you want it.”
Panic filled her. She was terrified. Her arms were pinned to her sides. She wriggled and Aaron tightened his grip, She waited, not moving, willing him to let go. She felt his warm breath on her neck, the stench of beer choking her. He licked her neck, and Suzy went berzerk. She rocked and swivelled until she was free, then she stumbled forward, lost her balance and landed hard on the grass.
Unable to breathe, she lay there for a second before Aaron reached her. He rolled her onto her back and stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth to prevent her screaming. She tasted grease and grit and she gagged. Aaron sat astride her, laughing as she bucked and twisted in an effort to throw him off. He wasn't going anywhere, he was too heavy.
Seconds later, she collapsed under him, exhausted. She couldn't catch her breath, the rag was choking her. With her eyes, she implored Aaron to let her go. He only smiled, his hands wandering under her shirt. With a quick jerk, he shoved her bra up, exposing her breasts to the night air. Fear twisted her mind and she knew she was going to be raped. Where were Dillon and Andrew? Why wasn’t someone coming to rescue her?
A second after she thought all was lost, the weight on her chest disappeared. Her hands now free, she plucked the rag from her mouth and drew in a huge breath. Turning over on her side, it took her a moment to notice Aaron hanging by the neck of his shirt at the end of Dillon’s huge hand. Then Aaron was stumbling backward, disappearing in the darkness next to the house. Dillon looked at her, reaching down to pull her shirt over her breasts. “I’m sorry, babe. This is all my fault.” He offered her a hand to pull her up. Before she could take it, he crumpled to the ground beside her.
She looked up. Aaron was standing there with a large blade. She could make out a drop of something dark falling from the tip. She screamed, over and over. Lights in a few houses came on. Aaron stood there, not moving, glaring at Dillon.
Dillon groaned loudly. Suzy scrambled to help him. There was a lot of blood. “Someone, help. Anyone. Please.” She shouted. Andrew rushed out of the garage. He took one look at the scene, his heart sinking.
“Aaron, what have you done?”
Aaron didn’t move. He stood there, staring at Dillon. Sirens screamed from a distance, getting closer and closer. Jessica and the others came out to stand on the driveway. They huddled together, watching. Some were in tears, some were dry-eyed, but none were able to look away.
A police car rolled to a stop, doors flying open. The officers jumped out, guns pointing at Aaron. “Drop the weapon, son.” Aaron didn’t move. “I said drop the weapon!”
Aaron looked up. Then he looked back at the knife. He let it go. A split second later, he was on the ground, his arms pulled tightly behind his back. Cold steel shackled his hands before he was pulled roughly to his feet and propelled across the yard to the car.
An ambulance pulled up. The attendants shouted at Suzy to move back. Andrew stepped up and pulled her away. The two medical professionals went to work, assessing their patient's condition. One of them pulled a mask over Dillon’s face. They worked diligently and in tandem to stabilize the victim. On the count of three, they lifted him onto the stretcher and rolled him into the back of the ambulance. With lights flashing and the siren wailing plaintively, it sped away.
Neighbours gathered in the driveway across the street, talking among themselves as the police took statements from the people at the party house. Restlessly, they moved around, uncomfortable with this new reality on their once quiet street. When ambulance left, many of the neighbours wandered back to their homes. A few die-hards hauled out lawn chairs and sat, watching and talking among themselves.
Back across the street, the scene was more chaotic. Unable to leave, the young people moved from pillar to post, talking and hugging, unable to make sense of what happened. All they wanted to do was leave - to put this horrible night behind them.
Parents began to arrive. Panicked voices shouted names as they hurried from poorly parked vehicles. Painful cries rose up in reply as the child ran toward their parents. The crowd swelled and disbanded in small clusters as relieved parents hauled their offspring home. All were thankful it wasn’t their child taken by ambulance.
Jessica stood off by herself watching the forensic team at work. She was gnawing on her thumbnail, oblivious to the blood she’d drawn. She blamed herself for the horrific unfolding of events. She deliberately and maliciously pursued Dillon to make herself feel better. She knew he was dating someone but she didn’t care. When she met Suzy, the jealousy she felt enhanced the feelings of worthlessness she hid beneath her manicured appearance. If she hadn’t pursued Dillon, if she hadn’t antagonized Suzy, maybe none of this would have happened she told herself over and over.
Just inside the garage, an older policeman was talking to Suzy and scribbling notes on a small pad. Suzy was leaning forward from the edge of a stool someone had found for her. She was loosely cocooned in a thick, gray blanket, yet she continued to shiver violently. From a distance, she looked composed, though her face was streaked with makeup. Her parents stood a short distance away, wrapped together in solidarity and watching their daughter closely.
A younger policeman came in and signalled the older officer. The two conferred with one another. Then the older man turned to the group. In a voice loud enough for all to hear, he said, “It is my unfortunate duty to have to tell you that Dillon didn’t make it. He was pronounced moments ago. I am sorry for your loss.”
Jessica let out a wail that caused the hair on the young officer’s arms to stand up. He rushed to her side and drew her over to a chair, where she sat, sobbing loudly. He tried to elicit some contact information from her, but she refused to give him any phone numbers. She didn’t want her mother coming and her father wasn’t in the picture. He was adamant that she shouldn’t be alone, but she stubbornly refused to offer herself any comfort.
Suzy fainted at the news, falling forward off the stool onto the floor. Her fall was softened by the bulk of the large gray blanket. The policeman lifted her onto the couch across the room. Her parents sat beside her, tapping and patting her into consciousness. Once revived, she was inconsolable. They wrapped her tightly in the blanket and rushed her to the hospital. A sedative was administered, numbing and lulling her into a near catatonic state. They took her home to her childhood bedroom.
Andrew lost all the colour in his face and crumpled to the floor, not really wanting to believe his friend was gone. He also thought about his brother, worried about his welfare. Was he okay? He realized that he needed to call his parents. He needed to tell them Aaron was in jail; charged with murder and attempted rape. There would be wailing and gnashing of teeth there too.
As Andrew listened to his father's rage and shame, his insides shrivelled to dust. His father laid the blame squarely on his shoulders. "You should have been in charge. You know your brother. How could you let things get out of control? This is all your fault!"
Horrified by the events of the evening, Andrew still felt it was his duty to go with the police to inform Dillon’s parents that their son was dead. Upon hearing the news, DIllon’s father leaped at Andrew.
“You sorry, son of a bitch. This is all your fault. Your damned brother has always been wrong in the head. Your parents should have had him locked up years ago. Dillon was afraid of him. He used to tell us that and now he’s dead. Why didn’t you keep an eye on him. You knew too - didn’t you? You knew he was dangerous and you did nothing!”
The two officers pulled Dillon’s father off. They asked him to sit down. He rocked back and forth a bit but finally did as he was told. With dramatic flair, he dropped his head into his hands and started to wail. Dillon’s mother, still sitting at the kitchen table reached her hand out and placed it on the top of his head. There were no tears in her eyes, she looked like she didn’t know what happened. The police had seen this before and knew that she would fall into a pit of despair the moment she let the news in.
“Is there someone we can call? Someone who can come and be with you?”
Dillon’s mother looked up blankly. In a flat, emotionless voice she said, “Oh, yes. I suppose you could call my sister. She lives across town. She’s on speed dial - the first name after the emergency numbers. The officer placed the call and when the sister arrived, they left.
Andrew had moved back against the wall. He hadn’t offered a word in his own defence to the accusations of his failure. He took the shaking as his punishment, almost wishing Dillon's dad had hit him. It might have brought some relief to the pent up anguish he felt inside.
The police dropped him back at the house. A sharp pain ran through him when he saw Dillon’s truck parked against the neighbour’s fence. He needed to move it but he knew he had no means to. Walking up the driveway toward the front door, he stopped to look at the patch of lawn where it had happened. His stomach churned as he relived the sight of his friend laying on the ground, his brother standing over him with a bloody knife in his hand.
Who had called the police? He couldn’t remember. It was all a blur except for that scene. That one stayed with him. It took months before he could sleep without seeing that picture when he closed his eyes. The frequency slowed and then increased again during the trial.
Aaron was found guilty and sentenced to twenty-five to life without the chance of parole for ten years. Andrew watched as they walked his brother out the door in handcuffs. He hadn’t spoken to him since that night and had no intentions of doing so again. He had lost his best friend and his brother and he wasn’t ready to forgive any of it.
Suzy went to live with a cousin in Edmonton a few months after the funeral. She came home to testify at Aaron’s trial. Sitting on the stand, her short blonde tresses wispy around her face, she relived the horror of that night again.
Back in Edmonton, it took her a long time to move on. She didn’t date anyone for two more years and eventually met a man who reminded her of Dillon. They married within three months, against the protests of her parents. The union lasted less than a year. With the end of her marriage, she finally conceded that counselling might be needed..
Jessica struggled a lot. She found comfort by visiting Andrew and eventually the two fell in love and got married. Many spoke against them, pronouncing nothing but doom and gloom for their future. They proved the naysayers wrong and lived quite contentedly together. They bought a house in a nice neighbourhood and began raising their family. There were no issues they didn’t manage to overcome until a nearby house was sold to a bunch of young boys.
The party house on the corner served to dredge up memories for the couple. The shouting in the middle of the night, caused Jessica to experience heart palpitations. Andrew started seeing the scene of Dillon, dead on the lawn again. He walked down the street and tried to talk to the young men, to let them know that their behaviour was disrespectful to the rest of the neighbourhood. The boys reacted just like he and Aaron had all those years ago. They told Andrew to mind his own business using the vocabulary of the gutter.
A “For Sale” sign went into the lawn on Andrew and Jessica’s house within the week. Karma is a bitch - ain’t she?

Saturday, 10 September 2016

Erasing the Memory of Him

Erasing the Memory of Him

by Leslie Johnson


The phone rang a few times before he answered. Her heart nearly burst through her chest at his greeting. She loved the sound of his voice, smooth like whiskey. Welcoming. “Don’t hang up.” She said immediately. She worried that once he learned who was on the phone he would.

But as usual, he greeted her kindly and asked after her day. She knew in her heart that she should move on. He had broken off their relationship months ago, but she couldn’t seem to find a way to erase him from her heart. She found herself helplessly going down the same road past his house to see if he was home. She worried about the day another car would be parked in the driveway, but she ignored her fear since it hadn’t happened yet.

He was so right for her - so perfect. What had gone wrong? She wasn’t even sure. She also knew that she should never have dated him in the first place - their faiths were divided. But she was edging close to forty and felt desperate to have someone in her life. The internet was new and it opened a world she felt ready for. Internet dating - Canadian Lonely Hearts.

She met several men. There was Dale, John, Chuck, Scott, Al, and now Daniel. Although things never went beyond conversation with most of them, she liked hearing that “You’ve Got Mail” welcome when she signed on. Daniel was the most cautious of the men she met. He wrote very little about his past, while she regaled him with stories from her life. She had a million of them and he loved her tales of adventure and misadventure. Eventually, he shared a few insights into his world, but with reluctance. He mostly wrote about the now.

They progressed in their friendship to an exchange of phone numbers. For three weeks they talked nearly every day, long into the night. One day he announced he was  ready to meet. She was nervous as he opened his door. There he was - not a hulking giant of a man, but handsomely perfect. His eyes were soulful and brown. She loved brown eyes.

He smiled, showing one little crooked tooth in the front that made him sexy rather than imperfect. He saw his intelligence as they talked about their days. She noticed his attire, fashionable - much more so than hers. Her heart sang when she watched him at the barbecue or putting on some music. To her, he was perfect.

He seemed to understand her, to intuit her fears and anxieties. Spending time with him was like coming home - comfortable, and easy. They were playful and funny and tender together. They had stimulating conversations about life and politics.

For the first time in her life she imagined red roses against a white dress and pledging eternity as the sun rose over the horizon on a warm spring morning.

Three months passed. Then four. She loved opening her emails and finding love letters from him. She would print them off and read them over and over until the paper tore apart and she had to print them anew. He led her down the garden path to a place she’d never been before… to the core of amore - to where love bloomed eternal - to bliss.

And then, six months in, they had their first fight. It was awful and ugly and she didn’t fare well. She fell apart. She didn’t understand. It was his birthday and his daughter was coming over. Her excitement at meeting her was smashed to bits when he insisted she leave before his daughter arrived. He didn’t understand. This was one step closer to their forever, the one she was planning in her heart. But he didn’t want them to meet. He wanted her gone. And just like that… it was over. For him. Not for her.

She couldn’t sleep. He was so ingrained in her thoughts, in her world, he was everywhere. She called him incessantly and he always took her call. He always spoke kindly to her, his voice pulling her close. Yet he managed to keep her at arm’s length no matter how hard she tried to prove to him she was worthy of his love and affection. He hadn’t moved on but he stubbornly refused to come closer. All the while, she waited for him to realize how special she was. But he didn’t care. He never looked back except when she cornered him. Then like a child, he would treat her with kindness until he could brush her off. When he was gone, she felt emptier with the fresh loss of him.

She was obsessed and she knew she was in trouble. She tried moving on herself, but each new man fell short of the perfection she once thought she knew. She found herself calling him after every date, telling him what they had done and where they had gone. He encouraged her to stick with it, but she always let go in order to come back to him. She needed him and it grieved her because she knew he didn’t want her back.

Crying herself to sleep became normal. She woke with puffy, red eyes from the tears and invested in cosmetics to hide the bags and dark circles. She gained weight and hated herself for it. And still she clung to him, even after his path took a turn she didn’t like. He was leaving her behind and she knew his decisions were meant to hurt her. He never once drank so much as a beer while they were dating; now he bragged about passing out on his front lawn after a night out with his new friends. She didn’t even know him anymore.

Understanding the battle was lost and the war would never be won, she quit her job, packed up her belongings, and moved. She secretly hoped that he would come after her but he never did. She stopped calling him and after a while, she only thought about him late at night, when she was overtired and feeling vulnerable. And sometimes when she was driving he would infiltrate her thoughts and she would be back there, back in that life  - the one she built in her mind.

The years passed and she eventually forgot his phone number. She still longed for him or what she imagined him to be, but she no longer knew where to find it. She tried to recreate her experience, but the dating sites were full of Lotharios and letches. She met many undesirables… bigots, racists, know-it-alls, game-players, perverts, and a handful of angry, broken, divorced men. It was a cesspool not worthy of her attention. She gave up her search.

Four years passed before she returned to the city where they had met and lived to visit friends. As she neared the city limit, like a long-lost friend, his phone number leaped easily to her mind as if she had dialed it yesterday. She pulled into a roadside turnout and using her cell phone, she punched in the number. Then she waited, her heart pounding in her throat, unable to hit send. She eventually closed the phone and tossed it onto the seat of her car before bursting into tears.

In that moment, his memory was so clear and vivid she couldn’t breathe. Yet he was far away; he’d always been far away. She didn’t understand how to correlate the two versions of him - the one she knew him to be and who she wanted him to be. She wrestled with her emotions, tired of feeling like an unclaimed treasure, unable to understand why he hadn’t wanted her.

She lay her head on her steering wheel and let the tears wash away the sorrow of his loss and the sting of his rejection. Even though it had happened years ago, she had never let go - she’d never wanted to. Even as she lived a new life miles away, he was always in the background of everything she did. It seemed like it had taken a lifetime to get this far. The past years were a perpetual cycle of grieving him, of allowing the idea of him to guide her. She had been fooling herself - believing she’d moved on.

Sitting in her car - not far from the third lane of a busy highway - she finally had enough. The threads of her obsession fluttered and pulled free. The wind snatched them through the window and they took wing. She watched them disappear in the wake of an eighteen-wheeler. For the first time in years, she knew that he was behind her, well and truly behind her. She was free. She had finally managed to erase the last of his memory from her heart.

Saturday, 23 July 2016

Goodbye George

I look at the sallow, sunken man in the hospital bed. It's hard to believe it's George. George, who weighed two hundred fifty pounds in his prime; who carried me across the threshold as a young bride; who wrestled suspects to the ground with ease; who was the hero of his detachment because he was the arm wrestling champion during the Kids for Cancer Sports Day for twenty years running. Ironic isn't it, that cancer stole his strength from him and it took his vitality and his very essence with it.

He's sleeping now, his breath is raspy and shallow. They'll come and give him more medication if it gets worse. There is nothing more they can do for him, except keep him comfortable. I can't believe it's nearly over. The doctor said he could go at any time.

What am I going to do without him? We've been together for fifty years. We celebrated right here in this damn hospital room only a few short weeks ago. The nurses have been so great. I couldn't do what they do – work on a ward where people come to die. Oh Lord, give me strength to see this through. I want to stay with him until the end, but it is so hard; so very hard watching the love of your life fade away.

I stand and move clumsily about the room. I need to stretch my legs a moment, I've been sitting a long time. There's not a lot of space to move – the bed, a chair, twenty-four inches give or take of walkway between the bed and the walls on either side. I watch my step in case I trip on cords or the corner of the metal dresser. I look out the window onto the empty, snow covered courtyard several stories down. It would be a nice view in the summer; flowers, the trees offering a bit of shade to the people sitting around enjoying the weather. Today, it looks bleak and cold, much like it is in this room.

I look at my watch, the kids should be back any time now. I sent them away an hour ago. They argued that I needed a break too, but I stubbornly held my ground. I couldn't leave George here in this room on his own. Not when his time was so near.

A few minutes later, I resume my post in the chair beside the bed. I take his hand, it's cold and dry. I cup it in my warmer ones, giving it a squeeze. I looked across the room at the window and began to talk, my mind a moving picture of our lives together. I no longer see the room, I am lost in the past as I remind George of our lives together.

Do you remember how we met George? Oh my, you were a handsome figure in your uniform. So dashing. It was a wet and stormy night, remember? The silly old woman who sailed through that red light. She was so lucky you know. I could have killed her had I been distracted for even one second. I almost managed to avoid her. I only clipped her rear fender, though we both spun around like skaters in the Ice Capades.”

All I remember is the horrible sound of metal collapsing, the world blurring and a sudden, jolting stop. I burst into tears. It was that young father in the station wagon who reached me first, making sure I was okay. Then there you were. Strong and efficient, taking charge of the situation. You were just out of training, still wet behind the ears or so your partner used to remind you. But you did your job admirably, getting the facts and clearing the scene.”

That poor old lady. She hung her keys up that night, never drove again. You were so kind and understanding to her. I remember listening to you talking to her and feeling something stir inside my heart. Oh, how I wanted you to ask me out and eventually you did, but you took your sweet time”. I laugh. “Yes, if you were nothing else, you were your own man. You never let anyone rush you and you never got angry when I demanded answers before you were ready. You just did what you needed to do. Have I ever told you how I admired that quality?” I squeeze his hand again.

I still say that if it hadn't been for that minor car accident, our paths might never have crossed and you'd have married some bleach blonde hussy who wouldn't have the wisdom to know she had the best.”

I chuckle at our standing joke. George was always drawing the ladies. Wherever we went women threw themselves at him, even in my presence. They came in all shapes and sizes and the only commonality was their boldness. George, bless him, was a good man, faithful, loyal and true. He never strayed, though he certainly was given opportunities. That reminds me .....

Remember Gwendoline? Oh, George, she was something else wasn't she. She was perhaps the boldest of those I personally knew about. We lived in that tacky little one bedroom apartment on Cedar Street and she lived right across the hall. Our first home together and it was all we could afford as we saved our pennies to buy our first house.”

She was a divorcee, with a body that even I admired. Tall, long legs, an hour glass figure, curves and I mean curves in all the right places. You always gave that short whistled 'wow' whenever we talked about her. She was the closest thing I ever knew to a cat in heat. She had a itch with your name on it.” I chuckled, shaking my head.

Do you remember all her transparent excuses for getting you over to her place. 'Come and kill the spider, George!' 'I need you to fix the leaking faucet, George!' 'George, I have a broken drawer I need you to look at.' I can still see her standing in our doorway, with her bleached hair, teased and back combed until it was almost straw-like; her tight pants and cropped blouses accentuating her figure. She most certainly had broken drawers, didn't she? Oh my.”

I guess, if I have to be honest with you, I was jealous of her in a way. She was so sultry; sexy in a sleazy sort of way and I was so plain. I did worry in those early days that you would leave me, if not for her, for someone like her. I guess I was insecure , not of you, but of myself. Thankfully I learned to let go and trust you and you never did me wrong. I am a very lucky woman.” Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back and take a deep breath.

I can tell you that I was absolutely thrilled when we finally bought that house! Moving across town away from her leering eyes took the pressure off. I didn't have competition knocking on my door twice a week, begging for your time. I got pregnant and stopped working after that and soon we were a growing family.” I paused, lost in my own memory for a moment. “I wonder what ever happened to her?”

For all your strength and vitality, my being pregnant turned you to jelly.” I smiled at the memory. “I loved that about you. You clucked like a mother hen, fussing over me like I was the first woman to be in that condition. But you came through when I needed you. You got me to the hospital and you held my hand until they handed you the baby. Oh, I remember your expression when you looked at Robbie that first time. It is seared in my memory. My heart just about burst that morning. The pride and love that flooded your face. I think that was when I really knew, that no matter what happened, nothing would ever come between us.”

You looked the same way when Becky came into the world. Our lovely daughter stole your heart the moment you looked into her tiny face. And Peter too, the baby of our brood. You were as proud to hold him as you were all the others, you never made him feel like you'd been there, done that.”

I loved you more with each child. I didn't think it would be possible to love someone as much as I loved you when we married, but after three kids, my love for you was unfathomable. I finally understood those love songs ... as deep as the ocean, as high as the mountains. You were then and you are now, my everything.”

George stirs. I blink and refocus on the room, turning my attention to him. His eyes are open; he's looking at me. He tries to smile, I see it in his eyes, but it takes too much effort. I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back; sort of ... he's weak. It's barely noticeable, though I feel it like a vice grip on my heart. I take a deep breath. I need to be strong for him.

Remember when the kids were young? Remember when we went on vacation to Vancouver, our first family holiday. We had such a lovely time in Stanley Park, didn't we? That trip was the first of many and it was special because you showed us that we could have fun every single day. We took two weeks to make a two day trip. We camped along the way, the kids explored Fort Steele and other sites of interest. We picked a basket of peaches in Penticton. We stopped before we got car weary and hiked or played or had a picnic. It was perfect. Then two nights in a small hotel in Vancouver, walking on the beach collecting sea shells. The trip home was just as much fun, playing I spy and pointing out foreign license plates, counting the cows or horses we'd see along the highway. I think it was because of you George. You knew how to have fun.”

His eyes, masked though they are with the drugs he's been given to numb the pain, twinkle as I talk. I continue to go through the stories of our lives together, piece by piece. I don't bring up the tragedies, I don't want him going into the next world remembering the miscarriage I had after Peter or the death of his partner. I remind him of our good time, our children, our love. Our life together.

I never shift my gaze from his, although I feel like the children should be back already. I want to check my watch but talking to George as he keeps his eyes glued to my face is more important right now. I see his love, I cherish that as I laugh about the time Robby played the lead in the school play. He was ten, and so like his father.

Remember when Robbie played Hansel in this school play?” His nod is barely discernible. “The two of you rehearsing his lines every day. You did all the other parts, changing your voice from Gretel's high pitched squeal to the witch's gravelly cackle. I stood outside Robbie's door and listened to the two of you carry on. You were a good coach and he knew his lines backwards and forwards. At breakfast you would throw out a line from the middle of the play and he knew what he was supposed to say.”

The night of the play, I think you were more nervous than Robbie. That poor boy walked out onto that stage and forgot everything. Stage fright! You nearly came out of your seat, wanting to rush up there and rescue him. But Robbie did you proud that night. He just said what came into his head and when he got a laugh from the crowd, he just kept it up. The teacher wasn't impressed at first, but the show was well received by the audience. It was the first time Hansel and Gretel was performed as a comedy and Robbie will always be remembered as the most precocious Hansel ever. Our Robbie. It's hard to imagine that he's forty-eight now. Where did the time go? ”

Our oldest is forty-eight, George. Imagine that. The time goes too quickly. He's a lawyer, a prosecutor. We should have guessed the path he would take, with his theatrical bend, his ability to think on his feet. He and his wife gave us two of our blessings – Julia and Trevor. Gosh, Julia is twenty herself and Trevor is eighteen. He graduates in June. It's going to be a special day.”

I sit for a moment in silence, lost in thoughts of Robbie and his family. Then I move on to Becky. “Oh George!” I sigh merrily. “Do you remember Becky's first date? I don't know who was more nervous. You or me. I was worried the date wouldn't go well and you were worried it would. She was fifteen years old and far too young to understand the complexities of dating or so we thought.”

But she had a good head on her shoulders and she knew who she was, even back then. She was cool as a cucumber that night, sailing out of the house and back home again, self assured and confident. It made our hearts swell with pride. She never took any guff off the boys, maybe because she had Robbie and Peter to back her up. Maybe because she always knew what she wanted. She was blessed, but I give you a lot of credit for her self confidence. You helped her to see that she was precious and special and that she deserved only the best.”

Because of your love for her, she didn't give herself away, she waited. She never dated anyone twice who didn't treat her with respect. We were so proud of her, weren't we. She's a teacher, and she married a wonderful man and she gave us those beautiful grand babies. Ellen, Darla and little George, who isn't so little anymore. More of the precious blessings, we've been given.”

And Peter, our little entrepreneur. He was the only one interested in a paper route and how we wished he was less ambitious on those cold and snowy mornings. Do you remember all the times you climbed out of your warm bed to help that boy when the weather was bad? Too many times, but you never complained. Never once uttered a harsh word, because getting up gave you time with him on his own. Some Saturdays you'd go for breakfast together after the job was finished. You'd come home grinning about some shared secret or joke. I filled in when you were working, but honestly, I know he preferred it when it was you. You were his strength and his hero. He looked up to you. As we all did”

Peter's wife and his three precious angels – Elizabeth, Karen and Steve, are further evidence of our love. We have three beautiful children and eight wonderful grand kids. All of them a tribute to you, my love. You and I, George, have lived a charmed life, haven't we?”

He nods and whispers .... “Charmed.” Tears fill my eyes. I stare into his face and for a split second I glimpse the man he was before this dreaded disease took hold. “Love you.” he says with more force than his previous whisper.

To the moon and back.” I say .... it's our ritual, our game.

He closes his eyes. He breaths in, he breaths out and he is gone. I sit there for a long time, holding his hand, tears streaming silently down my face. How am I going to live without him?

A hand rests on my shoulder. It's Robby. The kids and grand kids are all standing behind me, they've been here all the time, quietly listening to the stories of our lives together. There isn't a dry eye among them.


Goodbye George.” I whisper. “I'll see you on the other side.” I finally let go of his hand, sit back and let the tears flow and my kids crowd around to say goodbye.