The blank page on her desk felt like an accusation. It was mocking her, really, with its edging of vines and flowers. Even the playful bunny in the corner appeared to be laughing at her.
“Shut it, Bunny!” She closed her eyes and massaged her temples for a moment, then sighed and opened them again. She began to write the dreaded letter.
Dear Steve,
I am using this particular stationary because I hate it almost as much as I hate you. Actually, that isn’t really true at all. I hate you so much more.
She paused, chewing on the end of her pen.
Yesterday, you saw me in the hallway and acted like you didn’t. Of course, you were talking to Carla. You’re always talking to her.
Her pen was leaving inky blotches in the page but she was glad. She needed him to feel her anger.
Then, you were supposed to meet me after Chemistry and you blew me off. So, guess what? I’m breaking up with you. That’s right. I hate you and I’m breaking up with you.
Too bad, So sad,
Jessi
Jessi folded the note into a triangle and wrote, “Steve” on the front in angry block letters. She would give it to him tomorrow in homeroom. That would show him.
Her phone dinged and she snatched it up, tapping the screen to see who messaged. It was Steve. “Sorry I missed you after Chemistry. I got cut in gym class and had to leave early. I got 5 stitches.”
“What about Carla, though?” She asked the empty room.
As if in answer, her phone dinged again. She swiped it angrily, “Also, Joey said you walked by looking mad when I was talking to Carla yesterday. She’s my partner for the science fair. That’s why I’m talking to her a lot lately.”
Jessie stared at the message, feeling her anger dissipate. She looked at her note with its angry block letters, then back at the message…
“No problem. I wasn’t mad,” she typed out, throwing the note in her trashcan, “Glad you are ok, Baby. See you tomorrow!”
They had the perfect tree this year, she thought, primping the branches to make the tree the exact triangular shape she wanted… Except…
“William!”
“Yes, Dear,” he appeared in the doorway, well into his third glass of scotch.
“William, Darling, did you not notice how misshapen this brunch was when you picked out the tree? This really won’t do. You’re going to have to trim it.”
“Yes, Dear.” He placed his scotch on a coaster and turned, stumbling slightly. He disappeared, returning a few moments later with the trimmers, “Please show me exactly where you would like me to trim.”
She sighed to let him know his drunkenness was not appreciated and pointed at the branch she wanted cut. William responded by cutting the branch next to it.
“What did you do? I said this one not that one! You’ve ruined it!!”
“Perhaps, we could turn that side to the wall?”
“No, William, we can’t. This is the side I wanted facing the room,” she glared at him, “Oh, go drink your scotch. Leave the trimmers.”
Source (picture of a male-presenting person looking in a mirror)
He placed the flower on his lapel and attempted a smile in the mirror. His reflection sent him back a feeble sort of smile, overshadowed by the sadness in his eyes, ”
Stop it!” he yelled, slamming his palm on the dresser, “You choose this. You have to be happy!” But two forlorn eyes stared back, daring him to start something. He sighed, and giving up, pulled himself to his feet, lumbered out of the room and down the stairs to where his bride awaited.
Snow whirled in the yellow light from the streetlight as she posed beneath it. At 4:30 in the afternoon, it was already dark enough for them to have lit. She knew it meant she had to go home soon for dinner but for now, she had the rink to herself and she could practice her routine.
Music played in her head and streetlights became spotlights. The whirling snowflakes were an arena full of spectators, as she competed in her first Olympics. All eyes were on her, she was favored for the gold.
She landed her first jump easily, a smile plastered to her face. The second was a smooth landing as well and her transition to the camel spin was perfect. Her footwork had never been better and she soared across the ice with her hair streaming behind her.
Finally, she finished with a flourish and the crowd of snowflakes went wild. She curtseyed, turned and curtseyed again, as the snowflakes gathering at her feet became flowers from the crowd. She held her back straight and her smile in place as she skated to the rink’s exit, waving to her admirers.
Five minutes later she opened her front door to a warm blast of air. Her mom was in the kitchen pulling dinner from the oven, as she entered, “I was almost ready to send your dad up to the rink to get you.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Did you have fun? Was anyone there?
“No. I was alone.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Maybe some kids will come tomorrow.”
For as long as anyone could remember, the boy had had a song in his heart. He sang when he got up in the morning, he sang while he was tying his shoes, he sang as he walked to school where the teacher could barely keep him quiet, he even sang in his sleep but most of all, he sang for his Mama, his greatest love and supporter.
As he grew, he became well-known in the tri-county area. He was chosen for every local choir and was given every opportunity to shine. Before he was even a teenager, he was performing solo at all three county fairs. He was on track to become the next biggest thing until… Tragedy struck.
When he was fourteen, his Mama died, tragically and traumatically and he was the unfortunate sole witness to her gruesome accident. He stopped singing. He stopped eating. He stopped even talking. He was unable to function and was institutionalized for many years.
They forced him to eat and he regained his health. He attended therapy and eventually began to speak again. At thirty he was deemed “cured” and released into the world to become a productive member of society… But his heart had not completely healed. He could talk, work, eat and function but still, he did not sing.
He got married, they had children. He provided well and he truly loved them… Enough to almost sing… But the melody wouldn’t come and the lyrics twisted in his mouth. He compromised and his monotone hum was written indelibly into the memories of his children.
They talked of it reverently but quietly in his hospital room as he lay dying. They knew very little of his tragic history, as trauma does not like to be retold.
As he drew closer and closer to death, he became more and more immersed in an unseen world. They drew closer and held his hands when his breathing grew more ragged. It stopped. His children held each other weeping and then…
Something beautiful and otherworldly erupted from his throat. A song, he had loved to sing to his Mama as a child. It filled the room to the brim, penetrating their sadness and filling their hearts with song. He sang the haunting melody in its entirety, heaved a great sobbing breath and went back to sleep for his final rest.
She stared idly at her shoes in the corner, while he talked. Joel was prone to long drawn out explanations and her brain, which had initially struggled to focus, had given up completely. Some deep part of it had chosen this exact moment to try and calculate the approximate remaining life span of her sneakers… And should she change the laces or just get new shoes? They looked dirty. Something really needed to be done with them.
“Lisa… Lisa!”
“Oh, sorry. What?”
“I asked you what you thought…”
Her brain worked furiously trying to recall the thread of the conversation. It was something about his work. His boss did something? Crap. She sat there, hopelessly mute.
“Lisa? We’re you listening?”
“No. I must have zoned for a moment. Sorry.”
His face cemented and her stomach knotted. She knew that look. He would shut down, become sullen for days until he finally told her off for not showing more interest in his life. She wished they could get right to the telling off part. His moping would make the next few days even more uncomfortable but it would have to run its course.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she said, kissing his stoney cheek before heading off to the bedroom to toss and turn.
In the early morning darkness they silently packed the car and wound their way through the sleepy neighborhood to the highway beyond. His face appeared relaxed and serene in the soft green glow of the dashboard lights but his series of one-word answers all morning told her otherwise. She tried anyway.
“Joel…” She asked quietly, “Couldn’t we just… ?” She let her words trail off into the all-encompassing silence. She didn’t have to finish. They were on a well-tread path. He wouldn’t respond. He never did.
Eventually, giving in to his mood, she put her headphones on and settled back for the drive, watching the sky go through a series of color changes as the sun rose above the horizon. By the time they reached her sister’s, the unspoken argument had become frozen like a third passenger sitting between them. Anxious to leave the car, she barely waited for it to stop before opening the door and exiting.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can talk,” She whispered to Sheila, kissing her on the cheek, “He’s at it again and I need to get away.”
Shiela’s eyes said everything Lisa was thinking. Now? He’s pulling this now? Out loud she said, “The funeral director is coming at two to go over the plans. Joel, Steve is down in the rec room watching the game if you want to head on down once your things are settled.”
Watching his retreating form, Shiela whispered, “What are you supposed to have done this time?”
“I didn’t listen to his boring work problem.”
“And he can’t give you a pass, considering everything?”
“I guess not.”
“Honey, you know this isn’t ok, right? He’s being really fucking selfish.”
“I know.”
“Here,” she thrust a wine goblet into Lisa’s hand, “we have time for a drink before you get changed.”
“No, Shiela, really… I want to face this sober.”
“To each their own,” Shiela responded, raising her already-full glass, “I’ve been drinking since yesterday.”
The funeral parlor was so hot, she wished Joel’s iciness could actually cool things down, but it didn’t. Sure stood next to him, hugging strangers, shaking hands and keeping an eye on Shiela who was beginning to look like she might tip over. Steve was, of course, too distracted by some football conversation somewhere.
She was grateful when it was over and Shiela had passed out on the couch in her living room. Steve was back in the rec room instead of taking care of his wife and Joel was as lifeless and useless as ever. How had they both managed to marry men so like their father?
Lisa, sighed, headed up to the guest room and kicked off her shoes with Joel trailing closely behind in an imitation of obedience. What made him think she wanted that?
“Joel.” He still refused to answer, “Joel… For God’s sake, Joel, we just left my father’s funeral! And you’re what? Giving me the cold shoulder because I missed some boring ass story you were telling me? Did it occur to you that I was sad and couldn’t focus right then? Did it occur to you that I might need some support instead of your icy bullshit?”
He didn’t answer. He sat on the bed, looking away from her but even from behind she could see him bristle at her words. She picked up the keys from the nightstand, where he had left them, walked around the bed and placed them next to his hand, which lay resting on the bedspread.
She took a step back and looked at him, not caring if he refused to return her gaze. “Go home, Joel. I don’t want you here anymore.”
He looked up with surprised confusion. “Oh. Now you’ll look at me,” he opened his mouth but she cut him off, “You don’t get to speak now. Pack your things and go.”
He pulled his few things together and stuffed them angrily into his suitcase, pulled it off the bed and… Just stood there.
She met his stare and his unasked question, “I did mean it. Go.”
“Lisa…”
“No. When I get home were getting a divorce.”
Lisa, this is…”
“No. Just go. I have to take care of Shiela and I need you to go.”
His shoulders drooped almost comically and for the first time in days she nearly laughed. When he finally turned and left and she heard his car in the driveway, she could no longer hold back, she laughed and cried all at the same time. She was sad and yet… She suddenly felt so free.
Kevin stood awkwardly near the monument, like the tourist he was, feeling the hot summer sun beating down on his already-reddened shoulders. He felt foolish, but he was taking the picture regardless of how he felt. His mother needed to see it, and it was the least he could do for her. Kevin was determined to give her something of this place, her ancestral home, which she was now too sick to visit.
It had been her lifelong dream to go to Dublin, the city her grandmother had reluctantly abandoned for America. For as long as he could remember, she spoke longingly of the place, vowing to visit if she ever had the money, but life had been hard, and there was never enough money. All his life, he had wanted to give her this trip, but by the time he had saved enough, she was too sick to travel.
Her cancer had spread so quickly. Kevin had planned to cancel the trip and stay by her side after her diagnosis. The journey had been her idea, a culmination of and reward for a life of hard work. Without her, there was no point in traveling, but she insisted he go without her. “Go, Kevin, I want you to go. Take that nice girl you’ve been dating. I know you are getting serious. Maybe you’ll get more serious on the trip?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly, but he didn’t want to talk about the seriousness of his relationship right then. He loved Stephanie, but he was terrified of commitment, and no matter how sick his mother was, he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t make such a big decision unless he were sure.
“Mom, this was supposed to be our trip. It was my gift to you for all the hard years of raising us alone.”
“And it will be. You’ll go to all the places on my list, and you’ll take a lot of pictures. And you need to bring Stephanie. Someone has to take your picture at each landmark.”
“Mom, stop pushing things with Stephanie. I’m not ready to commit. You know that.”
She reached for his hand, grasping it in hers. It was so light and frail; he was almost afraid to hold it, fearing the lightest squeeze could break her, but her voice was steady and bold when she spoke. “My son, I should send you to kiss the blarney stone while you are in Ireland. You are a master at convincing yourself of your lies. Not ready! You practically live together already. I know you were hurt before, but it’s time to move on with your life. Get over yourself! Go with Stephanie and let your guard down for once in your life. I promise you will see what I already know. I’ve known you your whole life, you know.”
It was his mother’s dying wish, so here he was, standing near the statue Dubliners affectionately called “The Prick with the Stick,” posing awkwardly, as Stephanie snapped a few pictures and uploaded them to Facebook. His mother was watching the account obsessively, from her sickbed, with her Hospice nurse at her side. She called him several times a day to comment on their adventures.
“Oh! Babe, she is watching! I barely uploaded, and she’s already liked all of them.”
“I still feel like I should be there and not here.”
“I know, but this is her wish, and you’re a great son… I know how much you love her, and so does she. Last time we were there, she told me you are her greatest achievement. It means the world to her that you tried to make this trip happen for her. And it means the world to me to be able to be here with you.”
“I’m glad you came. Without you, my sadness would have consumed me. Having you here has made the trip worthwhile for me. I mean, it’s Dublin. I’m halfway around the world on the trip of a lifetime, and I want to enjoy it, but it’s bittersweet, you know? Without you, it would just be sad.”
As he said it, his mother’s truth finally sunk in. Without Stephanie, his life would be sad. His mother knew it. It was why she had been pushing him to let go of his doubts. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to be ok after she died.
“What are you thinking?” She broke his reverie, “You look like a light bulb went off inside your head.”
“It did! Stephanie, my mom, she’s been, you know, subtly pushing for us to get married.”
“I know. I wasn’t going to make a thing out of it, though.”
“She’s right, though, we should.”
Stephanie looked at him, bemused, “I really hope this isn’t your proposal.”
“No. I mean, yes, but no, I’ll do it properly, but will you be saying yes?”
“Am I supposed to tell you that?”
“There’s no rules, Babe.”
“Ok. Then I’m sure I’ll say yes.”
“Good because I want us to do it while my mom is alive. I want her to be there. It was her idea, after all. I mean, it’s all me asking. I’m not asking because of her, but she was smart enough to get me out of my head.”
“What?”
“I know I want to marry you!”
“You said that.”
“I know, but I didn’t know, and now I know!”
Stephanie laughed as he danced around the sidewalk like an excited five-year-old. “Then propose already.”
“Oh. Yeah. Ok. Stephanie,” taken by a wave of happiness, he got down on his knee in the sidewalk, prompting several passersby to stop and watch, “Will you marry me?”
“Yes. Yes! Of course, I will.”
The crowd clapped as he jumped up to embrace her.
“Where’s the ring?” An older woman with a cane eyed him suspiciously.
“Oh. Yeah. You need a ring.”
“Later. Ma’am, will you take our picture?” She looked at him in earnest, “We need to send a picture to your mom.”
The woman took his phone and snapped several pictures before stuffing it back in his hand. She shuffled off down the street, calling over her shoulder, “Buy the girl a nice ring!”
They laughed together, and for a moment, he forgot his sadness and angst. He was happy. It seemed impossible, but at this moment, he had found his happiness.
Source (Picture of a corn field under a bright blue sky)
She stepped out of the car and filled her lungs with fresh, country air. They expanded gratefully as her eyes took in the little white house framed by an endless sky. She was home, at long last, and she felt her body relax under the Iowa sky.
Her Mama would be inside doing the requisite celebratory baking. Tomorrow would bring a gathering of family and friends to the farmhouse’s large yard. There would be barbeque, beer, music and laughter… And, of course, Johnny.
She bristled with nerves and anticipation at the thought. A year of college had changed her so much. What had it done to him? Did he still write poetry? Would he still make corney jokes when he was nervous? Would his gaze still make her heart stop beating?
A summer of promise stretched out before her. She hadn’t felt this excited or nervous since her parents dropped her off at school the previous August. Who knew coming home would hold such dramatic anticipation?
There was nothing to do but let the future unfold. She reached back into the car for her rucksack, slung it over her shoulder and headed inside to greet her mother, summer’s fair promises, whispering in her ear, as she walked. Whatever happened, she was sure it would change her even more. She was ready for it.
“No one comes in here,” he shook his head sadly, “People can’t afford quality goods anymore and I can’t afford to lower my prices. I’ll be forced to close soon.” He took a dirty rag from his pocket and swiped it quickly across his face but he was a little too late. Amy had already seen the shining tears in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry. She murmured. It’s a lovely store. Did you make all these toys yourself?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ve been carving wooden toys since 1956. My father taught me and his father taught him.”
“Wow. These are beautiful handcrafted items. The world needs to see them… I was wondering, do you have a webpage?”
“No. I’m not really wanting to deal with computers and stuff like that. I know I could probably keep my business going that way but… I’m too old… And really, I’m ready to retire. I’m just sad to see all these toys never find a home. When you make things yourself, a little bit of your heart goes into each one,” he smiled sadly and Amy felt his grief acutely. She wanted so badly to make a difference… To make the world a place that could appreciate his craft again… But she couldn’t.
She had very little money left and a lot of bills to pay but she wanted to buy something precious for her niece and nephew, and these items were definitely precious. They were the last remnants of a world nearly gone, and even better, they were made with love.
She picked out a red truck with an attached wagon and a beautiful wooden horse and brought them to the counter to ring out. The man wrapped each item, slowly, lovingly with tissue paper and placed them into a paper bag. He handed it to her, smiling and placed her money into the register.
“Thank you very much, Young Lady. I hope whomever gets these will love them.”
“My niece and nephew and I know they will. Thank you so much for making them.” She left the shop, the little bell above the door tinkling merrily and walked slowly to her car, turning back just in time to see the lights go out and hear the door lock click with a determined finality. It felt to her like the end of something. She said a small, silent prayer for the shop owner, got into her car and drove away.
Every day when I feel well enough, I go out for a walk. I used to be able to run these same roads, but that was before an unknown, undiagnosed illness had relegated me to to my bed. I longed for those runs… The freedom of the wind in my face, the rythmic pounding of sneakers on asphalt, my breath in my ears… I didn’t always want to go, but I loved being a runner.
Now, there’s a new normal, a new me, but… Maybe one day, I’ll be well enough to run again.
Natolie Webb 