by Judy Fischer
“Oliver, you are too wise. Why did I not see it like that?”
“Because you are too invested. You give too much of yourself. It is why you expect the same in return. Not everyone is like you. Try to remember that. Expect less and then maybe you’ll be surprised and not be so disappointed.”
I was again overwhelmed with his words and started to see my life from another perspective. When I got up to leave, I turned and gave him a heartfelt embrace, to transfer, if possible, the true emotions I felt for him at that moment. His wisdom, again, was straight from a power way above my head.
“Thank you again, see you at Christmas dinner,” I said before I got up to leave.
The outpouring of my soul during that visit was more than I could handle for the day. I didn’t stop at the dealership, I drove straight home.
Christmas
René never had much of a Christmas since he lost his family in 1976. Now, three years later, having one in Virginia with all the trimmings, brought back some old forgotten memories which rattled his mind, until Father Williams sat down to talk with him just hours before the scheduled festive dinner. They went to a quiet corner and spoke in private.
René embraced Oliver’s presence. Father Williams was introduced to René on the morning when Oliver arrived at the estate driving his old Chevy pickup truck. His attire and appearance always misled people into thinking he was of some other profession. As a matter of fact, people often mistook him for a celebrity. His extroverted personality, the friendly mannerism and the irresistible magnetism caught everyone off guard. There was no avoiding his persona. René too got sucked into his web of optimistic spiritual aura.
We didn’t discuss the possibility of an intervention for René, but once he met Oliver, he went with him without coercion or even suggestion. That is the kind of person Father Williams was and because of this gift, it made him a saviour for many in the State of Virginia and not only in the Hampton congregation.
Irma had told me that he was always being called upon to assist with the social services and was often asked to intervene with severe family disputes or with suicidal individuals. The courts had often enlisted his expertise in examining potential witnesses and/or victims or even those accused of the crime. Oliver’s ability to reach into the souls of people was, without a doubt, a talent or a God-given gift.
I never did find out what René and Oliver discussed but René came out from that room a different person. He had gone in as a boy and came out as a man. He looked at me and I could feel this good energy entering my body. The fusion was so tremendous, I started to blush. A sudden explosion of heat warmed every inch of my body. He walked over to me, and gave me a robust hug and a suggestive squeeze. In doing so, he also produced mysterious and unfamiliar feelings of serenity in his own heart.
Oliver Williams’ spiritual presence at our Christmas dinner also restored to our souls a sense of harmony that had been missing since the gloomy days prior. We were once again able to resume and embrace the true meaning of Christmas and to celebrate a time of year meant to rejoice in the rebirth of hope and salvation.
After dinner, we opened a few presents that lay hidden under a small tree Fred had snuck into the house only the day before. Larry and René had managed to wrap and decorate gifts for all of us; gifts they had purchased during their journey away.
We opened our presents one by one and marvelled at the unique wisdom going into each and every selection. I gave René a framed photograph of him and me, one Fred had taken of us by the seaside a couple of days after we first arrived in Virginia. Irma had knitted Fred a beautiful, cream-colored cable wool sweater. She had started it many months ago. I wondered where she had found the time to complete it during those busy times when we had guests to serve. Fred had snuck into Hampton and found a crystal vase for the dining room table and filled it too with a beautiful variety of cut flowers in season at the time. We had also chipped in for a bottle of good French wine for Oliver, knowing he had a taste for the better wines of the world.
The best gift, however, was the one Irma gave to me. She had taken my manuscript and had it reprinted and bound into a temporary book. With it, she gave me a ‘thank you’ card and when I read it, it brought me to tears.
"Dear Melissa,
Thank you for sharing your novel with me. I have never been so touched by words, as I have been by yours. The story you have written about Michael is one the whole world should read. You have captured the meaning of love, passion, character, lust, sorrow, determination, destiny, forgiveness, futility and hope, in a way that is realistic and a true example of the plight we, as human beings, can be subject to.
Congratulations
Irma Marshal Anderson"
The men looked at the two of us as we hugged, not understanding the show of affection we were sharing at that moment. The book I had written was composed at a time when most of them were not around, and Fred, well, he had been walking around the property then, traumatized and a prisoner of grief.
Not one of them promised to read it, except for one, Oliver. Men, for some reason, do not embrace sentimental, emotional tear-jerkers, so I did not feel betrayed by their disregard for my achievement. Larry did say though he would help me publish it as soon as we arrived in Florida, where he knew the editor of a publishing company.
It was a wonderful dinner and it was the company allowing all of us to feel festive and relaxed for the rest of the day. However, I missed my traditional Christmases with my parents and even though I had called them, being without them was not as easy as I had thought. I even missed the snow and the cold winters of the Montreal Christmases of the past. Since I had never known this time of the holiday season to have anything other than snow-covered trees and winter jackets, being by the seaside and walking on a sandy beach was very foreign indeed.
At midnight, we bade farewell to Father Williams and he left in a hurry, but his presence had been welcomed by all of us. We put everything away and were about to say goodnight when Fred asked us to stay for a glass of eggnog he himself made from scratch. He prided himself and claimed to be the only person in Virginia who had mastered the proper way of making it. And, he refused to hint at the recipe.
We sat around the fireplace in those cosy couches warmed by the heat of the burning wood. Even by the seaside, the nights were much cooler in December. René sat close to me, with his arm around my shoulders, and I could feel his inviting body inching itself closer and closer. It warmed my heart to feel this unusual need to be near me, for I had not sensed it from him for a long time. Perhaps never.
While Irma went to speak on the phone with her sons who had decided at the last moment not to come down for the holidays after all, Larry and Fred kept us entertained with their corny jokes. Finally, after what seemed like hours, we thanked the Andersons for a wonderful day and then René and I got up and made our way back to our cottage.
I started to go toward the shower when René stopped me.
“May we talk for a bit, Missy?” he took my hand as I nodded in agreement and gently led me toward the couch, where I sat down willingly.
“You know, Missy, I’ve never talked about this with you and maybe tonight is the right time for me to tell you what my deepest feelings are. We have known each other now for quite a while and I don’t think I have ever opened my heart to let you in. Talking with Oliver tonight, and I must add too that he is quite a wonderful guy, helped me to think about how unfair I have been toward you. From the moment we met, you have been my protector, my friend, my saviour, and I owe my life to you. Of course, I have held you on a pedestal because, in my eyes, you’ve earned that spot without question. From the age of 17, I have learned the hard way that love is something you can lose in a heartbeat. I have shielded myself with an armour protecting myself from another loss. My heart could not have taken losing someone I cared about, again, so I have been very careful. Loving you has never been a problem, the problem was always that I was afraid to show you. I felt vulnerable. Do you u
nderstand? Am I making any sense?”
“Yes, René, I do understand. Oliver and I have talked too. I had to tell someone how I felt. He opened many questions in my mind and some of those you have answered now. I appreciate your honesty. I have loved you for a long time and waited for you to be open with me. I needed to know how you felt about me.”
I held his face in my hands to make him understand I had longed for this time of honesty.
“I’m sorry I have kept you in the dark. You know, Missy, I felt that you wanted me to give you the kind of love they write about in romance books. I know about those sentimental, romantic, sexual feelings. I have those kinds of feelings for you, but I have never felt I was worthy of your love. I lived on the streets, for heaven’s sake. Who wants a boyfriend like that? I was ashamed of my life and I didn’t want to share that existence with you. Then there is the fact that I had lived the kind of life on the street I wish I could forget about, but it still haunts me to this day. Selling my body for money is not something I was or am proud of, Missy. I never thought you could love someone like me.”
“I do love you,” I gave him a gentle kiss on his lips.
“Oliver pointed out something I had not thought of or dared to consider. He said you had a free will, Missy, you chose to be by my side and if you loved me enough to have stuck around all this time, then I shouldn’t be afraid to show you my love.”
As I looked at René, I was grateful for his honesty and I felt I had to return that openness too.
“René, before we move forward, I need to be honest with you too,” I took his hand and as we sat face to face, I started to tell him the story of Michael.
“Michael Roberts was a troubled soul who reached out to me for love. I was starved for love myself, so there we were, two people, in desperate need for someone to love them and for a while, we gave each other some hope: love could still find us. We shared a few kisses but that was all I could offer him. René, he wanted me to replace the affections of his lost girlfriend; he saw me as her spirit. Maybe I reminded him of her in some way. I craved for your affection and your attention and, yes, I am guilty of reaching out to anyone who showed me some sort of compensation for that. I hope you can understand. When I closed my eyes, I was with you, René, not him. Crazy but true nonetheless.”
“Of course, I understand, I am the one to blame. If I had shown you how I really felt, then you would not have had to turn to someone else. I’m the one who is sorry. Please forgive me, Missy.”
He reached over and kissed me with the passion I had longed for. For the next few minutes, we just clung to each other, scared to lose the contact we had finally made. The feelings of comfort, satisfaction and contentment were so gratifying, we fell asleep in each other’s arms, on the couch, in the warmth of the Virginian cottage, by the sea, to end a perfect Christmas Day.
1980
Yes, René and I had finally communicated verbally our love for each other, but a physical union had not yet taken place. Both of us had our own reasons why making love was not foremost on our agenda. I was still recovering from the untimely death of Michael and from my own guilt because of it. René had felt my pain and my reluctance, so he did not press. He had his own issues also, which I’m sure he had discussed with Oliver but was hesitant in sharing those with me.
I was relieved to find out René had taken his rehabilitation seriously and was doing whatever he felt necessary to relinquish the lifestyle he had barely survived on the streets of Montreal. Oliver had told me in confidence that homeless people, no matter what the circumstances, find it almost impossible to leave that existence behind. Being homeless, he said, makes a person become emotionally fragile, physically and mentally addicted to that way of life. Oliver had compared it to being addicted to drugs of the worst kind. To give it up in the true sense, one had to seek professional help. René had never received any help other than my own naïve efforts. I had just plucked him out of it without knowing its ramifications.
Oliver also told me that making love to someone can only happen if you can love yourself. René had to find peace within himself before I could expect him to bond with me in all those intimate, loving ways. I wasn’t in a hurry, I really had no experience with the carnal pleasures of the body and I didn’t know what I was missing anyway. The most important need I had was for him to tell me that he loved me, which he finally did. I was content. Not fulfilled, but content nonetheless.
Larry announced to all of us during the next family breakfast he was preparing to leave Virginia the day after New Year’s Eve. It was already arranged that René would be accompanying him and now that he and I had finally committed ourselves to each other, I had every intention of tagging along too. Larry made it clear to me I was always welcome in his home. I rested assured that my travel plans were set.
Thus, it was with sadness that we told the Andersons about our impending departure from their loving home. I particularly felt unhappy because I had found a surrogate family in Irma and Fred. I was too young to have left home when I did and I couldn’t deny the fact to myself: I still needed the warmth and guidance of a family unit.
“It’s not forever, Irma,” I promised.
“I know, child, you must continue on your intended path. We were lucky to have been included on it, till now,” Irma said.
We sat for minutes in heart-rending silence, taking in the seriousness of the farewells being made.
“Hello. We are still here and let’s bring in the New Year with a bang,” Larry added to take the gloominess out of our goodbyes. We immediately snapped out of that desolate state and embraced Larry’s enthusiasm.
The preparations for a memorable party started and we all got involved. We cast aside all the misgivings, the sadness and past disappointments and vowed to look forward to better things. Fred’s suggestion to rekindle the monstrous fire pit, the one we had not touched since the Robert’s family BBQ, sounded like a wonderful plan.
“I think it’s long overdue. René and I had worked our asses off in building that mother. We should celebrate the New Year with a fire all of Virginia can see,” Fred declared with a firm tenacity.
Everyone agreed. The men got together to decide what had to be done to make it a reality. Irma and I went to the kitchen and took inventory of the fridge and freezer to see if we had all the right ingredients to make our dinner a gala. There was still so much food left over, we certainly had planned to feed our guests like royalty. Other than fresh fruits and vegetables, we didn’t need to shop for anything else.
“If you want me to, I will gladly go into town to pick up the fresh produce. I planned on going anyway, I wanted to mail the manuscript to the publisher Larry had suggested. Maybe, by the time I arrive in Florida, they will have an answer for me.”
“That sounds fine with me, but I should go with you, it’s been a long time since I left the house. I think I will stop and visit with Oliver too,” Irma said.
“Good, we’ll leave tomorrow after breakfast,” I replied.
For the rest of the day, I started to go through my belongings and determine what I should pack. There were a few items I had already put into a separate bag to give to the goodwill foundation I had seen in Hampton on my last visit. I had only one suitcase I brought with me from Montreal, and I didn’t need to have any more clothes than what fit into it originally. Irma had given me some of her clothes when I needed them and they were much nicer than the ones I had brought with me. I selected the newest and more fashionable ones and placed the others into the other bag. I also packaged my manuscript Michael and labelled it, giving Larry’s address in Florida as the return address.
Everything went as planned. Irma and I went to town and the three men stayed behind to become the true warriors of our pack; to build the kind of bonfire we would all remember as the one that had brought in the year 1980. For two days they planned, they drew up an architectural replica and presented it to us to get the final approval. They undertook the task very seriously, and Irma and I to
ok pleasure from seeing their juvenile antics. The pit started to take shape and by the evening of our festivity, it was ready. It was like reliving Lord of the Flies all over again. The three warriors stood outside and lined up around the fire hole, staring at their achievement, proud as can be. They, however, did not paint their faces with pig’s blood nor did they prance around in their undies. Irma and I could have understood even that; their boyish need to reconnect with their primal origins. It was, it seems, an inherent male characteristic; the need to build a fire, it was crucial, after all, to the survival of the, human race.
The year 1979 had been a good one, we all agreed to that at the dinner table, as it had brought us all together, to which we toasted several times. We had all found such joy in our friendships, partnerships and mutual respect, celebrating it over and over seemed like the only decent thing to do.
The roast pork had always been a traditional meal in my family and I had suggested it to Irma. I explained to her that there was a superstition implying pigs push Lady Luck into the future because of the nature of its actions. No matter the reason, she said, any practice promising good luck, is worth following. The dinner, its trimmings, the wine and the ambiance, was the ideal end to a good year.
By 11 o’clock, we gathered around the fire, which did, as expected, blaze toward the heavens. We cheered every time a new flame roared and crackled. Fred took a seat next to Irma, René eased himself into a chair beside me, following Fred’s lead. As I watched him, it suddenly made sense to me, he was learning from Fred. I realized then that René never had a male role model after the death of his father. While living on the streets, he never learned how to treat a lady. Then, he hooked up with me, a young inexperienced and foolish girl. I also realized that my own expectations of him until then were so unrealistic. If only I had known before what I knew now.