Marsha's Deal

by Laura Solomon

  Marsha's Deal

  Laura Solomon

  Copyright (C) 2017 Laura Solomon

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia

  Published 2017 by Creativia

  Cover art by xxxxxxx

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Table of Contents

  The Reckoning

  The First Time Around

  The Second Time Around

  About the Author

  The Reckoning

  Marsha Lee Henry died on a Friday. She took her own life at Dignitas, the Swiss euthanasia clinic, after being diagnosed with Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva, a rare disease that meant various parts of her body would turn to bone when damaged. She was beyond finding Dignitas creepy; she simply wanted to die. Enough was enough. She'd taken years of it, years of her body slowly turning to bone, trapping her, encasing her. She may as well have been turning to stone, like somebody who had looked into Medusa's eyes. She had filled out the Dignitas forms at home, passed their tests and been accepted. She had won the right to end her own life.

  She had made the journey solo; a lonely trip. She had thought at the time that it was a one-way ticket to the grave but this did not turn out to be the case. Her body was cremated; her spirit went straight to hell. She found herself face to face with the Devil.

  “Hello there”, said the Devil. “I've been expecting you.”

  Marsha remained silent. She looked around, taking in her surroundings. The environment was made of hard concrete with not much in the way of luxury. There were several steel planks to sit on, and three large TV screens hooked up to DVD players. Puffs of smoke wafted out from behind them. Nobody else was around. Marsha was horribly, terribly alone. She looked down at her body. At least one of her wishes had been granted – she was no longer a woman of bone; she had turned back to flesh. It had been years since she had been flexible and she did a few stretches, testing out her new suppleness.

  “Fancy a steam bath?”, asked the Devil, gesturing towards the wisps of smoke.

  Marsha breathed deeply into both nostrils and drew courage. She did not tremble, she did not quake.

  “Actually”, she said. “What I would like is another crack at it.”

  “Crack at what?”

  “At life.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I would like to be reborn as a baby, as myself. I want my time again, a second chance. This time around I don't want to be afflicted by disease. I want a clean life, a good life, a life of joy and happiness.”

  “You yourself are responsible for creating an awful lot of sorrow”, said the Devil in a menacing tone, with a twitch of his horns. “Would you like to have a look at some of the misery you've left behind? Let me show you where you've slipped up.”

  Marsha hesitated. She knew that her absence must have left a void in a few hearts and minds and she felt no small amount of guilt. Suicide was selfish, wasn't that what they said. Was it true? Was it accurate even in the case of somebody diagnosed with a life threatening, life altering, illness?

  “Okay then”, said Marsha. “Show me the worst.”

  The Devil picked up a DVD remote, pressed play and said, “Now I will show you those left behind.”

  The sobbing form of Marsha's husband started playing and Marsha felt a pang of sorrow shoot through her. What had she done? What fresh misery was this? Don was her one true love, her reason for existing, but he hadn't wanted her to go to Dignitas; she'd stolen away behind his back and look (just look!) at the grief it had caused. Don was beside himself, lying distraught on the sofa while great sobs wracked his body. Moving pictures of her friends were next; Doris, one of her fellow seamstresses and Lucille, her old friend from high school, both of them overwhelmed with quiet despair. Most heartbreakingly of all, footage of her daughter Iris was shown, alone in her Christchurch bedsit, clutching a photo of her adoptive mother and sobbing into her pillow. The only person who'd known about her trip to Dignitas was her sister, her brilliant sister, by now an IT consultant in Auckland, who'd come up with the money when Marsha had phoned and confronted her with her exit plans and her reason for them. Overcome by the footage, Marsha turned to The Devil and apologised.

  “I'm sorry”, she said. “I'm sorry for all the things I've done wrong, the bad decisions, the faulty moves. If you just give me one more chance at rebirth, I promise you I'll make you a better job of it. I'll right my wrongs. I'll fix my mistakes. I'll be a model citizen. I'll never do any harm.”

  “Your race has already been run,” said The Devil. “What makes you think that you deserve a second chance?”

  “I wish I'd known at the start what I know now.”

  The Devil scoffed. He had seven heads and they all looked in different directions.

  “That's what they all say”, he said. “All new entrants to hell get shown a retrospective.”

  He gestured towards a hard steel plank and Marsha obediently took a seat.

  “So, without further ado,” boomed The Devil. “Marsha Lee Henry. This is your life!”

  He pressed play on a DVD remote.

  Marsha watched her life being played out before her very eyes, bore witness to her birth, saw herself playing with a mobile hung high above her cot, observed her first tentative steps, then onwards towards kindergarten and primary school, where she played elastics and knucklebones. Then to intermediate, where she held hands with her first boyfriend and received her first telling off from the school headmistress for losing her red parka and having to collect it after assembly. She won the standard two cross country, much to her mother's disbelief 'that can't be my child crossing the finish line in first place', the bitchy school girl games that start up early, then high school with its peer pressure and politics. Her family, through it all, in the background, her mother a social worker, working with kids from problem families, her dad an insurance salesman, excelling at his job, and her over achieving sister Natalie, top of her class in mathematics and English and a local ballet star, regularly performing at the local theatre. A show off to Marsha's mind, but then Marsha was no great shakes at anything scholastic, although she was a whiz behind the sewing machine and had been given an old Singer for her birthday on which she had run up frocks for herself, Natalie and her mother, two barbecue aprons for her Dad and various outfits for the family cat. Leaving school at fifteen, the earliest age possible, and becoming a seamstress seemed like a natural choice. Marsha took work in a local factory, apprenticed to Lucinda Bragglethwaite. And then the disease had set in.

  One of the girls, Doris, was a marvelous sewer and had sewn a beautiful green ball dress, with a satin layer underneath, chiffon on top, shoestring straps and hand sewn sequins in a teardrop pattern on the bodice. Marsha was very taken with this outfit. Marsha was envious that she could not sew as well as Doris and she stole the outfit from the factory store room, planning to keep it for only one night as she was going out on a first date. The date was a disaster. Firstly, Dave talked about himself all night and never once asked Marsha about herself. Marsha had anticipated a fancy restaurant but he took her to KFC. At the end of the night Dave grabbed Marsha tightly and would not let her go. Marsha told him she had a curfew and tried to break free. As she was struggling to get away the chiffon layer of the dress ripped. Marsha did not know how she was going to explain
this to Doris. She would either have to take the outfit to a professional dressmaker and get the entire chiffon layer and sequins replaced (but then it would not be identical and Doris would know it was different) or not take the dress back at all. Marsha grew ashamed of what she had done. She went home that night and put the dress in the rubbish bin and never spoke of it. When Doris started asking if anybody had seen her dress Marsha said nothing, just put her head down over her sewing machine and kept sewing, as if her life depended on it.

  An image of one of her old school friends came up on the DVD. Linda Davidson, who had been with her through high school, a constant companion, there in times of trouble, with Marsha through thick and thin. Linda was a firm friend, a person you could rely on. She hadn't turned away when Marsha had started turning to bone. A friend in need; a friend indeed.

  “Hey”, said Marsha. “What's Linda doing inserted there in the DVD just randomly like that?”

  “Blast from the past, eh?” mocked the Devil with a cackle. “She's dead now. Got hit by a truck driving home from work one day. If you stick around I can re-introduce the two of you.”

  He paused.

  “Why do you want to go back to earth anyway? It's much nicer down here.”

  He winked, then waltzed over to Marsha and coyly put one arm around her shoulders.

  “Stay with me Marsha. Stay and be my companion. Stay and keep me company. Stay and be my friend. Stay and be more than just a friend, if you get my gist.”

  He got down on one knee.

  “Life is rotten on Planet Earth, Marsha. War, violence, famine, rape, murder. There's none of that carry on down here. Just me and my…cronies. I can show you a good time. I can make your dreams come true. I can give you a warm place to sleep at night. You'll never want for anything again if you just say you'll stay with me, yes stay.”

  For a moment Marsha forgot herself, staring into the Devil's eyes, as he wooed her with his promises, then she jumped back to her senses with a start remembering where she was and who she was and who He was.

  “I'm sorry”, she said (her mother had trained her to always be polite, even in the most trying of circumstances), “but I just don't believe a word you say. I ask you for just one thing. To go back to earth as a baby and to have a chance to live my life over again, I want to be born on the same date, to the same parents, and this time I don't want to be afflicted with Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva thank you very much.”

  She smiled at the Devil and He grinned back.

  “Please good Sir,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Oh, alright then, since you asked so nicely”, said Satan. “Besides, I've been waiting for a new project to come along. But first you'll have to give me some information.”

  He tapped his long scaly fingers together.

  “And you'll have to pay me of course.”

  “Pay you?”

  Marsha looked around for her purse.

  “Pay you how?”

  The devil tapped his nose with one finger.

  “That's for me to know and for you to find out, sunshine.”

  “What sort of information do I have to give?”

  The devil shot her a sly sideways look.

  “I would like to know information about your friends and family members. Their strengths and their weaknesses. Not just immediate family – extended family. No great rush. Here's a pen and paper. Take your time. Write it down for me. Then I will re-birth you.”

  Marsha hesitated. What was he up to? Still, she really wanted to be re-born and it seemed like her only chance was to do as he asked. She put pen to paper.

  Isobel: Strengths – good homemaker. Weakness – chocolate.

  Aaron: Strengths – Gift of the gab. Weakness – pretty young ladies.

  Natalie: Strengths – Academia. Ballet. Weakness – Vanity.

  Cousin Andrew: Strengths – Good mechanic. Weakness. Porn.

  Aunt Abbey: Strengths – hairdressing. Weakness. Gossip.

  Uncle Murray: Strength – golf. Weakness. Fits of rage.

  Friend Karen: Strength – good clairvoyant. Weakness. Love of money.

  “Excellent”, said the devil with a smug smile.

  He took the list from Marsha then made his own subset – areas to target.

  Isobel: Gluttony.

  Aaron: Lust.

  Natalie: Pride.

  Cousin Andrew: Sloth.

  Aunt Abbey: Envy.

  Uncle Murray: Anger.

  Friend Karen: Greed.

  He picked up his long pointy tail and swung it around in the air several times. Marsha felt like asking him what the hell he was doing, but she kept silent, hoping that he knew his stuff when it came to terrestrial transportation.

  “Marsha Lee Henry, I declare you reborn!”

  He reached out and touched Marsha's shoulders. Marsha felt herself becoming lighter and lighter, felt her spirit detach itself from her body, keeping her mind. She grew faint and more and more distant and then the next thing she knew she was travelling back in time and being reborn.

  The First Time Around

  The Blue Man Pub was Marsha's local watering hole, and she could often be found there on a Friday, after work with two or three of her seamstress friends. They were underage drinkers. They were only sixteen but they looked older and the barman did not press them for ID. Marsha's condition had only just begun to manifest and had not yet been diagnosed, so she herself did not fully understand why she struggled to raise her arms up high enough to brush her hair and why dressing had become such a struggle. She was a stoic girl and she did not like to make a fuss. The bar was located in central Wellington, the prices were affordable and the beer and wine were pleasant. It was here that Marsha first met Don. The jukebox played in the background. Don, who was covered in sawdust, saw Marsha sitting with a group of her seamstress friends at a table on the other side of the bar, caught her eye and winked. Marsha blushed. She hadn't had much experience with men and she wasn't sure what to do. Should she look the other way? Should she wink back? She liked the look of Don, who was rugged and handsome, fit and strong from his building work and from playing rugby twice a week. She giggled, took a sip of her drink and coyly looked away. Don, who had only marginally more experience with women than Marsha had with men, turned to his friend Harry and said “Hey Harry, I like the look of that girl over there. The one in the red flowery dress. What do you think I should do?”

  “Buy her a drink, you idiot. That's the best way to break the ice.”

  Harry looked over at the table where Marsha was sitting.

  “Get her a white wine. That's what she's drinking.”

  Don ordered a white wine and walked with it, trembling, over to where Marsha sat.

  “Oh, hello there”, he said. “You caught my eye. I bought you a white wine.”

  Marsha giggled again, then reached out and took the glass of wine, brushing Don's fingers with her own as she did so.

  “Thank you very much”, she said, taking the glass of wine from his hand.

  She gestured at the empty seat next to her own.

  “Please, take a seat.”

  Don sat. Marsha took a small, lady-like sip of her wine, then a larger drink and then, much to Don's amazement, picked up the wine glass and drained the entire contents. Don looked astounded.

  “Gosh”, he said. “I've never seen a woman drink like that before.”

  Marsha smacked her lips.

  “Down the hatch”, she said. “Dutch courage.”

  And she rose to her feet and gave Don a kiss full on the lips muack just like that. It was Don's turn to blush. His mate, Harry, over at the bar, gave a cheer.

  “Looks like you're in there, chum”, he hollered, and gave a thumbs up.

  And so, the relationship was born.

  * * *

  Shortly after her sixteenth birthday, Marsha tripped over the corner of a rug in her home and hit her hip on the corner of a table. It bruised and a second bone grew and Marsha began to ha
ve difficulty walking. Her family couldn't help but notice and her mother took her to the doctor who referred them to a specialist. After a series of tests, Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva, one of the world's rarest conditions was diagnosed. Marsha and her mother were at a loss as to what to do. Marsha's mother did not want Marsha to know what lay in store for her, she wanted to protect her child, so she did not quiz the specialist in front of Marsha. Instead, she waited until they got home and then made a private phone call.

  “Hello, it's just Isobel Williams here, calling about my daughter Marsha. We were in to see you earlier today. I was just wondering what we can expect as this…infirmity progresses.”

  “I'll be perfectly frank with you Isobel, it's not going to be pretty. Marsha will become gradually trapped in a second skeleton. She will find it more and more difficult to move and may have difficulty eating and swallowing. It is likely that she will be bedridden by thirty and dead by forty.”

  “So, her body will make extra bone constantly.”

  “No. She may go months without a flare-up and then the disease can start up again. Nobody knows why. This can happen spontaneously but is likely to happen if she damages herself say through a fall, muscle overexertion, an injury, injection, surgery or even a virus.”

  “I see. Is there anything we can do to slow or halt the progress of this terrible condition?”

  “I'm sorry, no. It's a genetic disorder. Marsha has just been extremely unlucky. She's been thrown a curve ball, dealt a bad card.”

  “Oh well, that's life”, said Isobel, doing her best to take a stiff upper lip approach. “We shall simply solider on. Thank you very much for your time doctor.”

  She put down the phone and burst into floods of tears.

  * * *

  Down in hell, the Devil gathered his minions, his helpers, around him. There were seven of them – one of the devil's heads looked each one in the eye in an intimidating fashion. The Devil carried a clipboard and a silver pen.