She used to dream that she might have twins someday, you know, in that perfect world all twenty-three-year-olds live in. The one where you met your soul mate, fell in love, got engaged, soaked up the attention and the drama of looking for the perfect wedding gown, party favors and god-awful brides-maid dresses, got married with all of your friends and family present, went on a whirlwind honeymoon to the most romantic spots all over Europe and when you returned, you found the most stunning house to move into, just in time to find out you were expecting your first baby, or in Piper’s world, twins. A boy and a girl, she thought; what could be more perfect?
Sitting on the edge of her bed on this raw and misty October afternoon by the sea, Piper contemplated going grocery shopping at the Stop and Shop a couple of towns over, to avoid seeing anyone she knew. But leaving the house would mean having to take a shower, find clean underwear, a matching pair of socks (clean or otherwise), dig out her sneakers from under the bed where the puppy usually dragged them, take the puppy out to pee first, come back up the stairs to the second floor of the house, put the puppy back, find her car keys, and walk to the corner, hoping she didn’t have a ticket on her windshield for parking too close to the fire hydrant. It all just seemed like too much work for a Sunday.
So she lay back on the bed, her long legs hanging down, her feet still flat on the hardwood floor of her small apartment. She liked the way her muscles felt stretched like that and had a fleeting thought of joining the gym again. But right now, she was enjoying being alone with her thoughts. She realized that she had spent a lot of time alone throughout her life and again wondered if this was normal. She shrugged her shoulders as if someone had had asked her this question aloud. Out of the blue, a tear drop pushed its way out from the corner of her eye and slowly made the trek down her cheek and onto the sail of one of the little boats on her quilt. She didn’t often let herself cry, because when she did, she had a hard time stopping, and this time was no different.
The tears came hot and fast, each one chasing the last, faster and faster until she put her arm up over her face as if to hide her emotions from, what? The ceiling? She knew she needn’t be ashamed; crying was normal. It’s just that she didn’t want it to be normal for her. She had hardened herself and now took pride in it as it had taken a lot of work. She knew from an early age that she could take care of herself and that she didn’t really need anyone; it wasn’t that she didn’t want someone. Sometimes she wished she could let others see a little of her weakness—not too much, just a little softness, a little dilution. She wondered if it was too late to change, to really change, become something else, someone else. Sometimes when she was out in the world, on her way to the dog park, or perhaps in a store, Piper looked around and realized that she knew not one soul by name. This frightened her a little bit, but then told herself that she moved here only three years ago and that she was a little shy—it was not much of a consolation.
She would first notice all the couples. It seemed that everyone but she had someone. Some couples walked hand in hand, others had a way of walking so that one sort of shielded the other from passersby, the man sometimes guiding the woman around a slower couple, or perhaps a wayward child in the middle of an aisle. They seemed to have an easiness all their own, a language their bodies knew well from years of practice, an easy rhythm that they didn’t even realize existed but that others could see. Something as simple as a slight hand movement by one person being received as a gesture that made the other person reach out and take his hand. No words: just ease. She longed for that knowing, for that connection.
Next she would look at the children and something inside her quickened a little. She wanted to be a mother. She had always wanted that, but it just seemed like one of those twenty-something ideals that was less and less likely to happen with each passing year. Piper was an only child and had always yearned for a sister or a brother to keep her company but got instead the horse, dog, rabbits, cats. Her mother, Elizabeth, told Piper—between sobs once, “Someday you will understand what a mother does for her child. Anything and everything, anything and everything—you’ll see. And sometimes that means… well, it means knowing when enough is enough. You are all Daddy and I need—just you, honey. You know, there are mothers and fathers in the world who send their children away when they misbehave. I know you don’t want that now, do you?”
The 31-year-old Piper dried the last of her tears and rolled over onto her side, pulling her knees up onto the bed, her quilt damp in one spot from so many tears. She lay there like this for a few minutes before sitting up, feeling relieved, cleaner, more relaxed. She got up from the bed, pushed her long black hair back, and noticed in the mirror over her bed that her hair needed washing. She thought about hopping into the shower, but again, decided it would take too much effort. And for what? For whom? She didn’t feel like going out today. Sharon had left her a message earlier asking if she’d like to get some lunch and prepare for their upcoming reviews at work. She thought about calling her back but then realized she could still hear rain hitting her window and savored the idea of making some tea and trimming Viceroy’s nails. She thought maybe that was pathetic, and again shrugged her shoulders, turned on her CD player and grabbed her journal and a Valvoline pen she had slipped into her purse at the garage where she had her oil changed. The song that was playing fit her mood perfectly. A song called “Memories” by a Dutch band called Within Temptation. It was sad and sweet, and she loved it. She never got tired of listening to it.
She lay back down on her bed, avoiding the teary spots and, this time on her stomach, with her journal in front of her, knees bent, ankles crossed in the air above her. She often read a little of what she wrote previously prior to writing something new. But this time, she just opened to a blank page and began writing what she felt deep in her heart, not knowing really where the words came from, just obediently jotting down what was there—in her mind, her heart, her soul. Sometimes they just appeared seemingly from nowhere and not until she was done writing them did she realize what she had written.
The wind calls your name
And whispers a story
Of a time gone by
Of true love and glory
Another place
Another time
When I find you
Will you still be mine
The years have passed
I’ve cast off the sorrow
Time marches on
I know I must follow
This journey is long
Mile after mile
Come take my hand
Rest here a while
The trail hasn’t ended
Though many can’t see
There’s a path overgrown here
For you and for me
Let’s ride it together
Though we’re worlds apart
Take the reins in your hands
I’ll take you in my heart
Watch the meadow turn green
Feel the warmth of the sun
God’s always promised
A new day would come
Life is not measured
In numbers and days
But by love and by laughter
And kindhearted ways
You always believed this
Now I know that it’s true
I no longer count days
Just memories of you
Did you tuck a note
‘Neath the bluebird’s wings
Is that why he visits
Is that why he sings?
He calls my name
And whispers a story
Of a time to come
Of patience and glory
Putting down her pen, a final tear falling onto the page, Piper felt better. Writing always made her feel better. Had she remembered Vander and his words, believed that he really existed not as an imaginary friend, but as a true soul, as real as anyone she knew on earth, she might have noticed that the solitary tear had fallen onto the word “patienc
e,” that it might be a reminder from him. Instead, she wiped the tear from the page, smearing the blue ink, giving the word wings, making it look as if it had fallen quickly from a far-away place, landing safely in her journal, just for her to see. She closed the journal and decided she did want lunch after all and headed for the shower.
Sharon was waiting for her at Jack-Tar Tavern on Washington Street down by the harbor and had ordered them a bottle of white Zinfandel. The atmosphere inside always made Piper feel like an invited guest, which is what she needed when the weather was like this.
“Hi Chickadee,” chirped Sharon when she saw Piper approach the table by the window.
“Hey Lady, what’s up?” She sat down with a sigh and a forced smile on her face. “Nice weather, huh?” she sneered.
Sharon rolled her eyes. “I know. And it gets dark so early. That reminds me, I have to pick up my happy pills on the way home.”
“Do those things really work? I mean, how do you know?” Piper had often wondered if she was a candidate for anti-depressants but at the same time didn’t really want to know.
Her closest friend poured them each a half glass of wine and said, “Well for starters I don’t feel the urge to rip Mike’s head off just for opening his mouth, if that’s any indication.”
Piper quickly swallowed the sip of wine she had just taken to avoid having it exit through her nose as it had on more than one occasion when Sharon was in a sarcastic mood.
“What else, though? I mean is there really a big difference between you with the meds and you without them?”
Her dirty-blonde confidant leaned back against the high back booth and thought for a moment.
“Oh most definitely, there’s a difference: the difference between a size six jeans and a size ten, hello? And I was so bitchy! I hated everything and everyone got under my skin. Don’t you remember how I tortured Mike? The poor guy, it’s a wonder he’s stuck around as long as he has.”
Piper nodded with one eyebrow raised. “Well, I guess that’s what you do when you love someone.”
Sharon perked up at the mention of love.
“Speaking of love … how are things with Kevin? What’s going on with the two of you?”
Piper rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Not much. He’s a nice guy, don’t get me wrong. It’s just ….”
“It’s just what?” Sharon poured them some more wine.
“I don’t know, I guess there’s no real spark there.”
With glass tilting in Piper’s direction Sharon said, “You have to work at these things, guys are a lot of work. Hey, I’ll tell ya what. I’ll sell you half my prescription for thirty bucks if you think it might help.”
Piper laughed and said, “No thanks, I like the way my jeans fit right now. But I appreciate your help. You’re such a doll.”
Their soup and sandwiches arrived and as soon as the waitress left their table Sharon joked, “Well they say it’s better to be fat and happy than thin and miserable.”
Piper tilted her head and replied, “Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances.”
Sharon paused, contemplating. Then she raised her glass and smiled. “Well then, here’s to skinny bitches!”
Work, for Piper, had always provided the stimulation that she needed to keep herself on track. She lived for her weekends, her time alone with her thoughts, time to sleep, or just to lie in bed dreaming of a day that she could roll out of bed, grab some jeans and a pair of boots, and ride out into the woods for a few hours, not seeing a single person the entire morning; the only sounds being the unmistakable sound of leather as it is stretched with each stride, hooves rustling in fallen leaves, and the steady breath of the horse beneath her. But spending alone even one day more than the weekend provided, left her feeling disconnected more than usual, a bit melancholy and out of sync with the world. As she grew into her adult self, she came to the realization that feeling this way helped her to be more introspective and creative in her writing. Who wants to read happy poems? And what about her favorite songs? Weren’t they sad in nature? Isn’t that why people connected with songs of lost loves and missed connections? But writing was not how she made her living. No, indeed, she knew she would starve if she had to write, especially if she had to write what someone told her to.
As an insurance agent in the equine industry, Piper needed to be detail oriented, shrewd, and sometimes more than a little suspicious of the very clients she was working for. Feelings of creativity and melancholy had no place there. She chose this career as a way to stay connected to something she had a passion for, something she was truly knowledgeable about. If there was one thing in life Piper knew well, it was horses and what made them tick.
The career she chose, unfortunately, also introduced her to the one thing that made most people tick. Money, she knew, was a force to be reckoned with; but to put money and an animal’s life in the same column on the same spreadsheet always made her a little queasy. She didn’t like it one bit, primarily because it usually meant that a horse had to suffer in some way or another in the name of someone’s bank account. This is what made her widely respected in her field and feared by the most unscrupulous horse people. She didn’t consider herself to be on the same plane as most horse people she knew. She loved these animals in a way that spoke to her admiration of God’s divine perfection. She was more at ease on the back of a horse than in the presence of any human she had ever met. And, although she had owned two horses since Victory, she never found another gentle giant like him, one that she had such a strong bond with, a connection that seemed to continue even after his death at age twenty-seven.
While she made a decent living, she didn’t feel that she could afford her rent and board to keep a horse at a stable, especially anywhere in the suburbs surrounding Boston where farmland had quickly transitioned from essential yet abundant, to commodity, to luxury in a matter of only a few decades. And besides, her dream was always to be able to keep any horse she owned at home, in her sight and care at all times. There was a time when she had dreamed that she and Darrick would have found a nice spot to settle, perhaps in the western part of the state or maybe Vermont, with some land and endless places to ride that were still untouched by McMansions and cul-de-sacs. And since her and Darrick’s relationship ended, she never really pictured herself settling down with anyone she dated; at least, not in the long run anyway.
Piper seldom seemed to want what her peers did. She guessed that not a lot of people her age wanted to live in a way that she dreamed about. Quiet. Space. She wanted a lot of space. And a meadow! She would gladly trade the convenience of a coffee shop on every corner, great restaurants, and easy highway access for a long gravel driveway and four-stall barn with heated tack room and acre upon acre of open pasture. Any real estate she might consider purchasing in the future must have a meadow, or at least the potential for one. She didn’t mind if her nearest neighbors were within walking distance, just not a walk that would make it especially easy for them to stop over, looking to borrow a cup of sugar.
Piper was friendly enough to people she knew and overly friendly to people she did not, really a requisite in the field she worked. But, by spending time with her, most people learned that she needed her alone time as much as she needed companionship and connection. She often grew quiet when she spent too much time with someone, be it a friend, family, or a date. Some suspected boredom, others snobbery, but those few who knew her well knew that she just had a side to her that was thoughtful, introspective, and she was easily overwhelmed by too much chatter about mundane things. She really did enjoy a night on the town now and again, and after a glass or three of wine had no problems playing the role of a successful young woman on the prowl, but it just wasn’t her on the inside. She found herself most weekends at home alone. She knew that if she was out on a Friday night, she could still have Saturday night to herself. Getting dolled up and being on her best behavior two nights in a row seemed like a lot of work! This fact, though Piper had never be
en privy to it, and wouldn’t have believed it if she had been, was much appreciated by the other young women out on the town trying to impress a handsome, single (or otherwise) man with deep pockets.
If attracting good-looking men had been a sport, and for some it seemed it was, one would not be wrong in saying that Piper had a natural ability in this area, one that can’t be learned. She had an easygoing nature that men liked and women were surprised by in most situations. She could talk to anyone about any subject that she knew even just a little bit about. Asking questions was a very important part of her job. Equally important was listening to the answers given, reading body language, and deducing the unspoken messages that might imply fraud. It was no surprise that asking questions and putting people at ease came naturally to her in a conversation, giving the impression that she was truly interested in the subject at hand. And she usually was interested by the time the dialogue got rolling.
She did often notice, but didn’t much care, that women sometimes became visibly uncomfortable with her ease around their boyfriends or husbands. She could get a little loose-lipped and flirtatious with the help of a little wine, and loved a dirty joke as much as the next person. Having been raised by a man who worked construction, she knew more than a fair share and didn’t see a thing wrong with it. But she was harmless. The last thing Piper wanted was to take someone else’s boyfriend home with her. She genuinely enjoyed learning what she could from whomever she met, whether it was a horse owner whose new mount happened to cost more than most people’s vehicles or the cashier at Macy’s shoe department whose accent struck Piper as comforting, even familiar, prompting her to make conversation outside the cashier’s obligatory, “Will you be using your Macy’s card today?”
Piper, Once & Again Page 4