by Judy Fischer
“We should be in Virginia before Christmas and I will see you then.”
“Take care of yourself. I love you,” I had to say that to him again, but I heard no reply; he had already hung up the phone.
Irma gave me a hug of comfort, seeing my stunned and disappointed expression. I must have looked silly waiting for a confirmation of love from René. She knew it hurt me terribly, always wondering where I stood with him.
“It’s OK. I’ll be fine,” I said to console her.
We got down to preparing breakfast for the Roberts family; however, there was no sign of any of them.
By 10:30, the food was getting cold and Irma had to send Fred to check the guest house for any signs of movement. When the door opened, as Fred left, we heard Sally’s faint voice coming from somewhere far down the beach.
“Michael? Michael?” she was calling out loudly.
Fred came back a few minutes later and asked,
“Have you seen Michael?”
Before I could answer, I felt a gut-wrenching pain in the pit of my stomach and my voice froze. I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t. I just stood there with a blank stare on my face, white as a sheet.
“Missy, what’s wrong?” Irma asked.
“I saw him last night, just for a minute,” I dared to say.
“And?” Fred wanted more information.
“He went back to his house,” I said.
“They’ve been looking for him all morning. He is nowhere to be found.”
We all put on some sort of jacket, as it was much cooler outside and there was a brisk westerly wind blowing. Someone had checked the parking lot and all the vehicles were there, so we assumed he was still somewhere close by. I thought of the sandbar. I took Fred with me in the northern direction, battling the fierce wind blowing sand into our faces. Bob, David and Sally went toward the opposite direction and Sheila stayed with Irma, in a hysterical state, at the house.
We all came back to the house, exhausted, but without Michael.
“Where can he be?” Sheila asked between sobs. “I saw him after dinner last night.”
“Me too,” David said.
“I saw him leave the house, but he didn’t say where he was going,” Bod added.
I had no choice but to share my brief encounter with Michael.
“He came by my place for a few minutes, but he left soon after,” I said sadly.
“Why would he do that?” Sheila asked.
“Because we were together during the day and he had forgot to give me back the change from the money I gave him. He came over to return the money to me,” I lied.
“In the pouring rain?” Fred asked.
“What can I say? I was surprised too,” I started to cry.
“We’ll find him, he’s probably walking around somewhere,” Bob said, trying to reassure his mother, who was crying uncontrollably.
“Maybe he took Rufus for a walk, has anyone seen the dog?” David asked.
“No. Let’s go out again and look,” Sally said hopefully.
We all got dressed again and ran up and down the beach shouting and whistling for Rufus. Far in the distance, up toward the north, we saw Rufus running down toward us, he was a mere red dot in the distance and it appeared he was being followed by some men dressed in navy blue suits.
Fred was the first one to greet them. Rufus had run right passed him and straight to Sally’s side. From the sound that Fred made, we all started to cry and stop in our tracks, unable to approach the police officers who had obviously given Fred some sort of horrific news. I turned back toward the house because I was in a state of denial and shock.
“Missy, what is going on? Why was everyone shouting? Where is Fred? What has happened? Speak to us,” Irma was holding and shaking me, but I was motionless, speechless and non-responsive.
Fred came into the house alone and went to pour himself a shot of bourbon.
“Fred, talk to me,” Irma yelled at him, trying to snap him into reality.
“Michael was found. He drowned,” then Fred wept.
Tragedy
I had known Michael for three weeks and in those short weeks, I had kissed him, joked with him and then rejected him. Was it my fault he drowned? Nobody would ever know. In my heart, however, I would always feel the guilt of causing that young man so much despair that he went out into a storm to find peace of mind, but instead he found his death.
His family was inconsolable, understandingly so. Irma and Fred did everything they could to try to ease their pain. Irma had even called Father Williams to come out to the house to give them some spiritual guidance, to deal with their tremendous loss.
We never saw Michael’s broken body, but his mother did reveal to us that Michael had been in a fragile emotional state. He had lost his steady girlfriend in a car accident three months before their arrival in Virginia.
Personally, I was not surprised to hear about that because it was odd, in my opinion, that he had reached out to me in such a hurried fashion, with such passion and desperation. He was on a rebound from a relationship that was ended by fate. He was frantically searching for the love he had lost. I had temporarily fit into that role for him, subconsciously, and now I had to absolve myself from the guilt I felt for having fallen prey to his damaged soul.
I knew deep inside that Michael’s drowning was not an accident. I was the last one to see him alive and I understood his pain better than even I had wanted to admit. He had succumbed to his desperate need to be loved and he went to join his beloved, whom death had stolen from him without warning.
The Roberts family had to cut short their time with us, for obvious reasons. Following Michael’s tragic passing, they stayed long enough to make the arrangements with the local authorities and to pack up their RV. We didn’t see much of them, only at meals and only during the last few remaining days.
Fred had driven David and Bob to Hampton, to the coroner’s office, to finalize the papers and to arrange for Michael’s body to be sent back to Maryland, where they lived. We gave our words of sympathy to all of them and expressed our sincere condolences. I tried to stay clear of them as much as was possible. My guilt was difficult to hide.
They drove away on a bleak day, December 20th, two days before Larry and René were scheduled to come back into our lives.
The Novel
There was no Christmas spirit left as soon as the ‘Roberts’ drove away from the estate in Virginia. The tragic events of Michael’s demise had redirected whatever joyful moments we had planned with them to the hereafter. Irma and Fred had intended to decorate the house with elaborate Christmas ornaments but did not take them out of storage, after all. There was a grey cloud hanging over our heads inside and outside. We walked around like zombies, barely talking, absorbed in our own self-pity and misery.
The only positive outcome of those solemn days was my novel. It took on a life of its own because of the continuous time I devoted to it. As there were no big meals to prepare, Irma gave me some time off. I anchored myself to the typewriter and wrote feverishly. I had ripped up all the pages I had previously written and started to write a new story. It was about two lovers who had become the victims of both fate and death. I decided at the last minute to name my book Michael and to dedicate it to his memory.
I wrote every day, from morning to morning sometimes. I could not stop the flow of the words, because I was on a mission to write the most beautiful love story of all time. The inspiration had been provided by that young man whose memory lingered steadfast in my mind. I aspired to capturing the beauty of his soul, the deepness of his pain and the strength of his character which had finally surrendered to life’s cruelty and pushed him into the abyss of the merciless sea.
The words of my yesteryears came gushing back. The words of the authors my mother had introduced to me as a young child revisited and the emotions those words conveyed guided my thoughts. As the story evolved, the plot became realistic, the characters authentic and the climax was so poignant that
the resolution was nearly impossible to compose.
There was a box of tissue next to my typewriter and I used as much of those for my tears as I used paper to write on. In some moments, I had to stop, for the pain I felt, coming from the words I wrote, was too much to endure.
When I needed to take pauses, I went for long walks on the beach. I was still missing that silly red dog that had run in front of me to catch the ball I had thrown into the distance ahead. It was only a short while ago. I always walked toward the south because I dreaded the thought of seeing the sandbar where Michael and I had shared some delightful embraces. Now, it was only a sacred reminder of him.
I wrote until the story evolved into my own interpretation of the true story behind Michael and his battle with love. After I finished the manuscript, I took it and placed into Irma’s hands and asked her to read it. I left it in her care, at her discretion and for her objectivity. I told her, before I handed it over, to be open minded and to be honest with her critique.
While I waited for her to read it and to form some feedback, I started to consider my options. I thought about what I would do after René came back and if I wanted to remain in Virginia or to keep on the track from which I was diverted.
Irma and Fred had offered to let me stay on as a friend, who would work from time to time. They agreed to letting me write during those times when my help would not be required. I was very grateful for their generous offer but after the tragedy, I didn’t feel I could stay there any longer. I told them I would be leaving after Christmas.
On the afternoon of December 22nd, the big red 18-wheeler rolled into the driveway, bringing with it the only person who could turn my frown into a smile. When I saw his blond curly head of hair and his infectious smile, I realized that I had missed him more than I was willing to admit. I dropped what I was doing as soon as I heard the sound of the engine roaring closer. I ran outside, jumped into his unsuspecting arms and clung to him like a vine until he had to pry me off to stop Larry from making all sorts of lewd remarks.
“Oh, René. I have missed you so much,” I burst out crying for myself and for the memory of Michael which was still so fresh in my mind. The crying must have frightened them both into thinking there was some type of terrible trouble in their paradise.
“What is going on here? Why are you so fricken’ sad? Larry demanded to know.”Where is the RV? Where is everyone?"
I couldn’t bring myself to answering those questions. I still broke down into fits of crying when anyone mentioned the Roberts family.
Irma and Fred came quickly to join us in the parking lot, having also witnessed the careful manoeuvring Larry had executed in bringing the long truck through the gate and into the parking area.
“Irma, Fred, what’s with the long faces? Has something happened? Please, tell me.”
“We’ve had a tragic event to deal with, Larry,” tears also invaded his eyes and his voice broke and Fred stopped to regain his composure.
“We lost Michael Roberts a few days ago,” Fred said.
“Lost? What the hell does that mean? Did you find him in the end?”
“Lost to the sea, I’m afraid. He’s never coming back,” Irma finally spoke.
René just stared at me with too many questions in his thoughts, but he appeared to be in a state of shock too, unable to verbalize them. I was not prepared to answer them anyway, not at that moment.
The four of us went back to the main house to have a drink in honour of Larry and René’s return but the horrific news had put the two men into a different kind of mood, one more sombre than when they arrived.
We sat around the fireplace and reminisced about the good times in our lives, about the adventures Larry and René had found together and then finally about the approaching Christmas Day. We had planned for it weeks ago. We did not risk talking about the tragedy that Irma, Fred and I had tried to cope with and had managed to live with as long as we didn’t have to talk about it.
Larry and René respected our vulnerability and did not press for information. We directed our energy more toward the Christmas plans instead.
Our list of attendees at the celebration dinner had suffered a loss, so the amount of food we needed lessened as well. Irma and I had spent countless hours planning the menu and I had already shopped for 11 hungry people. The new list included Fred and Irma, her brother Larry, René and me, and Father Williams, who had already confirmed his invitation.
As an afterthought, Irma suggested we all attend church on Christmas Eve, a spiritual cleansing, she decided, is what we all needed. I agreed. Never having been a church-goer myself, I was still open to trying anything that would ease the loss I felt because of Michael.
I refrained from telling René the whole story, especially the part which transpired between Michael and me. There was no need for him to know. René had a different outlook on life, there were no grey areas for him. It was either white or black. Life had robbed him of those half-assed feelings.
Since his return, I noticed a tremendous transformation in his general behaviour and in his own self-confidence. Completing a successful haul with Larry gave René the kind of personal achievement he never had the opportunity to have ever since his life on the streets began. I was very happy for him, it was always my wish for him to find a suitable interest and occupation in his life in order to abandon the rut which had kept him in a personal prison for so long.
When we were alone together, on the nights in our cottage, he told me of his dream of one day owning his own rig. Larry had promised to train him and to prepare him to eventually pass his driver’s education. The training and license would eventually allow him to get the proper documentation to drive and operate semis and 18-wheelers.
“René, will you continue working with Larry?”
“He does need my help, so I would like to continue working with him. He does not have a regular contract with any company and as a free agent, he gets to pick those jobs paying the most. We are supposed to drive to Florida after Christmas and from there, we’ll get hooked up with many possible hauls. How about you, Missy, what do you want to do?”
“I think I will ask Larry to take me with him to Florida, and once I am there, I will decide.”
I was quite annoyed with his sudden disregard for my presence in his life. I wanted to tell him that I expected our lives to continue to be united; however, I decided to wait a few more days, to see if having me around again, day to day, would trigger those feelings we once shared. Although I wanted him to be happy, for some reason my happiness was all of a sudden important too. Michael’s passing had triggered too much sadness and wanting some pleasure from life mattered more than ever.
I decided to slip into town while everyone was busy with something else while my absence wouldn’t be noticed or my presence not missed. I cleared it first with Irma, I never wanted to do anything without her approval. I asked her to call Oliver Williams and to announce my arrival at his office. I took the liberty of assuming he would have time for me.
My small Canadian-bought car that we drove to Virginia was not often used. It was never used, for that matter, and Fred had advised me to start the engine occasionally anyway to keep it in working order. I did, periodically.
I didn’t want to take the Rover. The last time I was in it was the time with Michael. Everything that reminded me of him was still too painful to deal with. Besides, I needed to take my old car to a used-car dealership. I had the intention of selling it before leaving for Florida.
While driving, my mind was twisted with insecure thoughts. My emotional world was severely scarred by Michael’s passing and those scars, slowly on the mend were reinjured by René’s blatant detachment. I needed Oliver’s wisdom. I needed Oliver to reassure me that I will survive another loss, if it came to that. I felt as if I was sinking into the same abyss that lured Michael to surrender to death.
I arrived without even realizing the distance passing by. I’d never been to Oliver’s office at the church, I depe
nded on the careful road directions Irma had so carefully drawn up. I never went into that part of Hampton on my shopping trips and I got lost. I had to ask for help. A kind old gentleman, who was sitting at a bus stop, was generous to offer his knowledge of the area.
When I finally arrived, I went into the rectory where the pastor’s assistant asked for my name and before I gave it, Father Williams came to greet me and graciously escorted me into the office.
“Missy, it’s so good to see you. Has something happened? I am worried about you. When Irma called, she was so insistent on me seeing you immediately. She really cares about you.”
“I love her too, Oliver. I have come for some of your wisdom and guidance. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened but I feel vulnerable and confused,” I started to say.
We sat down onto a couch opposite his office desk. The couch provided the comfort and proximity for the types of conversations for which intimacy was necessary and advantageous.
“I’m not sure if you know about the liaison Michael and I briefly had. It was nothing more than a few kisses and me giving him some sort of validation for his ego and he to mine. I didn’t realize, Oliver, the distress he was dealing with. I did not know about his fragile libido. To me, he was a zealous young man looking for a summer fling with a girl he met at the beach.”
“I did not know this, Missy. So, is that what troubles you, do you feel guilty in some way?”
“Of course, I feel guilty. He came to me the night of his drowning, he reached out to me, and I was too blind to see the frailty of his soul. I sent him away. I rejected his advances. I sent him to his death, Oliver. I can still hear his desperate cry for love,” my tears started to flow again, as they did every time I spoke or thought about him. I had so much to say. I continued, even though my voice was trembling with every word.
“Oliver, I feel I am setting myself up to finding these damaged souls. I am a magnet, attracting broken people. Why?”
“Missy, you are looking at this the wrong way. Try for a minute to see it from reverse. You see? You are not the magnet. They are. They seek out your generous, vulnerable, kind and unselfish nature because they need that from someone and not many can give back those types of emotions. Be proud that you are the type of individual who can bring a positive influence over others’ lives. Don’t feel guilty about Michael. You did bring joy to his world by giving him kisses and a physical acceptance. You cannot be held responsible for his choices. Missy, remember when we spoke about René? And how he had to learn to love himself? Well, Missy, you must do the same. Love yourself, Missy. For once in your life, be selfish.”