Tag: short story

Meeting Me

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Today I met myself on my way down the hill.  I was retracing my steps and thinking about where I could have gone wrong on the way.  I’m not sure if I was unconsciously trying to find myself or if we just bumped into each other by accident, but it happened as destiny does.

Both rounded the corner at exactly the same time, it was as if the planets were aligned.  I was preoccupied and lost in thought and she was in a hurry to meet him. The moment stretched like an elastic band, pulled and ready to burst.  I saw her touch herself to make sure she was still there. We were both surprised, her more than me I think as surprises lessen as life goes on.

I studied her, the fresh face, the thick, dark curly hair and the air of excitement that she carried. She was in love, it was not long after they had met and she still wore that look of nervous expectation.  I remembered the day well, today the relationship would be sealed.  I looked and remembered how long it had taken her to decide what to wear, I also knew what she had in her overstuffed handbag.  I smiled, I wanted to tell her he wasn’t really worth it, that in the end she would find she didn’t really know him but I couldn’t do that, she would have to find that out herself. She would have ten years of happiness with him anyway, well most of it happy and she would have our beautiful child. I envied her the opportunity to hold our baby once more, the freedom and the life she had in front of her.  She had so many choices to make, so many experiences to grab. I thought back to the day when I had been standing in her shoes and tried to look out of her eyes and find myself, I must have missed this moment last time.  Funny how many things we miss as we rush through life getting to our destination.

A thought jumped into my mind, if she hadn’t seen me when we were here before, what else could change, what if she made different choices. I wanted to know what would happen if she changed the course of events that brought me here now, where would I be if anything changed.  I looked down at myself and prayed I wouldn’t dissolve into nothingness.  I wanted to tell her how to do it right, how to keep me alive, but I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t even remember all of it, life was a whirl back then, full of ups and downs. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, that the tears of her lessons would dry and she would realise that she had her whole life before her.  I wanted her to meet him, he was a big stepping stone to our future, but again I stayed silent.

She looked at me, my thinning hair, dyed to hide to the inevitable grey and extra pounds I carried.  She was such a willow of a girl if only she knew how beautiful she was, if she could only see the light that shone out.  I thought of a number of outfits I could have put on today that might have left a better impression, I didn’t want to scare her.  I imagine she thought I had let myself go and I wanted to tell her how hard it was to remain slim, I wanted to let her know I was only a size 10/12 after all not that much bigger in the scheme of things, just softer in places.  I didn’t utter a word, just stood a little taller and pulled tight on what was left of my stomach muscles. She had a cigarette in her hand and I knew another twenty Marlborough Red in her bag at least, I desperately wanted a drag.  I hadn’t smoked now in years but that moment I was a smoker again.

I thought of what I could tell her, asked myself what lessons she needed, but realised she would probably laugh, after all I was as old as our mum now and when did she ever listen to mum.  I wanted to tell her about all the people that she shouldn’t waste her time on and those that would be with her all the way.  I wanted to tell her how her family were truly her real friends, but she would have to find that out herself. In fact she would have to find it all out herself, as that is what would take her up the hill I had just walked down from. I understood, that it is the challenges that are before her, that will mould her and create the me of today and I couldn’t help her with any of it.

Neither of us had spoken, we just stood transfixed staring at each other in that moment. I smiled gently at her and without a word I walked away. I hoped that my smile conveyed the love I had for her, the love that I had for myself.

I didn’t turn around as I walked back up the hill again, I knew at some stage she would follow me.

The Visit to the Medium

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‘Hot cross buns, hot cross buns, one a penny two a penny, hot cross buns’ she sang across the room almost in a whisper. ‘Is there something about Easter I should be thinking of, is it a message of some sort?’ the young woman asked the medium sitting patiently across from her. ‘The thing is I can’t seem to get the tune out of my head, it is like it is on a loop and I can’t think why. I mean it is only January for goodness sake and I don’t believe I have even seen one in the shops yet, surely we have to get through Valentines Day first’. She looked across the room at the spiritual medium she was visiting who was silently smiling over at her. She wondered if she appeared mad, what did she really hope to get from today.

Rosie had booked the appointment on the spur of the moment, she had seen the card on a shop notice board, it had jumped out at her. She took it off of the cork board and slipped it into her pocket hoping she wouldn’t be seen and scurried from the shop to the park bench, where she made the telephone call to Myra. The woman on the other end of the phone sounded friendly enough. She said in a gentle voice that interestingly she had just received a telephone call from a client cancelling an appointment, and yes, although she had been fully booked today this cancellation opened up a space at one o’clock. She went on to say that maybe it was synchronicity, it certainly felt like that to Rosie.

After making the call Rosie began to feel a little nervous, she hadn’t been to see a medium before and today she was going on her own. Why did she even feel the necessity, what was she hoping for she asked out loud.  She scrolled down through her contacts on her iPhone wondering who she could persuade to come along. Exhausting the list of hopefuls Rosie realised she would have to go it alone, she didn’t want to put it off now she had made the call she didn’t know if she would be brave enough again.

Myra was situated just off of Haydon’s Road, in a little cul-de-sac full of red brick victorian cottages. Rosie got there a little early and walked past the house looking up at the windows. The curtains were drawn against the sun at the front which sent a little shiver through her, would the house be full of the spirits of the dead she thought, would she be frightened. Rosie waited a little further down the road, propped against a garden wall until the time of her appointment. At 12.50 Rosie watched as an elderly lady left the house, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue before getting into a waiting taxi.

On arriving, she was shown into a small siting room, Myra told her she used specifically for spiritual consultations. The walls were painted white, but the room was full of colour. Everywhere she looked Rosie could see bursts of colour, from the crystals, ornaments, pictures and statues to the spines of the many books stacked neatly on shelves. A picture on the wall above the medium appeared to draw her in, the colours where quite overwhelming.  Rosie believed could feel the colours in her stomach, she felt a pull that she didn’t recognise. Surprisingly Myra herself looked quite ordinary, nicely painted finger nails, long blond hair and wearing a black dress with a scarf tied neatly around her neck. Rosie had expected something else, a gypsy maybe wearing silk, bangles and beads but Myra looked like anyone else, although admittedly attractive.

Hearing that Rosie hadn’t seen a medium before Myra had explained a little about how she worked. ‘I don’t give predictions my dear, I see and hear spirit and pass on messages from the afterlife’.  She paused a moment before continuing ‘I have had a lady with me all morning and I wasn’t sure who she was, now that you are here I know that she is here for you.  But first I would like to know what you hope to get from our meeting today?’. Rosie wasn’t sure, she had come on a whim after not being able to get the hot cross bun song out of her head, but now she was here she didn’t have a clue as to what she wanted from the session.  Rosie garbled out how she had the song stuck in her head, she didn’t know why.  In fact she didn’t really know what had brought her here today, she had just not been able to stop thinking about it and then the card on the notice board.  She fell silent feeling a little silly and out of control.

Myra began to describe the woman she had with her, it was clear it was Rosie’s mum wearing the dress that Rosie alway saw her in, the green one with the cream spots and the lace cardigan. Rosie listened silently as Myra spoke of memories from her childhood. A tear trickled slowly down her cheek as she felt her mothers love and the words the medium said resonated throughout her very soul. ‘Your mother has a message for you my dear’ Myra said as she looked directly into Rosie’s eyes. ‘She want me to ask you why you don’t speak to her now she has passed, she wants you to know she is really here, that her love hasn’t died and she is with you every moment’. Rosie looked across at the medium, through her mother who stood between them in the small room. ‘I don’t know what to say’ Rosie whispered. ‘I see her all the time, standing by my bed, looking over my shoulder in the mirror and sitting next to me on the bus, but I can’t speak in case she disappears, you see she is in my imagination, she died last year’. Myra smiled gently ‘ oh you really don’t know you have the gift do you, do you not realise it is you mother you see not your imagination my dear’ she paused ‘Imagination my child is made up of the word image, you have to start believing in what you see’. Rosie looked up at her mother, standing in the room between them and for the first time since her mothers death realised she was still here.

There really wasn’t an awful lot more to be said in the session, the main message had come out straight away. It wouldn’t have been right to carry on with a reading they both agreed, well all three of them in some ways. Myra gave Rosie another card with the details of a development group, she told her it would help her begin to understand work with spirit when she was ready and Myra said she would be happy to talk to her if she had any questions. Myra told her she was very happy to have helped today, this wasn’t what she would usually expect on meeting new clients. Myra said ‘you never know what spirit have in store for you’ as she saw Rosie out.

Arriving home that afternoon Rosie put her key on her mothers trinket tray by the door and sat for a while reflecting on the days events, she thought back over the last year, realising at the same time her mother had been with her all along, she hadn’t left her at all.  Later Rosie opened the freezer looking for dinner options, she was starting to feel hungry. There on the top shelf was a pack of hot cross buns, frozen and forgotten. Rosie turned looked at her mother who was standing beside her ‘thank you for taking me there today mum, for putting the song in my head, for showing me the card, we won’t be needing her anymore but I did need to hear the message to really see you’.

The Development Circle

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She found it really hard to close her mind to the outside world and just be in the moment. There was a shopping list running through her mind and she could see herself walking down the isle of the grocery store. She found these guided meditations really hard to stick at, it was terribly difficult to let go of life or was it just too frightening. She pulled herself back from the supermarket, lifting her gaze to look round the circle. There were seven of them in total, the others appearing to be at peace and following the guidance of the leader. Okay, where was she supposed to be, could she see the blue light in the circle, maybe if she turned it into tiny drops of water she could just see it.

Who was that outside in the hallway, maybe a latecomer but surely the door was locked. She brought her mind back to the group and mentally put the noise in the hallway into her invisible shopping bag along with the groceries. The medium leading the group was telling them to put the people they loved into the healing light in the centre. This bit was easier, there was her mum dancing without oxygen a big smile on her face and her eyes reflecting the blue of the room. Her dad smiling and waving his arms about showing jazz hands, and her nephew with his school bag dancing around them both. There was Kerry looking at peace, a smile on her face without the usual signs of childhood trauma, just looking happy. Jenny and Moira stood peacefully at the edge also watching the happiness of those still living. She put all her might into seeing these people and sending them the love and healing they needed.

It was time for the loved ones to leave and for her to step into the circle and receive healing herself, ask spirit for whatever she needed. She saw herself there, she made herself a little younger, slimmer and her hair just right and yes she was smiling. What did she need, maybe guidance, she asked spirit for direction, to help her find her path and stop jumping about in her life, she so needed to find her life purpose. She was alone in the circle even though all the members of the group were supposed to be with her. She looked up to the light and sent a prayer for help putting all her love into the request.

The door opened and a man walked into the room to join the group. From the centre of the circle she watched as he crossed the room and put his coat across a chair. She wondered what the medium would say about his late arrival but casting her eyes in that direction it appeared she didn’t mind.   The man smiled over at her and put a book down on her chair. It was green with gold leaf writing on the cover but from here she couldn’t read the words.

‘Okay when you are ready bring yourself back to the group’

She took a couple of breaths and slowly opened her eyes looking around the group. The man had gone of course, he was only in her imagination but his smile remained warming her inside. Sarah, the medium, asked how everyone felt and if anyone wanted to say anything. She smiled but didn’t want to tell the group about the man in her dream so remained silent.

It was a good evening at the development circle, they usually all had fun together. They practiced a couple of psychic exercises, some tarot and aura reading before closing the group and heading to the pub.

Saying goodnight to each other later that night, Sarah told her to think about the words on the book cover. She was amazed and asked Sarah if she had seen the man with the book. Sarah shook her head and said ‘I just know about the book, not everything but I know you will write one, you just need to see the title’.

Flat for Sale

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Jack, the guy from the estate agents, said there would be no problem selling my flat. In fact he had people on his books that already wanted to view it, they were interested in my flat right now. He wanted to know what he could do to stop the other estate agents coming to give a valuation, when he could sell it today.

My home really is wonderful, I have always loved this place. I don’t really want to go but circumstances now mean I must. An upstairs flat doesn’t work anymore, I need to be downstairs now and that will mean leaving Brighton. It makes me sad to leave but I’m happy to have been here.

Jack walked around my flat with his pad and measuring tool and I accompanied him. The main room he said was great, good size and well presented. I wanted to tell him about the parties, the music and dancing that had taken place over the years. How we have laughed till we cried on many occasion in that room. How wooden spoons make fantastic microphones and in here anyone can sing. I thought he should know that I have cooked for and fed the people I love in the main room. My lounge has been checked into a few times on facebook and the food and atmosphere are said to be amazing. I didn’t share this with Jack but I do think it adds to the value.

Lovely big windows, lots of light he said. Yes, I thought, the sun streams in lighting up the room and everyone in here; it is always summer in this room. There is nothing I like better than sitting by those windows in the morning with my coffee; it is where I like to think. The flowers in the window box lean into the room to join me and bring summer indoors.

The bedroom is a good size, huge window. I didn’t mention to Jack that I lie in bed looking up at the sky every day. I set the alarm early, just to lie there. I can’t just jump out of bed, not when I have to plan the day while I’m looking up at the big blue sky from that window. At night I count the stars that shine over the city from the window and the light it lets in casts comfortable and safe shadows around the room.

Jack said he liked the wooden floorboards, a good feature he said. Great for dancing, but we do have to think about Jonathan downstairs if it is late. That is apart from the time he was dancing with us, then we didn’t care.

My neighbours are just fantastic; I’m so lucky to have them. Jonathan is a homeopath who always understands my ailments and humour. You can see his brass plaque just beside the main doorway downstairs. He makes hair products too; they are standing on the shiny glass shelf in my bathroom. If you look out of that big window again, you will see his garden, it’s beautiful all year round, it must be where he gets his inspiration.

The house next door is the vicarage, so no problems there. Robert, the vicar, is lovely, we have shared a few glasses of wine and his stories are hilarious. It is a lovely road, full of great people. What’s more near the centre of the city it’s amazingly quiet.

Before you go, Jack, did I mention the planning permission to extend into the loft. You think that’s a good selling point. No I didn’t ever get around to it, my loft is full of boxed memories.

You’re a great sales man Jack, you remind me of my granddad and he could sell anything, same patter, same charm. Thing is Jack, you don’t have all the information. The best things about this flat are the memories in the walls, the smiles that have been reflected in the glass, the happiness and the love. I think this has always been a happy home and I think anyone that lives here will get that.

Does love and happiness sell Jack, will you tell the prospective purchasers about the love. I think they need to know that it’s a wonderful home, that when the door closes behind you there is nothing quite like it.

You see, when people buy a home in Brighton they buy into a lifestyle. But what makes that even better is the home you live that lifestyle from. This home, my home, has great vibes. I think that all the people that have ever lived here have been blessed and the happiness that has been shared in the flat will fill the walls for years to come.

Time Machine

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Image

There is a time machine for sale in the local junk store and I’m thinking of buying it.  There is a disclaimer taped to the top that advises the machine should be used for display purposes only and that any time travel is at the owner’s risk.   I wonder about this, I’m buying it to travel back in time so it needs to work.

I want to go to a few different places but I need to get back from each of them to move on to the next.  Or maybe I will go from one to another and come back to today when I’ve had my fill.   Whichever way I choose to go I want to be certain I can come home.

I have some things I want to say, things I should have said first time around.  I want to let a few people know they are special, that they touched my life.  I realise I can’t make any huge changes, I need to get back to now but the little things I want to do and say won’t change the course of history.

I’m going to become a time traveler, I wonder if it will change me, will I still be the same person on my return.  I will admit, I don’t know an awful lot about time travel, science has never been one of my strengths.   I’ve watched a lot of Dr Who and loved The Matrix, so hopefully I will be fine.

I won’t be visiting family, the people who shaped me, that could change things forever.  Anyway they are here today and the ones that are not know how much they meant to me.  The people I’m visiting might not even remember the events I do, but I want to tell them what they meant to me.

I want to go back to Mr. Khan’s history classroom.  That week when I was leaving school and he kept me behind.  I remember he said to me that I should use him for a reference if I needed one for a job.  He told me that many of the teachers had little time for me and probably wouldn’t bother.  He said he saw something in me, to give his name.  When I was in that job, because of his glowing reference I wished I had said thank you that day.  I probably did, I had manners even then, but I want to be able to go back and say thank you with feeling.  I want to go back to that room and tell him I did well, I did eventually get my head down to study and that I have always remembered him.

I would like to be sitting on the bench with Mr. Davis when he dies, I don’t want him to be alone.  I want to tell him he made me happy, he made me laugh as a teenager and how sad I was that he was alone in the world.  I want to tell him I asked my mum to pray for him the night he died and that he was added to her prayer list.  Thing is with mum, once you’re on there you don’t leave so she has being praying for Mr. Davis for thirty odd years.  I think Mr. Davis would like to know that.

I want to go back to the girl we teased and called flee bags.  I want to tell her I knew she didn’t have flees, I was being a sheep.  I want to ask her if she would like to play with me and be my friend.  But most of all I want to say sorry for not stopping the bullies.  I hear she is happily married with a family.  My mum says she is a lovely girl, who stopped and gave her a hug last time she saw her.  I want to thank her for that.

I would like to smile and say thank you to my husband the day he said he was leaving.  Tell him it was the right decision, that I’m not as sad as I think that day and that my life has been just great.  I would like to suggest we forget the arguments to come, lets not have them.  Because in twenty years when we meet again we will realise we have grown into totally different people.  Some things really are good for as long as they last.

I don’t want to keep going back in time forever, I need to enjoy today.  So I need to make sure that the things I say today, and from now on, are thought about.  That I let people know how special they are on the very days they are special.

Where would you go?

Kismet

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Walking through town today I was stopped by a man in the street.  I hate to admit it but I immediately apologised for not having any spare change, I didn’t, I was being honest.  This is awful I know, but it is indicative of living in a seaside town.  There are lots of people down on their luck and it is common to be asked for spare change.  I do give, I’m not heartless but I do choose whom I should to give to, I just don’t have that much to go around.  I often give to the same people, I don’t know if this is right or not.  There is the happy guy who stands outside Waitrose, I know he probably isn’t happy but he greets you like an old friend.  There are others who touch me and if I have change in my pocket, I do try and help out.

Getting back to today, when the guy stopped me, he said it wasn’t money he wanted.  Maybe because I had said I didn’t have any, who knows.  But he said he stopped me to tell me I was going to die on March 30th.  He said he was sorry, it had just come to him and he had to tell me.  ‘Well thanks for that’ I said and walked on up the road.  How strange, did he say that to all people without change or just me.  Now I don’t think for a moment he had a vision but it has got me wondering.

It gives me 18 days and March 30th is Mothering Sunday.  Great day for my son and my mother then, I better think very carefully about the words I put in my mum’s card.  Perhaps I should suggest celebrating the day before.

Now I know this sounds quite ridiculous but I’m starting to think of all the ways I could die and what I can do about it.  If I cut out driving on that day, that rules out a road traffic accident and that is one of the main contenders.   I won’t leave the house and that cancels out a few more.  My son wouldn’t poison me, well not intentionally and certainly not on Mothers Day, I wouldn’t think.  I don’t think the house is over any flight paths, unless they go off track.

I have always been a hypochondriac but even I can’t think of an illness that would kill me in 18 days.  The boiler needs checking, I will phone the gas board and get them round in the week.  Bananas, I won’t buy any to be sure there are no Brazilian spiders lurking.  I might mention the spiders to my neighbours too, just to be on the safe side.

Why didn’t I walk up another street yesterday, or get on a bus.  The man would not then have seen me and I wouldn’t be thinking of how to save myself.  He would have said the same to someone else who was too tight to give him any money.

I need to plan, like what I am going to do on March 31st.  After all I would have been cooped up the previous day and will want to get out.  I know, I will start planning my birthday party, not that I usually have one.  But this year I will be alive.

Aunt Sadie

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Aunt Sadie was always strange according to my father, but to me Sadie was wonderful.  The day she died I knew, I heard her voice first when I was sitting quietly in the conservatory.  I looked up and there she was at the end of the garden, stroking the pussy willow just as she always did.  She had been poorly and I knew she was dead, she wouldn’t have got there unaided.   She had no shoes on her feet, her red wavy hair was untied and she was wearing an emerald green dress I hadn’t seen in years.  It had never occurred to me before then that you could wear what you liked when you were dead.  Sadie has told me since that you can be any age you like too, but I’m jumping ahead of myself here.  Anyway that was the day I started to talk to dead people.

From a young child Sadie was my favorite person in the world, she didn’t act like the other grown-ups, she pleased herself.  My father, her brother, despaired that his sister might influence his daughter in some way.  Sadie was full of stories, she collected them and wrote them down in journals she kept by her bed.  She told me once that there was energy in stories and when you recounted an experience and turned it into a story with meaning you were helping the world turn around and adding your own sparkle to the stars.

There were times I will admit that I did get a little scared of Sadie’s eccentricity, like when she would start to talk to someone but there was no one in the room.  The temperature always seemed to drop a little on these occasions but Sadie told me there was nothing to worry about, like attracts like and if you were a good person then that is what you would attract.  After she died when she started to visit me I kept this in mind when she brought along her new friends.  It wasn’t long before I would meet these people without her being present, like when I was shopping in town and a lady waved from across the street.  It took me a minute to realise but when I looked a little closer I could see she was not quite there.  It is like looking at someone through a net curtain, you loose a bit of them, but can see them at the same time.  I can turn it off and on now.  I worried at first in case I would be disturbed in the shower but I can control it, although if anyone really wants to talk they will make something happen to alert me.  Like a dish falling over on the dresser, a book falling off the shelf that you know was tucked in securely or a window blowing open on a calm day.

I don’t mind the interruptions to my life so much now, it’s like having a whole new circle of friends.  Not like the friends on facebook and twitter but friends you actually meet in person.  What is more than that I have found my vocation.

Sadie’s funeral was perfect, just like she wanted it.  She told me just how it should be and to be sure, she was sitting in the room with the family when the priest visited, whispering instructions in my ear.  He asked that we say a little about Sadie’s life for the service.  My father was dumbfounded when I was able to recall events as if I had been there, but it did make for a great day.  Sadie was sitting next to me at the front of the church and clapped and cheered when I read the eulogy just right and as we had practiced.  Okay, there were some confused looks when I curtsied but I didn’t mind as Sadie was happy and it was her day after all.  The music too was perfect and Sadie danced with the others as the curtains closed on her coffin to the tunes she had chosen.

After Sadie’s funeral I started a small business of arranging services myself, they are celebrations of life rather than funerals.  I sit with the family and we talk to the deceased, ask them how it should be on the day.  Plans usually move quite quickly once I can provide evidence through the memories of the person, that they are in fact there.   I’m amazed at how quickly my little business has taken off and how my name seems to have got around without advertising.   What is important to me is that the real story is told and from the person who knows it best, who lived it.  What is also great is how people are able to express their love to each other and know it is heard.

I’m busy enough but as more people have heard about what I do they are realising the importance of involving the dying in their celebration planning before death.  I’m sometime invited along to help tell the stories, but not always.  People who feel they have little control over the end of their life are now able to take the lead if they wish in a small way.  Choose what flowers they like, have the very best photographs around and invite the friends they want to be there.

Sadie does still visit and she is always around if I need her but it is not as often now, she is getting on with being there.  She tells me it is wonderful and she is not seen as strange there, but not to hurry myself as I have work to do and stories to tell.

Looking out for Martha

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Martha makes a horrendous noise when she yawns. It is because she can’t get enough air into her lungs and this is the noise her body makes. It is terrifying to hear but what frightens Anne, her daughter, is that it has become an every day noise. When Martha made the noise today in the bathroom, Anne’s son ran from his room to check she was okay. Anne saw fear etched on his face, as he asked his Nan if he could help. She heard herself saying ‘Its okay love, Nan does that all the time’. She wondered when she became so immune to her mother’s illness, when did the pain she goes through on a daily basis become acceptable.

Martha was diagnosed with a lung disease 10 years ago. At that time they told her she had no time left, she was in such poor condition. Martha has defied the specialists and the disease in some way. Although she is in the later stages of the illness now, her amazing and powerful spirit is still fighting. As a family, they have had plenty of time to get used to the illness and know what Martha needs. The number one thing is love, but they also recognise and meet all her other needs.

The autoimmune disease Martha has affects so much of what the family does now. Winters are long and spent inside the home, as Martha cannot venture out in the cold. It’s not only the weather but also the fear of catching the winter viruses that imprisons Martha. She lives for the summer, warmth on her face and vitamin D for her bones. Anne feels her mother’s frustration during those winter months and wants to be able to make her happy in any way she can. Anne feels guilty that she can run around town and enjoy the fresh air but Martha always insists that she does.

It is not often Martha and Anne visit a café anymore, maybe only on hospital visits these days. But when they are in café and Martha has a coughing fit, Anne can see herself waving the waiting staff away when they attempt to help by bringing water. It is not that she is not grateful for their kindness but she knows it is not water her mother needs, coughing is what she does all day, every day. People and the germs all around are as dangerous to her autoimmune disease as anything else, so Anne attempts to keep them away and shield her mother. She has come to recognise the coughs and would know if her mum was in trouble, Anne hopes to god that’s the case anyway. Anne believes she must look like the daughter from hell to strangers, she doesn’t really care what she looks like to other people as long as what she does for her mum is right.

If Anne is honest, she has in fact always cared what she looks like to others. She has always wanted to be accepted and approved of, but she has also learnt to put these feelings aside for now. It is not about her at the moment, what is important is what she can do for her mum.

Martha is fiercely independent and when she goes to any of the many hospital appointments, she likes to go into her consultations on her own. Martha says there will come a time when she needs Anne with her, but until then she wants to be able to manage by herself. Anne understands this but it does not mean she doesn’t sit in the waiting room wanting the floor to swallow her up sometimes. She feels the looks and almost hears the thoughts of the people who witness her remaining seated while allowing her mother to struggle across the room trailing her oxygen cylinder. Anne wants to shout, ‘she won’t let me go with her’, but she wouldn’t dream of causing a scene. For now she needs to harness the same strength as her mother.

The Park Bench

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The elderly man sat down on the bench in the park and looked across the lawn to the tennis courts.  It was the first day of spring and the courts were full with youngsters, it reminded him of the love he once had for the game.  He remembered the trip he took to Wimbledon’s Centre Court for the final, all those years ago.   He hadn’t watched a game in a very long time and today was not going to be the day for catching up.

At the top of the bench there was a shiny silver plaque, the inscription in italic read ‘George Knox – loving father and husband, died as he lived in peace and love’.  He looked at the plaque for a moment and thought about George.  The family had done well, the bench was in a lovely spot, it got the warmth of the afternoon sun but also benefitted from a little shade at one end from an old oak.  The oak tree had been there for as long as he could remember, before the tennis courts, before the playground and long before the bench.  The scene, together with the glorious sunshine, was perfect for today.

The man had not been to the park for a very long time, he had never before sat on the bench.  Today was special, he was in the park to meet someone.  He turned to the gates, she would come from that direction and it wouldn’t be long now.  The clock above the bandstand showed it was a little after two thirty in the afternoon and she would have certainly finished her lunch. There she was, slowly entering the park with her walking aid, a small trolley with seat she pushed along in front of her to steady herself.  It gave her some independence and allowed her to visit the park when it was warm enough, today the temperature was just right.

Even from that distance anyone could see Marion was a fine woman.  He didn’t move towards her, he had to hold himself back but he watched every tiny step she made as she walked slowly and purposefully towards the bench.  There was a glimmer of a smile on her lips as she approached, she would be happy to see a space to sit herself down.  Now he was sitting along side her, he looked closely at her profile and again marveled at the fine bone structure and soft almost milky skin.  There was no need for her to wear make-up but he noticed a little lipstick, feint and unnoticeable to most but there all the same.  Marion was wearing her Christmas earrings, red enamel clip-on’s with a little sparkle.  He wondered why she had chosen today to wear them again.

The trolley was left to the side of the bench, she had taken the last couple of steps unaided.  They would not be taking it along with them, he would give her all the aid she needed from now on.  Marion sat on the bench until the sun set over the park.  It was only then that anyone noticed the old lady had died peacefully, her heart stopping gently at three, twenty-three.

George and Marion Knox walked together from the park arm in arm, reunited once more.

The Whisper

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Someone spoke into my ear, whispered clearly, a man’s voice I think, deep and soft, but I didn’t quite get it.  It woke me from my sleep although I don’t think I was quite there yet, just at that in between space between sleeping and not sleeping, that comfortable, warm trance like state we seek when attempting to meditate and switch off the world.  I sat up and looked around the room for the source of the whisper, looking into the spectrum of grey mist and shadow.  The moon was bright and the large sash window cast shadows around the room, but they were just shadows, everything being familiar and as it was when I turned off the light. My cat Eris, watched curiously from the bottom of the bed, I could just see her outline and feel the warmth of her body stretched across my feet and although I couldn’t see her face I knew she wasn’t amused at the interruption.  I’m sure it wasn’t my imagination, I know the voice inside my head, it’s been there all my life, it’s me, sounds like me and thinks like me.  This was different, a voice close enough to be in my head but just outside.

I wasn’t frightened which surprised me, I felt almost privileged but disappointed I had missed the message.  I waited for the voice to come again, speaking out loud into the darkness, hoping for a repeat whisper and wanting to understand the reason behind it.  Silence filled the room, trees swayed silently in the distance through the window but even the usual noises of the city seemed to be muffled.  I strained my ears for the sound of anything, a heartbeat maybe but nothing but the slight drip from the tap in the bathroom down the hall.  I lay down again on my side, hair tucked behind my ear, searching the large mirror to the side of my bed surveying the room, watching for the movement I knew would not come.

I slept, without interruption this time, a sound sleep of a familiar dream, the dream I have often although it varies it’s the same repetitive dream.  I’m travelling across water and as I look down waves crash powerfully against a shore.  Sometimes I’m in a plane and occasionally I view the scene from a cliff or somewhere high above floating.  But I always see the water and its always moving and deep, somehow communicating, the white froth of the surf against the blue of the sea as it crashes against land.  As I travel tonight I am aware of the silence, the waves should be loud but they are not, it is as if the sound is turned down. There is always a house, not ever the same but the house is always large with many rooms of which I have to travel through.  During my many journeys through this dream, I have visited castles with huge dome like ceilings, family homes, churches and old farmhouses and I have walked through all of them searching for the room I am supposed to enter where I will find an answer.  The dream is sometimes frightening and sometimes pleasant, the atmosphere changes from room to room, I occasionally linger in a room, run from some and through others.  Tonight the house is old and the walls are cold stone, I hear my father talking to his wife in the distance but I don’t see him. My father is usually in this dream, due to arrive or just leaving but I always catch a glimpse of him although it is my journey and he too is travelling.

I wake and lay back on my warm pillow, molded by sleep, I breathe in the new day.   Through the window the old tree moves gently in the wind as it towers above the city buildings.   I think about the voice and wonder who it was, I’m certain I heard it, that it was a man and it was familiar.  I ponder also on my dream, I didn’t find what I was searching for but I will travel there again I know this with certainty. Eris wonders around the room, brushing against the bed, as is her routine, she is waiting for her food, as if I could forget.  Slowly I push back the duvet, hold it aloft as I step from the bed and head from the room.  I stop with my hand on the door and look around once again……………………………..