Loose Ends And What Knots

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Loose Ends And What Knots Page 7

by Jeffrey Hancock

With the sound of running feet, Mo yelled out, “Grandpa, Grandpa you’re here. Are you going to walk with us for my first day of real school?”

  “I’m here to see you off only. These legs of mine don’t go as far as I would like these days.”

  Out of the ether Marlene, John’s wife materialized. She announced her presence by saying, “Your legs seem fine to me.”

  “Nathan, you should warn a man before you summon the ghost of his wife up.” The smile on John’s face lit the room. The smile gets broader every time I have summoned Marlene for him. John turned from his wife and looked at me, “I thought I could only see her if you are touching me.”

  “It is true anywhere but here. For some reason, spirits can appear in my home without being called.” I bowed to Marlene, and she smiled back at me. “Charlene and her mother have been having a grand old time getting to know each other these last few days since my active role is no longer needed.”

  Noticing she wore her usual old school nurse’s garb, I asked, “Don’t you ever tire of wearing the same old clothes every day? I remember seeing a picture of you in a pretty summer dress. Why don’t you wear it instead?”

  “I guess I’m doomed to wear what I died in for eternity.”

  “I’m sorry. Too bad, you can’t change it. It is such a pretty dress too. It is red and has white polka dots which comes up to your mid-calf. It had a halter top with a sweetheart neckline which gave a nice view of your,” John coughed, “smile.” Marlene blushed like Charlene does when she receives a flirtatious compliment from a man. As the vision of the picture came to the forefront of my memory, Marlene’s outfit shimmered and changed to the red and white polka dot dress. Charlene gasped.

  “Grandma, it’s pretty. I want one exactly like it.”

  Marlene touched her new outfit and went running to our bathroom. We all followed. She was busy looking over the dress. “I don’t understand. How? Why?”

  “Marlene, you’re a ghost standing there looking at yourself in a mirror and talking to your living family. Just go with it. Trying to understand this,” I remembered Mo is in earshot, “stuff will give you headaches.”

  “Thank you, Nathan. This is one of my favorite outfits.” A sad look came over Marlene. She started to tear. “I’m sorry. I’ve missed so much being,” she paused a moment, “away. I wasn’t able to be an active role in your life, Charlene.” She reached out and tried to touch her husband’s face, but her hand passed through him. “I never got the chance to grow old alongside you, John.” Her tears started streaming out.

  I instinctively grabbed a tissue and handed it to Marlene. She took it and wiped her tears away.

  “Don’t be sad. You’re here now, Grandma,” Moiraine piped up.

  A smile found Marlene’s face again as she looked down at Moiraine. “Out of the mouths of babes.”

  “I’m not a baby. I start real school today,” Moiraine said with a half pout.

  “No, you’re not a baby anymore,” Marlene said. “And you have a wisdom beyond your years.”

  An alarm went off from somewhere in the house, and Mo screamed in excitement, “It’s time! It’s time!” and went running off. The sound of Moiraine’s voice filled the air. “Come on. I don’t want to be late for my first day of first grade.” We all moved to the front door, too slow for Mo’s taste I’m sure, where she waited with lunch bag in hand and backpack on her, well, back. When she saw us approach, she opened the front door. She reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand. “Let’s go! Bye, Grandpa. Bye, Grandma.” We no sooner shut the door when Moiraine with panic in her voice, “I forgot huggies and kissies.” She turned around and began pounding on the door. “Huggies. Kissies. Kissies. Huggies.” The door opened with John stooped down to give Moiraine what she demanded. It always warms my heart to see their love. She never lets a parting happen without giving and getting a hug and a kiss. Moiraine turned around, took her mother’s hand, and said, “Let’s go.”

  About halfway to school, Mo burst out with, “I wish I could give Grandma huggies and kissies.”

  Charlene answered her daughter with lament in her voice, “Me too, Moiraine.” There were a few moments of quiet, Char said, “Someday we will all be together, and we will all be able to hug and kiss our loved ones again.”

  Our little stand-up comedian answered, “Yes, but I don’t want to be dead to do it.”

  We reached the dreadful corner. Since the shooting, Charlene has not wanted to come this way. Anytime she had needed to go to Greentree, she drove the long way. Walking the long way is not an option, so she put on a brave face as we passed the remnants of the shrine to her wellbeing. A ragged stuffed animal still stood the watch. The dried and tattered bits of flowers were swaying in the gentle breeze of this morning. A sun-bleached picture of Charlene with her class of students sat propped against the fire hydrant. One thing stuck out in the hodgepodge of well wishes. A lone single red rose just as fresh as if it was newly picked. Not sure why, but it irritated me.

  We took Moiraine to her class and introduced ourselves to the teacher. I introduced myself. Charlene already knew her from her docenting gig. After the pleasantries, Moiraine started pushing us out the door. She is ready for the day to start. Huggies and kissies were given and taken and then, Char and I started back home. Charlene became exhausted from the walk, so she took a nap. She is still getting her strength back from the shooting, and the walk had pushed her to the end of her endurance.

  I alone picked up Moiraine at the corner as Charlene is still recovering from her exertion this morning. Mo is not in a happy mood. In fact, it has been our quietest walk ever. I opened the front door and announced our return.

  Moiraine dropped her backpack on the floor and said, “I’m going to my room.”

  “Moiraine, come into the living room and tell us about your day,” Charlene said.

  Mo yelled from her room, “I don’t want to.” As she finished her statement of defiance, her door open, and she dragged herself to the living room and plopped down on the couch.

  Charlene started in with, “So, how was your day?”

  “I can’t use those words. You don’t like it, Mommy.”

  I chimed in with, “How about saying bad? It was a bad day.”

  “I guess. Okay, it was a bad day.” Moiraine started in with her info dump. The poor girl thought it would be as fun as kindergarten. Mo said the teacher talked about how they would have homework every night but Fridays. The rules for the classroom are far too restrictive in her mind. She thought it would be like kindergarten. The poor thing. She learned life could jump up and bite you sometimes. “Worst of all. We have homework due tomorrow! And I don’t know how to do it.”

  “What is it? Maybe your dad and I can help you.”

  “I have to stand in front of the class and tell them what I want to do when I grow-up. I’m only six years old. How do I know what I want to do!” I coughed back a laugh. Char shot me a couple of daggers with her eyes.

  “Honey, why don’t you go to your room and play for a few minutes. Maybe something will come to you,” Charlene said in the soothing tone she uses when our daughter is troubled. Moiraine rose up from the couch and started walking to her room.

  “Can I have a snack? Real school is hard work.”

  “Of course, you can,” Char answered while looking at me daring me to laugh, or smile, or say anything. I raised my hands in surrender.

  Char fixed Mo a snack, and while she ate it, Charlene whispered in my ear an idea for dealing with Moiraine’s problem. “Perfect, I love it,” I said out loud to Char.

  “What’s perfect, Daddy?”

  Char and I smiled as we echoed together, “You’ll see.”

  After dinner and once it became dark enough, we bundled Mo up in a warm jacket and headed out the door. We drove to Balboa Park. Before we began walking, I pulled a picnic basket and blanket out of the trunk. We trekked to my favorite spot in the park. Charlene and I spread out the blanket, then we all laid down on it looking
up at the stars. It is a beautifully clear night like it had rained all day. All the stars are twinkling and looked as if they are dancing in place. The time is right.

  “Nathan, tell her the story.”

  “In truth, I would like to hear you tell it.”

  “Very well, here goes. When your father’s mother said some words, which hurt your father deeply, she regretted instantly and came up with a way to make it better.”

  “What did she say to you, Daddy?”

  “Your grandma thought she could save me some anguish by telling me my dream is too hard to achieve.”

  “What was your dream, Daddy?”

  “I wanted to be an astronaut.” While I paused and dealt with the little pain of dreams unattained, Char continued.

  “Your grandma packed a picnic basket with some food. She brought your daddy to this exact spot. She laid out a blanket on the grass, and they looked up at the stars.” Char began rummaging around in the basket and brought out some chocolate cake and gave each of us a slice. Hers being the smallest. We enjoyed our dessert as Char continued. “Your grandmother pointed up at a star.” Char reached out and pointed to the same star I had shown her all those years ago. “That one right there is your star, Nathan.”

  “I’m touched you remember the star.”

  “And why wouldn’t I remember it, Husband Mine? Where was I? Oh yes, she told him in the days of the old wooden ships, men would steer their ships by a star. If they followed the right star, they would always know their path was true. She told him it is his star, and if he followed his star, he would always know his path is true. Now, what I never told your daddy is on the night he told me the story I chose a star for myself.”

  “Which star did you pick Mommy?”

  “You see the star next to your daddy’s star. The one on the left?” Mo grunted in the affirmative. “That is the star I picked.”

  “Why did you pick that one, Mommy?”

  “Well, I picked that star because I knew I wanted to be a part of your daddy’s life, and I wanted him to be a part of mine.” It became quiet where the only sound we could hear is the sound of the wind through the trees. It is musical in a way. Char broke the silence when she said, “Now Moiraine, it is your turn to pick a star.” Mo began scanning the heavens in search of her star. She took this star picking very serious.

  Moiraine pointed up to the sky, “That one.”

  “Which one Mo? It looks like you are pointing to mommy and daddy’s stars,” I asked.

  “No! My star is the one below your guy’s.”

  I searched the sky where she told me to look. I was about to give up, when I noticed a bit of light, extremely dim, below Char and mine’s stars. I concentrated on the spot, and the light grew ever so slightly brighter and brighter. I guided Char’s gaze to the spot. At first, she didn’t see it either, but soon it revealed itself. It is a newly visible star in our night sky!

  “You picked the right one, Mo. So, tell me what you have learned tonight?”

  “I can make stars!”

  “Okay, smarty pants.”

  “I know, but it is funny, right?” When neither Char nor I responded, Mo said, “Tough crowd,” next she started busting up, “Okay, I’m sorry. I think you and Mommy wanted me to learn it is okay not to know what you are going to be when you grow-up. And I should follow my dream and follow my star.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better, Moiraine,” Char said as we laid there looking up at Moiraine’s star.

  It is beginning to get late, so we packed everything up and headed for home. Mo was soon tucked in and drifting off. We went to bed as well.

  Lying there in the dark, I asked, “Char, did you make it up about choosing your star?”

  “Every word I spoke is the truth. I know it’s silly, but I knew then we would be together someway and someday.”

  “How could you know, and why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “It was the first time my gut, my heart, and my head ever agreed. My dad didn’t like you, so that was a plus too,” Char giggled, and it is music to hear, “Nathan, I fell in love with you at the same moment you’ve said you fell in love with me. I was too scared to tell you. I’m scared telling you the story now. I’ve meant to tell you a hundred different times before, but something always stopped me. Never doubt I love you, Husband Mine.”

  “I love you, Wife Mine. That doesn’t quite sound right. I’ll have to work on something better. Goodnight.” I rolled over to go to sleep.

  “Goodnight, my love.”

  To The Pain

  Waking up with a morning headache is a bitch. You don’t even start your day and bam. There is growing pressure and severe discomfort in your head. This one is a growing dull ache, but not a migraine. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. I rubbed my head in hopes the headache would fade, but it was a futile gesture. Groggily, I stumbled to the kitchen and pulled out the aspirin. After I downed an extra-large dose, I tried to start my day. Twenty minutes went by, but the headache did not abate. I don’t know what is going on. Usually, anything but a migraine would fade with time. This headache is growing, but it still isn’t a migraine. I seated myself down on the couch and tried to quiet the agony. The tactic had always yielded results in the past, but this headache kept clawing its way through my skull. The pain is growing. The pressure on the right side of my head is quickly becoming unbearable. It feels like a chestburster from Alien is coming out of my head. I need to make it to my bed and call it quits for the day. As I made my way to my bed, I faltered.

  The sound of an explosion filled my head. “Char, help,” I called out weakly. Crashing to the ground, I lost all sense of time. Everything is happening in slow motion, I vaguely felt hands on me.

  “Nathan, you have to help me. I can’t lift you. I am still too weak, and I can’t take the pain in my chest.” Ringing through my ears, I heard, “Moiraine, I need your help! Your father has fallen.”

  The sound of Mo’s feet running through the house sounded like artillery shells detonating. Soon I felt her hands on me too. I am dead weight to them, and they cannot budge me. “Nathan, what is wrong? Is it a migraine?”

  In a halting cadence, I feebly answered, “Not a migraine. Worst somehow. Need bed. Can’t fight it here.”

  Char commanded, “Moiraine, get your father a cold cloth for his head.” Again, I heard the shells falling as Mo ran to do as directed. Char said, “Be still. I have an idea.”

  I tried to joke, “Not going anywhere.” I coughed, and it brought a hold new sensation of agony. Mo returned with the cold cloth and placed it on my forehead. It felt comforting. One of my biggest concerns since Char was carrying Moiraine is Mo would inherit migraines from my side of the family. I have chronic migraines, as did my mother and my grandmother. Migraines have run in my family for generations. So far Moiraine hasn’t had one, but if it is a choice between my usual headaches and this one. She will be blessed if they are only migraines. While all this went through my mind instead of a 45-caliber bullet like I am contemplating, Char had returned with a beach towel. It is the one decorated with a picture of Ariel the Little Mermaid.

  Char laid the towel down next to me. “Here, Moiraine. Help me straighten it out. That’s my girl. Now, we are going to roll your Dad onto the towel.”

  It dawned on me what Char is going to do. With as much humor as I could muster, I said, “Clever. Remind me to marry you someday.” A half laugh came out of my mouth, but before it could be completed, the pain slaughtered it.

  “Nathan, shut-up. Moiraine, help mommy pulled your dad to the bed.” I heard a wince of pain from Char. I began sliding along the floor toward my bedroom. Next, I found myself adjacent to the bed. “Nathan, we can’t lift you onto the bed. You have to help.”

  I reached out with one arm and grabbed the sheet as high as I could and began pulling myself up. My arm had all the strength of a cooked noodle, and it wasn’t even al dente. I felt Charlene and Moiraine’s hands on me helping me into bed.
I strained for all I am worth. The pain is too great. I felt the blood drain out of my face. I started to tremble. In the corner of my mind, I know I am starting to go into shock. Somehow, we managed to haul me onto the bed.

  “Nathan, you’re white as a sheet!”

  I was gasping as I said, “Shouldn’t it be white as a ghost?”

  “Moiraine, bring me the spare blanket.” Char is saying something at me under her breath. I’m glad I didn’t hear it. Charlene called out, “Mother, I need your help.” Marlene didn’t appear. Char reached over me to grab her pillow. In this time of agony, I received a respite of pleasure. My wife’s breasts flattened against me. Naughty thoughts tried to slay the pain.

  I felt a growing start in my pajamas. “Really, of all times,” I thought to myself. I think now I understand why some people call it a ‘prick.’ Moiraine came running into the bedroom carrying the spare blanket as Char put the pillow under my feet. Next came the blanket covering all of me from the neck down.

 

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