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Celebrating Life
Rowan Davies
"I was at a funeral the day I realised I wanted to spend my life with you."
- Mark ‘E’ Everett
Celebrating Life Part 1: Joyce And The Birds
I saw the birds on Friday. In my garden. They always come down on that day for some reason. I think it’s warmer at the end of the week. Or maybe they’re preparing for the weekend. A good scrub in the birdbath before they relax and enjoy the next two days. And where do they go then? I don’t know. Perhaps they go around the neighbours’ gardens before they come back to visit mine the next week. That’s probably it. There’s at least seven gardens along the street and that’s plenty enough for the seven days of the week. Maybe I’ll ask Betty next door whether she has their company on a Saturday. It would be nice to know. At least then I could begin to understand them.
-"I’m afraid I can’t take your call at the moment as I’m not in. Please leave your message after the tone and I’ll get right back to you. If it’s you, Joyce, I’ll ring as soon as I get in. Thanks."-
Wendy popped round on Friday. Just from across the road. She’s ever so nice and has such a lovely voice. She asked me how I was and I told her ‘Fine, just fine.’, but I’m not really. I just didn’t want to trouble her with my little problems. They’d seem so silly to such an important businesswoman like her. She runs her own factory, you know. They make babies clothes for the little ones. I asked her to bring some round to show me once and she did. Lovely things really. Beautifully made and so very colourful. Just like the flowers in the garden and some of the birds too. The ones that come down to pop amongst the grass every Friday.
I asked her in for a cup of tea when she came that day, but she said no. She said she had a meeting and it sounded quite urgent. I let her go without a hot drink but at least she asked after me. That was the first real conversation I’ve had in a couple of weeks, you know. People don’t have time anymore and Wendy is the only one I know who still bothers with talking.
-"Joyce, are you there? You just phoned me. Are you all right?… Joyce?… I’m coming round."-
I go down to the shops on a Monday. Just down the road and around the corner where I can get a few bits and bobs from the grocery store. It keeps me going for a while and the supermarkets are so expensive and busy these days that I don’t even bother with them anymore. I would have a few years back but my hip won’t stand it anymore, all the waiting around and queuing. Best to support the local shops anyway. Keeps them going when all the important business people avoid them like they do. I manage to get a few words out of the woman at the bank some days when I go down there, but nothing much. Mostly about the weather and how it’s getting so hot these days. Good for the birds, though.
Sometimes I forget to go down to the shops on Monday, and then by the Tuesday evening I find I’ve run out of supplies. It’s silly really, but my memory isn’t so good these days. I forget silly little things, but most of the time, when Wendy is not at work she helps me to get things in order. She made me a list once, but I lost it one day and haven’t told her since. She would think it such a waste if she found out after all the time she took to help me.
-"Joyce? Joyce? Can you reach the door? Are you okay?"-
I had a family once. My husband and I lived in London, but when he passed away I moved down here. It’s less noisy and safer than where I was, and the people are nicer too. I wouldn’t have someone like Wendy if I lived in a noisy city house like I did, that’s for sure. We only lived there because of Henry’s job before he retired. He was a doctor, a really handsome man. And my son was too. He followed in the footsteps of his father, and was a nurse before he died.
It was an accident, they said, on the road. A car crash that happened not so long ago. I was living here then. He was still in London in our old house and I got a phone call in the middle of the night from the police. They said he was dead, and his girlfriend too. Both gone. It was a terrible thing because it all happened so young. He was just 39.
-"I’ve called an ambulance, Joyce. They’ll be here soon."-
So now I’m the last of the family, a dying breed. A feeling that all the nightmares in the world can’t compare to. Knowing that you are the final branch on the tree and nothing you can do will change that. It’s something that’s haunted me for a while now.
-"Mrs Jones, can you hear me? Can you tell me what happened?"-
I see the birds now, which is strange, isn’t it? Because it’s Tuesday. From where I am on the floor, I can see through the glass on the patio doors, and I smile. Maybe I was wrong about where they go for the rest of the week. Maybe I was just looking outside at the wrong times. Nothing else left to do now. I think my leg is broken and it hurts, but I can only lie here. I can’t move and the phone seems to be out of my reach. I managed to use it before but my arms don’t work anymore. I rang Wendy, but I only got her answering telephone. I don’t understand those machines, but she always seems to know I’ve called when she gets back from her job in the evening.
It’s getting quite late now, and I forgot to get the shopping again yesterday. It’s my own fault really. My mind is not so good these days. I tried to reach the tin of soup in the cupboard but the steps slipped and now I am here. Lying here. Wendy said she was going to get me some new ones. Safer, she said. I wasn’t to use the old ones, but I couldn’t go without dinner for a night. Even an old woman like me needs to eat every now and again. It keeps me going. But I don’t have any food now and I can’t really keep going anymore. I’m hearing noises, but they aren’t making sense. The things I see don’t make much sense either. The birds are gone now, but I’m not sure if they were ever really there. There’s a man by the door. He’s dressed in white. I think Henry has come to visit me.
Celebrating Life Part 2: Ted And His Girlfriend
"So now we know."
"So now we know." Kate smiles at me. She’s happy now, happier than she’s ever been. I knew she would be.
"You really want to do it?"
"Yes, I really do, Kate. I think we know we’re both more than ready, and it’s what we both want, right?"
She nods ‘yes’ and we embrace. I hug her tightly and she let’s out a muffled sigh like it’s a big release. And it really is. We’ve finally decided to do it. We’re finally getting married.
"So how long has it been, Ted? I mean us, together." She grins at me and then opens the car door. She doesn’t get in though. She’s waiting for my answer "C’mon, Teddy, I’m testing your knowledge of our relationship here."
"Um," I bite my lip and roll my eyeballs upwards like I’m thinking hard, but I’m not. When you’re in love with most fantastic person in the world you don’t easily forget the days that pass you by. "3 years and 3 months exactly." I smile. She can see I was just pretending not to know.
"Okay, you win," she says and then puts on a mean face. Now she’s fooling around and puts on a voice like one of those James Bond villains. "But I’ll get you next time, Mr Jones." I laugh and then she does too and we both get in the car.
She puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine.
"So where do you wanna go now, babe? We could grab a meal somewhere if you want."
"Nah," I say. "I think I’d best get home first and ring my Mum. She’s been a bit down lately. Also, I better break the good news."
"Sure," she says. "I understand. Is it your Dad again?"
"Yeah, she’s really missing him," Then I remember. "Also, I’ve got something for you there." Her eyes light up.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I bought it the other day because it reminded me so much of you."
She smiles.
"It’s not one of those nasal hair trimmers is it?"
I look at her, bemused.
"I can most definitely assure you it’s not one of those, no."
"Well, let’s go then. I can’t wait."
"Yeah, I’m starting to get sick of the sight of this place." I turn back in my seat to look at the hospital as we drive away. It’s such a vast building that the shadow it casts across the car park covers more than half of it. The summer sun is still upon us in the late evening as the car turns onto the main road and I look to the front again.
"So where do you want to go tonight then?" I say excitedly, now cherishing the prospect of having a good time out. "I think some celebration is in order, don’t you?"
"Absolutely. Meal and cinema, or something a little less ordinary?"
"I don’t mind at all. Whatever you fancy, oh wife-to-be."
"I’ll think about it then, oh husband-to-be." She mimics and then laughs.
As we’re driving along I spot something on the road ahead. It looks like a dead fox, a pretty flat dead fox at that. I lean forward.
"Jesus, would you take a look at that. Poor fella. Bet he didn’t stand a chance crossing a road like this."
"What on Earth is it?" says Kate, now looking at the same thing.
"Looks like a fox to me, a rather dead one."
"Funny, you don’t get many of them around these parts. Now I can see why."
"Yeah." I say, but my attention is drawn to something else, something moving at the side of the road. Kate is still looking at the dead fox. "Hey, watch out!" I shout, but she doesn’t see it. It’s another fox, this time well and truly alive and darting maniacally across the road.
"Jesus!" Now she sees it and swerves the car to the right as it crosses our path. We miss it narrowly and both turn our heads to watch it escape down an alleyway on the roadside.
"Christ, that was close," I say as I turn back to face the front. Then I hardly have time to scream as I notice our position in the middle of the road. There is a car coming towards us, beeping its horn and Kate is still facing in the direction of the lucky fox. "Shit, look out!"
My senses are numbed as the sound of metal on metal sears my ears. I’m thrown forward onto the dashboard because I never put my seat-belt on.
When it’s all over, I find myself looking straight into the lifeless eyes of my fiancée as pain begins to explode all over my body. I can’t turn my head to avert my gaze because it seems my spine is snapped, so all I can do is watch. Watch nothing. She just stays there of course, unblinking and without movement in her lips. I try and kid myself that she is still alive before I notice the metal spike protruding from the side of her head.
She is dead and now I am feeling tired. Immense sorrow seeps into the cracks in my broken bones and I close my eyes. Sleep comes easily.
Celebrating Life Part 3: Jon And The Red Dog
Last week I really hated my Mum and I still hate her now. She thinks I’m not grown-up enough to have a pet and when we went to the pet shop last week she wouldn’t let me have one. All I wanted was a little black kitten that I could take care of, but my Mum said it’s too much of a responsibility at my age and she wouldn’t have any spare time to help out with it. She said I would get bored of it in the first week of having it because I have a small attention span and that made me angry with her. She doesn’t know anything about cats unlike me because I read up on them at the school library when I have nothing better to do.
Earlier today I thought I’d found a way to prove to her that I am responsible. On my way home from school I was walking through the parking lot at the back of the house when I heard something behind one of the cars there. When I looked behind it I found something. It was a small red dog. One that I’d never seen the likes of before, probably because I read up all about cats and not dogs. The thing was looking at me with its eyes really big and I knew it was scared so I picked it up and carried it home. It didn’t even struggle and it seemed really tame, but I didn’t think it was anybody’s pet because it was so bedraggled and dirty.
As soon as I got home I emptied all my toys out of the big plastic box in my bedroom and put a blanket in the bottom that I found in one of Mum’s clothes cupboards. I put the dog in there and took it into the bathroom so I could run the bath-taps. I wanted to give the thing a proper wash and keep it clean. I know that you don’t wash cats but one of my friends told me once that he had to wash his dog as a punishment for being rude so I knew I’d better do that.
When I had run the bath long enough I picked up the dog and put it in the bath. It didn’t really like it and started splashing around a lot and getting everything wet so I took it out again. When I tried and tried again to wash it, it just wouldn’t let me and once it even tried to bite me so I put it back in the box.
Then my Mum came home and I panicked because I thought I would have the dog washed and dried by the time she arrived, but instead the bathroom was all wet and so were me and the dog. When she was in the house I tried to stop her coming into the bathroom but she knew something was up and made me let her in. When she saw what I was doing she went mad at me and started shouting about the dog.
"That’s not a dog. It’s a goddamn dirty fox!" she screamed. "Where the hell did you get that from, you disgusting child? You don’t know where the hell it’s been! You are in so much trouble, Jonathan. This is not what I want to come home to after working my ass off to keep you alive. Get rid of it now, before your father gets home. He’ll have your guts for garters, I kid you not."
Through all that, the dog just sat there in its box with really wide eyes as though he was in trouble with my Mum too, but he wasn’t of course, he was just the causer of it.
Without another word because I was so scared of my Mum, I picked up the box and took it to the front door. I was upset about letting my new pet go, but I knew my Mum would kill me if I didn’t. I hated her more than ever for that. I hadn’t even had a chance to name it.
I opened the door and put the box on the doorstep and the dog kept on looking at me with those same eyes as I began to tip the box over slowly. Then it got the message and ran away really quickly. I saw it go down the path in the front garden and turn left at the road and that was the last I saw of it.
I went back inside and my Mum sent me straight to my room to wait for Dad to get home. She was the most annoyed I’d ever seen her, but I still hated her for not letting me have a kitten because if she had then the whole red dog thing never would have happened, so it was her own fault.
Now I’m sitting here in my room and I’m really worried what my Dad’s going to say when he gets home. I know how angry he can get sometimes.
Celebrating Life Part 4: Charles Gets Angry
"What the hell do you mean they’re gone? That doesn’t tell me shit." I say. I can’t believe the stupidity of the man on the other end of the phone. "Good stock doesn’t just vanish into thin air. I want you to find out what’s going on before I get into work tomorrow. I’m not having this."
I don’t usually use my mobile phone when I’m driving, for safety reasons, but this time it’s important. I want to sort it out before I get home to Jon and Alison. They wouldn’t appreciate me taking my anger out on them. It wouldn’t be fair.
So now I’m driving down Fogg Street, and I’m getting really pissed off with the guy I’m talking to. I just don’t seem to be getting my point across.
"You’ll do what you can? Do you have any idea how serious this is? I could lose hundreds on this just because some idiot forgot to sign the goddamn delivery form. Now find out what happened, okay? And while you’re at it, find out who fucked up. I want their head on the block." I think I’m scaring him now, but that’s okay because it means he’ll be more likely to do what I say. It could have been him who fucked up for all I know.
He’s jabbering something down the phone now, but all I care about is ending the conversation and getting home. "No, that’s all. Yeah. Just do it. Thank you." I hang up abruptly and breathe a sigh of relief. At least now I can relax for the night. I’ll face whatever I have to face tomorrow.
I slot the phone back into its holder on the dashboard and focus solely on driving the car. It’ll only take a couple of minutes to reach the house now from where I am, but I push the pedal a little harder anyway. All in the name of saving a bit of time because I’m dying to see Alison. It’s always a relief at the end of a day like today.
Now my mobile phone is ringing and I huff because I expect it to be that sorry sap from the office calling back just to clarify that I really am seething with rage. I take my eyes of the road as I strain to see who’s name it is on the LCD screen. Without my glasses on it’s a bit of trouble, but I finally make out the word ‘home’ on the display.
"Ah, good," I say and reach for the holder to unclip it. Then I check back at the road briefly and terror suddenly strikes me. A car is heading straight towards me, directly down the centre of the road. "Mother of God…"
About fifteen metres away from the offending vehicle, I pound the horn and slam the brakes on, trying my best to steer onto the pavement, but it’s too late. The other car is moving at speed and so too am I. Catching the front of the vehicle with immense force, my body is flung forwards. My seat-belt locks and I wince as an agonising pain shoots through my right shoulder. I fall back into my seat and am now faced with the most horrific scene.
A young couple are sprawled inside the vehicle opposite me. It seems neither were wearing seat belts and as a result their bodies are displayed at the most unnatural angles imaginable. The man’s head clearly went through the windscreen, but it looks like the woman’s was stopped by something. All that can be seen through the glass on her side are the bloody smearings of what can only be in relation to her own death. Somehow I know, I just know, that neither of them survived the crash. The thought makes me physically sick and I retch, vomiting uncontrollably onto my own lap.
Celebrating Life Part 5: Frank Decides On Freedom
"Davidson’s DIY Deliveries, how may I help you?" I must be saying this for the thousandth time today, but this time the voice on the other end is different. It’s familiar. "Oh, hello Mr. Davidson, sir. What can I do for you?" Just the sound of his voice puts me on edge. It’s disconcerting at the best of times to speak to him in person, but I sense he’s not in the best of moods. I curse my luck and prepare myself.
-"Ah, such a helpful voice. Now, would you please mind telling me what the hell happened at the office today?"-
"I… I don’t follow you sir. Do you want me to read the delivery statements to you?" I know he won’t want me to read the delivery statements to him, but what else do I have to go on? He could be pissed about any number of things.
-"Don’t get smart with me, boy. I could drop your job in a second."- I wish he would. -"For your information, I picked up the delivery statements before I left and I’m not entirely pleased with what I found in them. Perhaps you would like to explain to me why we let go 100 Multi-Screw Portable Workmans and don’t have any actually cash intake for that delivery?"-
"I don’t know, sir." And I really don’t. "I can only guess that there was some mistake and either we didn’t actually deliver that particular batch, or the statement printed wrong and we did take in the correct amount for them."
-"Well I can work that out myself, you moron."- Ouch. -"But the quarrel I’m having with you is that our cash exchange system is set up so that no mistakes can be made without a fuck-up from someone directly on the shop floor. Now, would you please do me the duty of checking for those screwdrivers because if they aren’t around then you’re going to have a busy night tonight, sonny."- Jesus, what an arsehole. I’m really getting sick of this.
"Do you want me to look now, sir?" Why do I even bother asking? I know the answer.
-"Yes, now, you idiot. Get to it!"-
With severe loathing for the man, I rise from my seat and go to leave the office. The other two guys in the call centre are looking at me, smirking. They know how unlucky I am. I just roll my eyeballs at them and leave the room, making for the warehouse at the back of the store. When I get there I search and I search, but unsurprisingly turn up absolutely no trace of the Workmans whatsoever. I can’t wait to break this news to the boss. He’ll be ecstatic.
I return to the office and pick up the phone, bracing myself for whatever may come. How do I break the news quietly?
"Um, they’re gone, sir. No sign of them, I’m afraid."
-"What the hell do you mean they’re gone? That doesn’t tell me shit."- Surprise, surprise, he’s not a happy man. -"Good stock doesn’t just vanish into thin air. I want you to find out what’s going on before I get into work tomorrow. I’m not having this."-
"I’ll do what I can, sir."
-"You’ll do what you can? Do you have any idea how serious this is?"-
"Yes, sir."
-"I could lose hundreds on this just because some idiot forgot to sign the goddamn delivery form. Now find out what happened, okay?"-
"Yes, sir."
-"And while you’re at it, find out who fucked up. I want their head on the block."-
"Certainly, sir. Right away, sir." He’s such a domineering fuck. He thinks he’s intimidating me, but he fails to realise that I really don’t give a shit anymore. "Anything else, sir, while I’m at it?"
-"No, that’s all."-
"I’ll be right on it, sir."
-"Yeah. Just do it. Thank you"- He hangs up.
"Oh, and by the way, sir, you’re a fucking cock-sucker, sir. You can kiss my ass, sir." The other two guys in the room look up at me and we all laugh as I put the phone back on its cradle.
"Way to go, bro." says one of them, I think his name’s Tony or Tim or something.
"Yeah, well, he can stick his job up his arse, because I quit. You won’t be seeing me again. Anything’s better than this." and I get up and leave the room. I have no intention of finding out who messed up the delivery. I just want to get the hell out of here before I change my mind.
On my way through the warehouse I see there’s a delivery in progress at the bay. It’s the usual driver, Martin, a muscular six-foot black guy who would probably make a damn fine boxer or wrestler if he wasn’t so good-natured. He’s the one that gets that prick Davidson’s products from A to B. He’s a good guy and we’ve both been working at the company for a couple of years. I walk towards the bay door, waving as I do so. Outside it’s still fairly light and the sun is reflecting off the bonnet of the delivery van.
"Hey Franky Boy," says Martin, looking up from his clipboard and grinning from ear to ear as he always does. "How’s it going? Just checking off the final delivery for the evening."
"Hey Marty. Some stuff coming in?" I say, not really caring, but asking for the sake of making conversation.
"Yeah, some screwdrivers that were late for the morning load."
My jaw drops.
"You’re shitting me. What kind?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I had that fuckhead of a boss yelling at me about some 100 Workman screwdrivers that went AWOL today." Martin looks back to the paper on his clipboard and searches down the page with his pen.
"Yep. Those are the ones."
I slap my hand to my head and then slowly massage my eyes. I’m too tired for this.
"I don’t fucking believe it. I just don’t fucking believe it." Then I look up and realise it’s a day for quitting and not giving a shit. "You don’t fancy giving me a ride home do you? I’ve got some fantastic news to break to my girlfriend. I’m a free man."
Martin smiles.
"Sure. Just help me unload these boxes and we can be on our way."
"Great." And now I’m smiling too.
Celebrating Life Part 6: Celia On The Telephone
"Marty, I think you should get home soon. This is the third time you’ve been away this month. Chris is missing his Daddy and so am I."
I’m sitting alone at the kitchen table. I put my son to sleep over an hour ago and now I’m on the phone to his father. He’s away on business.
-"I know, Seely, but this will mean a lot to us if I carry it through. I get a pay-rise. It’s going to help a lot." -
"Honey, any half-decent employer would’ve given you a pay-rise 5 years ago for the work you’ve put into that company." It’s true. Mr Davidson is a real-life Scrooge. From what I’ve heard he seems to get a kick out of dealing people a load of work and then screaming about it if something goes wrong. Not a nice man at all. "You should have quit a long time back. Bigger companies have more time and money for experienced drivers like you."
-"Babe, can we not go into this now? I like where I am and it’s close to home. Any place deeper in the city would be harder to reach every morning."-
Now he’s talking nonsense and he knows it. The truth is that he can’t stand change. Once he sets his roots in the ground, he’s impossible to move.
"You’re a delivery man, Marty! Driving is what you do for a living. It wouldn’t hurt for an extra half hour in the morning."
-"London traffic, Seely. It’s bad in the mornings."-
I laugh in exasperation. It’s a losing battle.
"You’re right, we shouldn’t go into this. I was just ringing to see how you were and ask when you’re going to be back, that’s all. We really do miss you. Me and Chris both."
-"I know, but it won’t be long now, babe. Just a few more deliveries before I’m back in London, and then I’m done. I’ll be back in a couple of days."-
A couple of days sounds like a long time, but I can’t keep going at him.
"Okay, but you’d better have somewhere to sleep these nights. Do you?"
-"Yeah, that’s all sorted. Mr Davidson’s got a couple of bed-sits lined up on the route. I’ll be fine."-
"Well, okay then. He’d better have, otherwise I’ll be having words with that man. He’s got a lot to answer for."
-"Celia."-
"What?"
-"Drop it."-
"Okay," I hate it when I get like this. "Sorry."
-"Can I talk to Chris?"-
"Sorry. I put him to bed a while ago. He’s probably asleep now."
-"Well all right then, best not to wake him. Look, I’d better go. You know driving’s dangerous when I’m on the phone. I love you. Take care."-
"I love you too, hon." He’s right. Maybe I should stop ringing him when he’s on the road. Accidents do happen.
Celebrating Life Part 7: Bob And Sandra At The Hardware Store
Sunday is here again, seemingly for no other reason than to piss me off. Nobody comes into the shop, not on a day like today. ‘Get the kid to do it.’ is what that fat bastard Gary says every time the schedule for a Sunday is bare. ‘Get the kid to do it. He’ll do it. He’s just a fucking slob on the weekends.’. I don’t even get paid extra for my troubles. In fact the only reason I do stand for it is because it’s the only place Sandra and I can hang out together at the weekends. Neither of our parents approve of the relationship. They say we’re both too young, that we’re not ready. Personally, I think that’s a load of bollocks, but then I would with a girlfriend as hot as mine.
Sometimes Sundays can be pretty good actually, although at times tiresome. Sandra is not exactly a person you can sit down and have a quiet chat with, mostly because she usually only has one thing on her mind. Believe me, I’ve tried to tease her from these kind of thoughts, but she’s not exactly one to do things by halves.
"Bobby, let’s fuck." She looks at me expectantly after our recent lapse into silence. We’re both leaning on the serving counter. I’m reading a car magazine and trying very hard to look intently at it.
"Not now, Sandra. I’m busy."
"You’re fucking not! We’ve just been chattin’ for the last hour!"
It’s not as if I didn’t see that one coming.
"Well," I say falteringly. "I’m busy now."
"You’re a fucking liar."
"I am not."
"You are." she says, looking me up and down as though she’s disgusted at my very existence. "A big fucking liar. You just don’t wanna fuck."
"I do wanna fuck." I say, hurt almost. "I always wanna fuck. Just… not here."
"Why not? Here’s the best place! Here we’ve got the whole goddamn store to ourselves. It’s better than your Mum or my Pa breathing down our necks."
"Oh, right. So you’re suggesting we just go fucking all over the fucking shop?" I can’t help but grin at the thought. "Yeah, because that’ll please the customers."
"There are no goddamn customers! And besides…" She tries the puppy eyes on for size. "I just wanna fuck in the backroom. Not in front of no people."
"There’s no door to the fucking backroom! People will see us anyway!"
She turns away, sulking. I stifle a laugh and then look back to my magazine again. Persistency is probably her most dominant characteristic. Subtlety ain’t. Today I’m starting to get the feeling that I just might crack. I can tell she’s building up her strategy this very moment, but if I can just…
"Bobby, let’s fuck."
"What?" Her eyes are burning into me again. The look on her face is almost comic. "No, Sandra. I’m working." How can I talk seriously when she looks at me like that?
To my surprise though, that’s all it takes. She turns her head away again and, astonished, I look back to my magazine, trying desperately to read something or at least trying to look like I’m doing so…
"Just a little one."
Jesus. Now that caught me of guard. I slap the magazine shut.
"A little one? That’s barely even worth the effort! And besides, the little ones are what make the biggest noise. People will think we’ve got an orgy going on in the back or something."
"So," Stubbornness invades her features. "Let them think."
"No, Sandra." I say firmly.
Now her face shows defeat, although not entirely genuinely. She turns away again and I go back to my magazine, opening it and shaking it with authority to straighten out invisible creases on the pages.
"I just wanna fuck and you’re not playing fair."
Jesus Christ, this girl is unstoppable.
"Sandra! We can fuck later!"
"But I wanna fuck now!"
"Sandra, relationships are all about respecting each others wishes and giving as much as you take. Now, think about that for a second will you?"
"Hmph."
This time I keep my eye on her as she turns her head. It takes a while for my suspicion to fade, but then…
"Fuck."
"What?"
She turns back to me and then, without warning, pounces at me, pushing me into the side of the counter.
"Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck." She pounds her fists on my chest with every syllable, staring demonically into my eyes. I can’t help but laugh.
"Sandra stop it!" I say through the giggles. But she still continues.
"Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuckity, fuck."
"Sandra…"
Then she stops and just screams:
"Please… Fuck… Me!"
"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"
Oh, Holy Jesus, it’s that black delivery guy.
Celebrating Life Part 8: Wendy Makes A Hospital Visit
"Now, you’d better make use of these because I had to lug them all the way here for you." I say jokingly. "Okay?" This is, in fact, a complete lie. I bumped into a rather nice fellow at the DIY store who said he could deliver them to the hospital for free. He ended up giving me a lift too. "And the nurse said she’ll make sure they get them home with you when you’re discharged."
Joyce looks up from the magazine on her lap and removes her glasses. She sees the stepladder and smiles weakly at me. She still seems to be in shock.
"They’re lovely, Wendy. Thank you so much." As she finishes her sentence, the smile on her face slowly wavers and then disappears. Her lips become two straight, thin lines and her eyes adopt a vacant stare. "I thought it was my time." The words come suddenly and solemnly, as if from a different person. The tone of her voice is changed. It’s something that I wouldn’t recognise as being Joyce’s if she wasn’t sitting up in the bed in front of me.
"What do you mean, Joyce?" Don’t I already know the answer to that?
"I saw George. I saw him in his white coat and I wanted to join him. Up there in heaven." Now her eyes are tearful, her wrinkled face quivering. I see her white, curly hair shake at the movement. She looks into my eyes now and begins to speak with a sincerity that chills me to the core of my bones. "I’m thinking I’m too tired for this now. I’m thinking I should have gone the other day. I’m thinking I need my husband and son more than anything else in this world. I have no need to live."
"Joyce…" I say, going to the side of the bed and sitting down there. I reach for her hand and feel the coldness in it. And now I’m reaching deep inside myself for something to say. "Joyce, there is still time to live. There’s still time to break the emotional barriers that hold you so hard up against the wall of your own life. If you can do that then you will be at peace with the world and ready for whatever the good Lord chooses to throw at you. Life is a journey, Joyce, the end of which is not something you can put your finger on. You’re wrong to think that you have been cursed by it, when in fact the only reason you’ve been alive so long is because God felt the need to provide you with such a gift." She takes her hand away from me and I see a smile on her face now. A face that is turning a colour almost as white as her hair.
"You have been so kind to me over the years, Wendy. You are a wonderful person and I cant find the words to thank you, but also you are the only thing in this world that is worth living for." She pauses and then I see those vacant eyes again, like she’s gone inside her mind to search for something. And it seems she has because almost as an answer to that thought, her eyes suddenly light up. "Besides the birds in my garden. But there will be plenty of them up in heaven."
"I can’t tell you how many ways that I’ve sat,
And viewed my life today, but I can tell you,
I don’t think that I can find an easier way,
So if I see you walking hand in hand in hand
With a three-armed man, you know I’ll understand,
But you should have been in my shoes yesterday."
- Richard Shannon Hoon
Copyright © 2002 Rowan Davies
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