by Kim Cano
I stared at Sabrina, unable to comprehend what she had said.
I continued staring, like someone who had undergone a lobotomy, unable to speak. Some petals fell off a tree overhead and landed on my lap. I didn’t brush them away. A couple strolled past, hand in hand, and still I stared at her, transfixed.
“Amy,” Sabrina asked. “Are you all right?”
I heard her call out my name, but she sounded far away. I knew I should speak, that I should say something, but my mouth didn’t want to move; it wouldn’t listen to my brain. I saw her get up and come toward me. Then she kneeled in front of me and reached out.
“Are you okay?” she asked, now holding my hand in hers.
The physical contact worked. I could feel myself returning to my body. I was able to blink a few times and clear my throat.
“I’m okay,” I said, while slowly pulling my hand free and then clasping both of them together in my lap.
How could I respond to such a statement? A concept so foreign to my mind I couldn’t comprehend it. I couldn’t believe it was true; I wouldn’t let myself. There must have been some kind of mistake.
“I’m sorry, but is it possible for you to repeat what you just said?” I asked, still disoriented.
Sabrina got up from her kneeling position and sat in the chair next to me. She no longer appeared cool and collected. Her expression showed genuine concern.
I listened as she repeated the same phrase she had said before. Then I swallowed the lump that had begun to form in my throat.
There was no mistake. I had heard her right the first time. I didn’t cry, though. I couldn’t. I was too stunned.
“I’m sorry that didn’t come out well,” Sabrina said. “We were on the subject, and since I had spoken to Justin about it, it just felt right to say. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
Sabrina’s face was a mix of compassion and terror. I responded, to my surprise, a little more like her. I remained calm.
“I guess I’m just in a state of shock,” I said. “Justin and I never discussed that, not once.”
I wondered how the two of them had. Why he would tell her something like that? Something that’s meant for a friend. I stared at her, and all at once comprehension sunk in. Sabrina and Justin were friends.
I barely had a moment to get used to the idea before she began talking again.
“He said he’d never tell you, that he didn’t want to diminish what you two had, but that he hoped, in time, you would find someone else to share your life with.”
I listened, wide-eyed and present, taking in every word. As the phrases made sense, my brain began clicking, making new connections. I realized if they had these types of conversations, that Justin must’ve accepted the possibility of death, had been getting his mind around the idea.
He’d never shown this side to me. All I’d heard was never-ending positivity. “Gonna get chemo today, take a few days off, then I’m back on the Vibbert kitchen remodel.” And, “After recovering from this surgery, we should take a weekend family trip. Where does my kitten want to go?”
He’d always make it seem like he was stopping off at the dentist to have a filling done. He never acted like cancer was serious. Half the time he’d have the doctors and nurses wailing with laughter at one of his off-color jokes. I’d arrive to find them leaning over, wiping tears from their eyes, telling me I’d married a comedian.
I only saw Justin smiling and laughing. He hid his pain from me. He continued to make plans for our future, like we had one. I guess a big part of me believed we did. His optimism was contagious, especially when it was something I so desperately wanted to catch.
“This is a bit overwhelming,” I said. “I’m still trying to take it all in. I mean, he never… we never talked like that. He acted like every procedure was routine, that he’d be home in no time.”
She listened as I rambled on, nodding her head in understanding.
“Justin wanted to have a life with you,” she said. “That’s why he still made plans. It makes sense to act in accordance with one’s wishes.”
I looked at Sabrina, still confused about their friendship. “I don’t understand why he would make plans with me, then discuss alternate futures for my life with someone else, with you?”
A look of careful consideration crossed her face.
“I think, and, obviously I cannot speak for him, but I think he just wanted someone to talk to. A person he could confide in and didn’t have to be strong for. Someone he didn’t have to worry about hurting.”
Was my Justin foolish enough to think he had found that person in Sabrina? Did he think his client-turned-friend, this odd, otherworldly woman could be a buddy to confide in and not hurt? Could he not see the light shining in her eyes, the glow on her face when she spoke of him?
Justin was strong for me, not showing fear while being eaten from within by a vicious monster that plotted his death. And Sabrina, this porcelain lady sitting next to me, had listened to his plans for our future–his plans for my future, all while pretending to be a casual friend who couldn’t be hurt.
I studied her carefully, wondering why she had done it. Why she put herself through all that. Maybe she felt she had no choice, that it was her fate or her destiny. Her expression answered none of those questions.
The only thing I knew for sure is that she loved him. She hadn’t told me, of course, but this I was certain of. I couldn’t imagine how it must’ve felt to be in her position, what kind of exquisite pain that might be.
The cool woman at my side suddenly appeared very fragile.
“Sabrina,” I said, carefully phrasing my words. “I appreciate you telling me all of this. We were on the subject and it was right of you to say. I’m just trying to digest it all, you know?”
She nodded, then I stood up and brushed the flower petals off my pants. She got up too, and we began strolling again, continuing the tour.
As we headed toward the Japanese Garden, I found myself wondering why she would want to spend any time with me.
Our first visit was not her choice. I had shown up unannounced to confront her. She had answered my questions and that should have been enough. Why would she say “See you next time?” Why would she want there to be a next time?
I knew my own motives, but couldn’t understand hers.
When we arrived in the Japanese Garden, I could see why it was Sabrina’s favorite. Acres of brilliant green sprawled between waterways connected by bridges, one in the shape of a zigzag. Waterfalls spilled down from rocks creating a tranquil, constant hum. The air smelled fresh, a byproduct of the pruned pine trees throughout.
The garden had an overall coolness to it. A lot like my tour guide. It felt controlled and formal, yet peaceful. It was not a place for kids to run wild and play; the children I did see were walking politely, transformed by their environment. I stood a little straighter, too.
Sabrina said she often came here to think, and I could see why; it was the ultimate spot for quiet reflection. She hadn’t uttered a single word since we arrived. Maybe it was on purpose, to give me the full Zen-like experience.
“Look there,” she said, pointing across the lake. “It’s the Island of Everlasting Happiness.”
I looked across the water to see a small, peanut-shaped green island.
“How do we get there?” I asked. “There’s no bridge.”
Sabrina then pointed to a plaque that read: The Island of Everlasting Happiness cannot be reached by mortals. It is meant to be contemplated from a distance.
I broke into a fit of laughter–probably not the usual reaction—and Sabrina stared at me, surprised.
“I’m sorry,” I said, gasping for air. “I just found it funny to see it in writing, a declaration of how messed up a species we are.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. I do,” I admitted. “I mean, we’re all given this life to enjoy, but we supposedly can’t find everlasting happiness until after were gone?”
“Maybe we
find it in our next life,” she suggested.
“I’m not buying that,” I replied. “I’m Irish Catholic.”
“Me neither,” she agreed. “I’m Jewish.”
Now Sabrina burst into laughter, and I began giggling again, too. It felt nice to lighten the serious atmosphere, even if it wasn’t appropriate. An elderly woman who appeared to be meditating nearby got up and walked past, visually scolding us.
“We’d better lower our voices,” Sabrina said, while regaining composure.
I shut myself down like I was in a library trying to show some respect. I don’t know what had gotten into me. Most people would’ve read the plaque and sighed, appreciating its deeper meaning. For me, it was like one of Justin’s off the wall jokes. They’d come out of nowhere and knock you with their hilarity. That was some of the happiness I missed most.
“That lady was upset,” I said. “I think she was meditating.”
“She’ll get over it.”
I wasn’t used to this side of Sabrina. Her down-to-earth response made me comfortable somehow.
“Is that what you do when you come here?” I asked.
“No. Not really. I sit and think, but I don’t meditate.”
I followed her to an area near the waterfall where we took a seat on a smoothed rock.
“I sit here a lot and watch the ducks,” she said. “I read somewhere that they mate for life.”
“Really?” I replied. “I didn’t know that. Maybe if we were more like ducks we’d be able to get on that island.”
“Yeah. It said no mortals, it didn’t say anything about birds.”
Sabrina smiled at me, then returned to gazing at the lake. The sun was high in the sky and shining bright. Sabrina pulled a straw hat from her bag and put it on her head. I closed my eyes and let the repetitive splash of the waterfall relax me. I could have fallen asleep.
“Do you think we’re meant to find it?” she asked.
I opened my eyes and looked confused, then she added, “Everlasting happiness?”
I sat up straight and gave it some real thought. “No,” I decided. “I don’t think so. I mean, we have chances at happiness, but it comes and goes. It never stays.”
Sabrina continued gazing at the lake, at the little curved island sitting in the center.
“I wonder why we have to wait until we’re gone to experience it?” Sabrina asked out loud, but not directed at me.
I took a shot at answering. “I haven’t a clue, but I think I may have just gotten a migraine trying to find out.”
Sabrina laughed. Maybe Justin’s wacky sense of humor had rubbed off on me. Maybe that’s why she wanted to be my friend, because, in some small way, I was a link to him.
“You’ve probably got a headache because the sun is beating on your head,” she said while getting up. “Let’s go to the Rose Garden. It will be our final stop.”
I stood up and stretched my legs. I was beat. I looked forward to finishing our tour soon.
We both walked as slow as possible on the way there, conserving our last bit of energy. But once I saw the circular promenade with lush roses in the center and even more lining the outer path, I came alive again. Everywhere I looked, there were rose bushes, all bursting with color. The scent was intoxicating.
Sabrina and I began walking the rounded path. I was so engrossed with reading the signs and smelling the flowers, I forgot all about my headache. Then she excused herself to get a drink of water at a nearby fountain.
I came upon a bush of soft pink roses and paused. They looked just like the ones from my wedding bouquet. I remember that day like it just happened. It was summer, and it could’ve been too hot or humid, but it wasn’t. It was perfect. Even my blonde hair, which is usually limp and lifeless, cooperated, like it knew better.
My dress fit perfectly, and I didn’t stumble as I walked down the aisle. I could see Justin’s blue eyes getting closer with each step. I remember the flowers being unusually heavy. I hadn’t expected roses to weigh that much. As I inched closer to my future husband, I felt my arm muscles flex, trying not to lose hold of the bouquet.
“I see you’ve found your flower,” a voice said.
Cut short from my reverie, I looked up and saw Sabrina.
The pink rose held special meaning for Justin and me, always had. Even after he was gone, it was what I brought to his gravesite to tell him I loved him.
“Yeah,” I replied. “These are just like the ones from my wedding bouquet.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said. “I was thinking of the flower you leave for Justin at the cemetery.”
I suddenly felt like my privacy had been violated.
I wondered how she knew that, and why she was bringing this subject up now. Then it occurred to me that this was just the topic I’d wanted to discuss with her all this time, ever since I saw her standing in front of my husband’s grave.
I took a cautious look at Sabrina, unsure of what to say next. I never felt on even ground with this woman. I’d come with an agenda: to uncover her lies. Instead she’d shared information about my personal life that unhinged me. Then, after spending the day together, I’d decided she was all right. I had let my guard down.
“I saw you leave one of those roses at Justin’s grave, in case you’re confused.”
“I’m still confused,” I admitted.
Sabrina stepped back, then took a deep breath and continued. “The Christmas after Justin died, I went to the cemetery to wish a friend Happy Holidays.”
I listened, warily.
“And I saw you standing there, with a pink rose in your hand.”
Sabrina cleared her throat and continued. “I realized that it would be wrong for me to intrude on your private moment, that it wouldn’t look right, so I left.”
That explained how she knew who I was when I came to her house. Justin never carried a picture in his wallet. He wasn’t the type.
Now was my chance to launch into the questions I’d been holding inside. I wanted answers. I’d accept nothing less.
“So you’re saying you left and returned later so we can each have our own private moment?”
There was no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice.
“Yes and no,” she responded. “Let me explain.”
I felt the spark ignite on my Irish temper. Once it started, it was difficult to cool down. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to maintain self-control a second time. Whatever came out of her mouth next would be the deciding factor.
“I didn’t want to intrude on your time with your husband,” she said. “That would be rude and disrespectful.”
Yeah—you think?
“All the same,” she continued, “I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, and I didn’t want to run into you for fear it would look all wrong, me being there.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest, in an attempt to contain the breathing bull trying to bust out from within.
“And what’s with the daffodils?” I asked. “Why are you leaving my husband flowers?”
Sabrina looked alarmed. “The daffodils are because of my involvement with the American Cancer Society. But the flowers aren’t important. It’s what I’m trying to accomplish with them that has meaning.”
“What are you trying to accomplish by leaving Justin flowers? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
Sabrina let out a heavy sigh. No doubt whatever madness she had tucked away in her skull was going to be difficult to put into words. My patience was growing thin.
“This is hard to explain,” she said. “But I visited Justin because he was my friend. The flowers were a symbol for a wish. I did the same ritual each time. I came to say hello, thanked him for being such a good friend. Then I requested his assistance.”
While staring at her, I realized just how eccentric she truly was, like the day she was hanging out at home in her burgundy formal gown.
Finding another ounce of patience, I managed to ask, “What kind of assistance?”
Sabrina locked eyes with me. The intensity I saw in them frightened me. She looked positively wired. “You may find this odd,” she said, “but I request Justin’s spiritual assistance in important matters in my life.”
Somehow, that made sense coming from her.
“I’m still listening.”
“All the time he was working on the house and we were talking, all I could see was what a wonderful husband he was, how much he truly loved you.”
I uncrossed my arms and let them hang at my side.
“Justin possessed all the qualities I was looking for in a partner but had never found for myself. And now that he’s gone, I request his help. I repeatedly ask him to send me someone like that to share my life with, a future husband.”
Her description of how good Justin was to me, and how she admired him, made me feel proud. Proud that he was mine, and sad that he was gone. I believe my husband would, if he could, send her the perfect partner if it was in his power to do so. Since she was still single and it hadn’t happened after a few years, I guessed he wasn’t able to help. Yet she continued to ask, her confidence in him unshaken.
I remembered back to the day I saw her at the cemetery, crying. And how I felt compelled to follow and confront her. Knowing what I know now, I realize there was no way she could’ve told me something like this. I wouldn’t have believed her. Maybe she said “see you next time” because she wanted to explain, she knew she would have to someday.
All at once, my fears and apprehension dissipated. The angry bull in my chest lay down and went to sleep. I looked over at Sabrina, and felt an overwhelming sadness fill my heart. There she stood, like an old-time movie star. Successful, intelligent, kind… but still alone. She’d lost her parents in an accident, and was married to a philandering imbecile whom she divorced. Then she met Justin, the perfect man. It would be so easy to fall in love with him.
I wondered how it would feel to live in her shoes. The unrequited love, the casual befriending, and then watching the man deteriorate right in front of you, unable to stop it.