By GWHARGIS
| Author Notes | This is the first chapter of a novella I wrote last year. Feedback and critique wanted. |
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella of the friendship that develops between thirty something, Jameson, and seventy something , Iris. It is written in first person point of view. Each character will have their own chapter.
So far, Jameson's dog, Heston, escapes the house and runs towards the center of town. Luckily, Heston stops in front of an older woman named Iris. After talking with her for a few minutes, Jameson invites her for coffee.
***********************
IRIS
Seeing that beautiful dog makes me think of my childhood. The feel of his fur takes me back to those beautiful summer days when my younger brother, John, and I would run through the fields. There were always games to play. Hide and seek was our favorite. My own Irish wolfhound, Daphne, would leap around, searching for rabbits or squirrels. She was terrible at hide and seek, poking her head up to give away my hiding spot. But she was a good dog, very sweet and loyal.
This hound, outside, is much larger than Daphne was.
I probably shouldn't but I laugh when people scream in terror as he races through the town square. Despite his enormous size, I can tell he is still a pup.
Still, I feel bad for his owner. He is expecting a chewing out or a lecture at the least.
The young man, thirty , if I have to guess, is wearing gray sweat pants and a dingy white t-shirt. I peek at him through the window of the pharmacy. He's squatting down next to his dog. He loves the dog, I can see it plain as day.
Yet, as friendly as he appears, there is a sense of loss and sadness to him. It's as if, he's watching the world around him fall apart.
That's when the mother in me accepts his invitation for coffee.
*****************
After I come out of the pharmacy, I'm two hundred and sixteen dollars lighter in the wallet. Two hundred for my prescription, and fourteen ninety-nine for a leash for Heston.
Jameson is still holding Heston by the collar, hunched over and staring at his phone the way most people do nowadays.
"I bought Heston a present," I say, reaching into the white bag that holds my million dollar drug.
"Oh, you didn't have to," he says, but stops when he realizes how ridiculous he looks holding the animal by the collar. "I'll pay you back,"
I wave off his offer. "It's a gift for my new friend, correction, friends."
He smiles as he hooks the lead to the dog's collar. "Wow, rainbows."
"You don't like rainbows?" I ask. "They seem very popular now."
*******************
I go into the coffee shop while he and Heston wait outside. By the time I come out, Jameson waves at me from a cafe table.
"Wasn't sure how you take your coffee, so I brought a bit of everything." I reach into the small paper bag and grab a handful of pink packets. "Sweet and Low?"
"Black is fine."
"So, tell me, Jameson, what do you do for a living?"
"Currently I'm doing some data entry work. It's part time, but the money isn't too bad."
"Do you like it? "
"It's sitting in front of a computer about six hours a day. Not my dream job."
"You lost me at computer. I've never owned one." I stir the sweetener into the steaming cup.
"Really?" He sits back in his chair, as if I've just told him I'm from Mars. He laughs lightly. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't own a computer."
"No fancy phone either."
"But, you do have a cell phone."
I reach into the front pocket of my purse and pull out my silver flip phone. "It's a classic. For emergencies."
He has a sweet smile. It starts in his eyes then covers every inch of his face. He is small boned with delicate features and reed thin.
"What does your wife do?"
"Oh, Claire? She's a buyer for several boutiques."
"That must be exciting."
His lips press together as he looks down then away. "She loves it."
"Does she travel?" I ask.
"Yes. As a matter of fact, she's in Atlanta now."
I sip my coffee, giving him time to collect himself. His mood is changing. After a minute, I set my cup back on the table. "Well, I'd love to meet her."
"That would be nice," he says, his finger tracing the coffeehouse logo on his cup. "She needs to meet more people. One of her biggest complaints about living here is because she doesn't know anybody."
"Working and having a child, it's tough to have a social life."
He nods, staring absently at his hands. He's trying to hide something or figure out how to broach something. Either way, if he means to share it with me, he will when he's ready.
By GWHARGIS
This is the story of a friendship between a young man and an older woman. Their bond grows as they meet for coffee over the course of several weeks.
This story is told from dual first person points of view.
This installment is from Jameson's point of view.
So far, Jameson's dog, an Irish wolfhound named Heston has escaped. He catches up to his pet as the dog approaches an older woman. There is something about this woman that makes him feel safe. They go get coffee.
**************
Jameson
Leaving the coffee shop and saying goodbye to Iris is surprisingly hard to do. She's very grounding, and with my life in the chaos it is now, it's a very good feeling to be around. I walk with her back to the pharmacy then start walking back home. I pull my phone from my pocket and check for messages or missed calls. Nothing from Claire. Her calls turned to texts after the first week apart, then the texts all but vanished.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained as they say. I press her number and wait.
"Hey," I say as soon as she answers the phone.
"I only have a minute. I'm on a list to get into an exclusive fashion show. What's up?"
"Just checking on you."
"I'm good. You?"
"I miss you."
"You're still coming to see Finny this weekend, aren't you?" she asks.
"Yes."
"We can catch up then. Oh crap, look, I've got to go."
"I love you," I whisper to the dead line.
When Heston and I get back to the duplex, I remember the groceries. "Well, Hessy, that's thirty bucks down the toilet." I look down at the dog. "I'd make you pay me back, jackass, but your little exploit turned out good."
Heston slurps from his water bowl then with his dripping mouth jumps up on the couch. I walk over to my home office/dining room. I hate what I do. I've always wanted to be a writer. But writing doesn't pay the bills ... at least mine didn't.
I used to write poetry in high school, but being on the smaller side, I got stuffed in a lot of lockers. And despite what they show in the movies, girls do not fall for poets.
I met Claire when I was doing a reading at a book shop. I'd written a counting poem for children. I remember Claire walking through the door. Her hair was pinned up in a messy bun and she looked bored out of her mind.
I had about eight or nine three-to-five year olds around me, and all I wanted to do was to finish my poem and go over to meet her. Maybe it was the reaction of the kids as they laughed at my silly rhyme, but she stood a few feet away, listening to my poem.
When I finally finished and had listened to the deep, critical feedback of my audience, she walked over.
"Shakespeare?" she teased.
"Voltaire," I said.
"That was cute. Did you write it?"
I nodded.
"Are they all yours?" She waved her hand at the virtual United Nations of small children.
"Still awaiting the paternity test on a few."
She looked around. "I hate bookstores," she said softly.
I'm not gonna lie, I remember feeling somewhat disappointed in hearing that.
"Hmm, give me a bookstore and I'm set for days," I said.
"I like concerts and sporting events. Nothing sexier than watching people playing football or soccer. Love to see the sweat glistening over tight sculpted muscles." She had this dreamy far off look on her face.
I remember feeling jealous of these imaginary athletes. "I've been known to break a sweat in here sometimes."
She giggled. "I'm Claire."
"Jameson Petry."
"Nice to meet you," she said. She looked past me and waved at someone. "I have to go. My friends are ready to leave."
"Well, I'm here most every weekend. In case you were wondering." It was a desperate hint, but at that moment all I wanted was for her to know I would be waiting to see her again.
Looking back, I should have seen the writing on the wall. We were too different. But she was the first pretty girl to pay attention to me. I fell in love at the very moment she first walked into the bookstore. I was under her spell. And I'm still under it.
She just doesn't feel the need to be bothered with me.
I put my phone on the table beside my keyboard. It's hard not to call her number again. Just to hear her voice.
We'll catch up. That's what she said on the phone. Maybe she's ready. Maybe this weekend I won't be driving home alone.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is about the unique friendship between a young man and an older woman.
It is written with dual narrators. Each chapter will be first person point of view.
So far, Jameson Petry, meets seventy something, Iris. There is a warmth and wisdom that he needs right now. But Iris needs him just as much.
***************
IRIS
The light on my telephone's answering machine is blinking as I set my purse and keys on the table in the entry way.
"Not now, Gertrude," I say, knowing who the messages are from. My best friend calls every morning. Most days, she calls multiple times. There doesn't seem to be any particular reason for some of her calls. Just a random "whatcha doing?" Other times she's chomping at the bit to tell me some juicy gossip from her church.
She used to be relentless about my going to church. But I just don't want to go. Yes, I believe in God. Wouldn't have made it through half the stuff I've been through without Him. But I relish my privacy. I like my space. Gertrude can't be alone. And I feel bad for her. Silence frightens her. She's either on the phone, at some social function, or at church. On the off chance I call her, the television is blaring in the background when she answers.
I plop my tired rear-end in the overstuffed chair and promise myself I'll call her back in a few minutes.
This morning has worn me out. The tests at the doctor's office never seem to end. There is always a blood test and a breathing test. I get a little sick of tests. And there is always the mention of a new medication they want me to try.
I'm not proud to admit it, but today I got quite cross with Dr. Chalmers.
"I'm not sure what you're still testing for," I say as I struggle to remove my jacket for the inevitable jab of the needle.
He reaches out and helps me pull it off. "Just keeping an eye on things."
"It's congestive heart failure," I snap.
The sweet young nurse gently taps my arm for a vein. She doesn't look a day over thirteen, but then most people look like children to me now. She's always sweet and cheerful.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm old and crotchety."
"Nonsense. You're one of my favorite patients."
I place my hand on hers. "Thank you for lying."
She grins, then starts the business of drawing my blood. When she's done filling the four vials and sticking the labels on them, she takes them out of the room.
Dr. Chalmers rolls his stool over to me. His cool fingertips gently press the flesh of my ankles and feet, checking for fluid. "How have you been feeling lately, Iris?"
"Fabulous, thanks for asking," I say, waiting for him to understand the stupidity of his question.
"Good," he says, adjusting the stethoscope in his ears. The cold metal slides from spot to spot across my chest. "Out of breath more often?"
"Only after sex," I say dryly.
"Good, good." He moves to my back. "Deep breaths."
He pulls the stethoscope out of his ears and rolls over to the computer. He taps something in, then looks at me. "Your lungs sound clear. Heart sounds the same as last visit. That's excellent."
"Must be that million dollar medicine you prescribed."
"It's been proven to extend a patient's life for several months."
"So, what is this new one?"
"Entresto. It's expensive, but it's good."
I fiddle with the edge of my blouse, biding my time to address the elephant in the room. "So, Dr. Chalmers, how many things are we going to try before we give up "
He frowns. "We never give up, Iris. You're young. We won't give up."
I look at my spotted hands. "Death is inevitable. "
"Well, if you're ready to throw in the towel, say the word."
When I don't answer, he smiles triumphantly. "I'm in this with you. Got it?"
"I've got it."
He stands and goes to the door. "All done today. Stop by reception and let Helen set your next appointment. Two weeks, okay?"
I step down off the examination table and brush the wrinkles from my slacks. "Got it."
"Oh, and Iris, the sex is okay, just don't have a cigarette afterwards." He grins and winks.
Several more months. I should be ecstatic, but what's that going to do?
I leave the comfort of the chair and carry the new medicine to the kitchen. Reluctantly, I place it with the others.
The ringing of the phone pulls me out of my funk. "Coming, Gertrude," I call to the empty house.
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella with dual points of view. Each chapter will be from one character's view.
So far, Jameson Petry, a thirty something man, meets Iris, a seventy something woman. She makes him feel calm even though his world is falling apart. This is their story of friendship.
********************
JAMESON
Finny is excitedly telling me about something he saw on television. I don't call Claire's sister when Claire isn't there. Amanda is her sister. Finny stays with her now whenever Claire is out of town. I've told Claire I'll take him while she's gone, but she always comes up with an excuse.
I miss my son. Finny has a way of making the world right. I love the devilish smile he gets when he's being naughty. I miss the gentle caress of his fat little fingers as he runs them over the stubble on my cheeks. I miss being a father. I know I'm still his father, but not like before.
He was a tiny, miraculous work of art when he was born. I'd never seen such a beautiful baby. Minutes after he was born, I held him against my chest and promised him I'd protect him until the day I died.
"Bye-bye, Daddy," he says, his mouth too close to the phone.
"I love you, buddy. I'll see you this weekend."
The screen goes dark as he presses his puckered lips to the surface. "Bye-bye."
Amanda takes the phone, says a quick goodbye, and just like that, I'm once again sitting in the late afternoon darkness alone.
When Claire and I separated, I felt sick. The raw pain that makes you taste bile pushing up the back of your throat. Physical sickness has a beginning and an end. This is different.
I can't tell you the moment our marriage went to hell. One day we were at the park, holding hands and swinging Finny between us.
The next day she's packing up her stuff, telling me I walk around with my head in the clouds, I'm too basic. I'm satisfied with Mac and cheese for dinner, when she thinks we should have steak. She said I wasn't growing with her. I thought helping raise our child together was growing.
I pick up my phone and call Claire. I don't wait for her to come up with excuses. I just say what I've got to say. "So, do you think we can talk this weekend?"
"I guess. Not really sure what there is to talk about. I'm so confused, Jameson."
I fight the urge to slam the phone down on the counter. "You think you're confused?" I want her to feel what I feel just for one minute. That white hot pain of not being able to see them. I want her to lie awake at night, listening to the endless mind-numbing quiet of a tiny duplex that used to be full of noise and chaos.
"Dammit. You think this is easy on me?"
She always gets defensive. "I love you, Claire."
I yearn to hear her say it back. But she doesn't. She simply says, " I know you do."
Five long minutes of circling around like tough guys on the playground. Lots of threats but no punches thrown. Lots of words but no resolution. There is no warm goodbye, just a clipped "see you this weekend."
I feel the duplex closing in on me. I put the leash on Heston and we head out. The sky is gray, weighted clouds hover, threatening to burst. But we walk. Heston stops pulling after twenty minutes.
I stop at the corner and pull out my phone. If anyone can give me some insight into my current situation, it's my former brother-in-law, Bryon. He was married to Amanda. When things went south in their marriage, every problem was laid square on his back. He became the family scapegoat. But he's a good guy, a real guy.
He answers on the second ring. "Hey, Jameson, how are you doing?"
"Pretty good. Look I was wondering if you had a night free this week?"
"Are you asking me out on a date?" He laughs. He has a good hearty laugh and it's good to hear it.
"The way things are going ... I just might."
He pauses. "Yeah, I heard Claire left you."
"We're just taking a little time apart, you know, time to reflect and figure some shit out."
"Hey, of course. Uh, how about tomorrow night. I can come there, if it's easier."
"Great. I'll see you then."
I walk Heston home. Even though nothing has changed, I feel a little better. If anyone can shed some light on what to expect, it'll be Bryon.
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella that is written in two first person points of view. Each chapter focuses on the point of view of one character. It is labeled at the beginning.
So far, thirty something Jameson Petry lives alone after his wife, Claire, leaves him. He meets seventy something, Iris, by chance and it's the start of a very beautiful friendship.
******************
IRIS
Gertrude and I have lunch at The Patterson Deli once a week. She orders the pastrami on marbled rye, and I order the club on whole wheat. We meet at eleven forty-five to beat the lunch rush. We are predictable creatures. The older I get, the more I latch onto routines.
"Did I tell you I met the nicest young man the other day?"
Gertrude looks up, as if she has just heard something scandalous. "How much younger?"
"Calm down. He's young enough to be my grandson."
She looks slightly disappointed.
"His name is Jameson. Very sweet young man. Had a breathtaking Irish Wolfhound."
"Who makes that? Is it one of those foreign types?"
I laugh. Gertrude doesn't do well outside of her bubble. "It's a dog. A very big dog."
"Like a lab?"
"Much bigger. Makes a Great Dane look relatively small."
Gertrude shakes her head, her lips pursed. "Oof. No thank you."
I take another bite of my sandwich. "He was a sweet boy. I think he had some personal issues going on, but he didn't say."
Gertrude dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin, then she leans in close. After looking from side to side, she whispers, " You need to be careful, Iris. People look for older folks. Try and scam them. I've seen it on television."
"Oh, please. We had coffee and talked for a bit. He didn't ask me for any personal information or ask for money. As a matter of fact, he paid for the coffee. Who knows if our paths will ever cross again." An undeniably sad reality comes over me as the words leave my lips.
"You just be careful. You didn't tell him you live alone, did you?" Gert is like a dog with a bone right now. All that's missing is the naked bulb swinging from the ceiling as she grills me.
"No, and he really didn't ask."
"Good. I worry about you."
"Well, stop. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."
Gertrude goes back to nibbling her pastrami on rye. I know she has more to say on the subject, but she knows it's pointless to argue with me. She tells me I'm stubborn, probably the most stubborn person she's ever met.
I sit back, suddenly winded from God only knows what. I just hope Gert doesn't notice. She knows minimal about my health issues. And I'd like to keep it that way.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Just full."
"Ask the waitress for a to go box. Have the rest later."
I nod, trying to remember the breathing exercises the pulmonary therapist showed me. I have an inhaler in my purse if that doesn't help.
Gert watches me, suspicious now. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"It's my damn allergies."
She goes back to eating and starts telling me some gossipy rubbish she heard at choir practice last night. After a few minutes I excuse myself and take my purse with me to the ladies room. Locking myself in the stall, I pull out the inhaler. Two hits and I'm breathing normally. Dr. Chalmers has already told me that I'd be using the inhaler more often as this thing progresses. It'll work ... until it doesn't. I just hope I have the strength to face that day.
*****************
I want eggs for dinner. Today is my late son's birthday. Daniel would have been forty-three, had he lived. I try to imagine what he would have looked like as an adult, but all I can see is the sweet, freckle face eight-year-old in his baseball uniform that day.
That one day that ended the old Iris. And a new one emerged from the cinders.
****************
I set my purse in the top of the small cart at the Piggly Wiggly. These carts hold no more than a handful of items, but that's all I need. I exist on salad, eggs, and the occasional Weight Watchers frozen entree. It's pointless to make a regular meal for one.
Rounding the corner, I'm pleasantly surprised to see Jameson. He's got a hand basket filled with canned goods and a six pack of beer.
"Well, hello," I say. I'm truly happy to see him.
"Oh my gosh, Miss Iris, how have you been?"
"Since Tuesday?"
He grins, a blush coming to his cheeks. "A lot can happen in two days."
"I'm good. Is this dinner?" I point at his basket.
"No. My brother-in-law is coming to my house tonight. We're going to catch up. I haven't seen him in over a year."
"Does he live far away?"
"Far enough, but he and Claire's sister divorced last year. So, he hasn't been around."
"Well, I won't keep you. Have fun."
He shifts the basket to his other hand. "Thank you. Um, are you free for coffee tomorrow?"
"I suppose so," I say.
"Would you like to get together around 10?"
I'm flattered. It's been a while, and I mean a while, since anyone of the opposite sex has asked me out for any reason. "That sounds delightful."
He smiles broadly. "Great. It's a date then."
I fan myself. "I haven't heard the word date in several decades, Jameson. Be careful, I have a weak heart."
He says his goodbyes, then hurries towards the checkout counter.
Too bad Gertrude wasn't here for that little exchange. I'll bet her jaw would have dropped to the floor.
I should probably check the floor for my own jaw because even though it was just a turn of phrase, hearing it made this old broad feel good.
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella about two people who meet and form a friendship. It is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be clearly marked for who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry has met senior citizen, Iris. There is an inexplicable calmness to her and he is drawn into a friendship with her.
***************
JAMESON
Bryon arrives at just after seven. He's loaded down with pizza and wings. When I open the door to let him in, Heston barks, Bryon stumbles backwards with his eyes wide.
"Good Lord. What the hell is that?"
"It's Heston."
"He's huge. He's a freaking mutant. Is he going to eat me?"
I pull Heston back by the collar and step aside for Bryon to come in. "He's more interested in getting that pizza you're holding."
Bryon skirts by, eyeing Heston warily. After a few minutes of being sniffed up one side and down the other, the dog goes to lie down.
"Plate?" I ask.
"I'm fine just grabbing from the box."
I close the cabinet. It's just as well anyway. Claire took almost all the plates and bowls. I have a few mismatched bowls and plates left.
Bryon settles back on the couch and cracks open one of the beers. "So, how ya been?"
I reach over and tug a slice of pizza free from the pie. "I've been better."
"Not trying to be nosy, but what happened? Last time I saw the both of you, y'all seemed so happy."
The cheese tastes rubbery all of the sudden. Talking about Claire and I in past tense is enough to kill my appetite. "I couldn't tell you. We were fine then everything turned to shit."
Bryon folds his wedge in half and takes a large bite. He chews and then starts talking. "That's kind of how it was with Mandy and me. At Christmas we were talking about starting a family. By Valentines day, she's tossing my stuff in the yard."
"I don't get it," I mutter.
Bryon wipes his fingers on his jeans. "Both of those girls are just like their mother. That woman has had more husbands than the Duggars have kids."
"What would that be? Eighteen and counting?" I joke.
"Give her time," he says. "Both Amanda and Claire want a fairytale. They want a prince, they want money, they want status. My guess, they don't think you or I are the ticket to that world."
"But we didn't have a bad life. Things got tight now and again, sure, but it wasn't terrible."
Bryon lifts his beer can to his mouth and pauses. "To someone who thinks they deserve it all, that's a fate worse than death."
I reach for one of the wings, since the pizza didn't do it for me.
Bryon goes to the fridge and pulls out two beers. He walks over and hands me one. "My advice is move on. She probably isn't coming back."
The bluntness of his prediction makes me down the whole beer. I can't lose my family. I just can't.
*******************
I wake early, shower, shave, and take Heston for a short walk. I've taken to giving him two walks a day now.
I walk to the coffee house and spot her sitting at a table midway back. She's wearing a bright blue quilted jacket with colorful birds embroidered on the back. I swear I've seen my grandmother in one similar.
"Good morning, Miss Iris," I say, gently putting my hand on her shoulder as I approach from behind.
"How are you, Jameson?" She smiles up at me. "How was your brother-in-law, was it?"
"Good. Nice to catch up."
"I took the liberty of ordering us cinnamon buns. They looked delicious."
"You didn't have to," I say, but I'm thankful she did.
She shrugs it off. "You don't eat enough. I'm a mother, indulge me in my fussing."
"Yes, ma'am."
We wait while the waitress brings the coffee pot over and fills our cups before talking.
She tears open the packet of sweetener and looks up as she stirs it. "Is your wife back from her trip?"
Under normal circumstances, I would skirt the question, but this is Iris. And, as crazy as it sounds, I feel like she's been a part of my life forever. "Claire left me. She's living with her sister. Has been for a couple of months."
"I'm sorry, Jameson. I know this is a terrible time for you right now."
I lift my cup to my lips, not trusting myself to speak.
"Did you all try couples counseling? Are you talking?"
The liquid burns the end of my tongue. "I try to talk but she always has a reason she can't. She's either at work, too tired, too confused."
"She's stringing you along." Her hand flies to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I don't even know the girl. I had no right to say that."
"It's okay." I smile. It's nice to have Iris on my side.
"So, since I can't be trusted to hold my tongue, tell me what you like to do for fun. I know from our last conversation that it isn't data entry."
Hesitation keeps me from excitedly telling her about my writing. But as I look over at her, I see those calming blue eyes. I trust her.
"I love to write."
She nods. "That's funny, because I love to read. I'm not too keen on the smutty stuff."
"I write children's stories mainly."
She lifts her cup and I notice the slightest tremor. "I'd love to read some of your stories ... if you're comfortable."
The faces of Claire and her parents come to mind. The bored expressions as they read my only published children's story. The glazed eyes as they congratulated me. I know you need a thick skin when you're creative, but no skin is thick enough when the people you love dismiss your creativity.
"I used to love reading Green Eggs and Ham to my son, Daniel." Her eyes have a far away look in them.
"How old is your son?"
Iris shakes her head. "I lost him when he was eight."
That sick feeling comes over me. "God, Iris, I'm so sorry."
"That was thirty-five years ago. Still hurts but the good memories outweigh the pain of losing him"
I swallow a sip of coffee. I'm at a loss. What can I say to make it better? Nothing. There isn't anything I can say to help.
By GWHARGIS
This is the story of a friendship between two people. It is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter is labeled to specify who is narrating.
*****************
So far, thirty something, Jameson, meets seventy something, Iris, after his dog escapes. His marriage is falling apart, he hates his job and he's lonely. There is something about this senior woman that makes him feel hopeful. A friendship begins.
*******************************
IRIS
Poor Jameson. He has this look in his eyes when I disclose that Daniel has passed on. He's thinking about his own son now, Im sure. Hearing about the loss of a child always makes you want to hug your own. He's probably wondering how I survived losing him. I've wondered that from time to time myself.
Maybe, had I known it would be the last time I'd see Daniel, I would have hugged him a little tighter and held him close a little longer. But I was busy with the dishes when I sent him off to his baseball game. I was just waiting for my husband, Louis, to get home. We were going to walk to the field together.
Countless times, Daniel had gone ahead of us. We lived in a quiet and safe neighborhood. Nothing ever happened there, until it did.
A young woman, rushing home from work, took her eyes off the road for a split second. And Daniel, cutting across the street between two parked cars, instead of walking to the crosswalk at the end of the block. Just two random things, changed everything. It robbed Lou and I of our beautiful boy. And truth be told, probably robbed that young woman of sleep for countless years.
Jameson is ghostly pale, his eyes wide with pupils dilated. He starts to apologize but I reach over and squeeze his hand. "You had no way of knowing," I offer.
"We can change the subject, if you'd rather," he says quietly.
"No. Sometimes it's good to talk about him. I'd like to share him with you. I don't miss him as much."
"What was he like?" Jameson asks. He's interested in hearing about him, not just asking to placate me. I can tell the difference after thirty-five years.
I smile to myself, seeing the freckled face and his crooked little smile. "Mischievous, inquisitive. He was a beautiful little boy."
"Fin's like that."
"Encourage that. Let him be curious about the world."
Jameson nods as the waitress brings over our cinnamon buns and heats up our coffee.
"His current curiosity is about what fits down the toilet. So far, we have learned that small cars and little bouncy balls, will go down the drain. But slippers, paperbacks and cell phones do not."
"Maybe he'll become a plumber when he grows up."
"He told his mother that he wants to be daddy when he grows up." Jameson has a look of pride and longing on his face.
"Oh, that's sweet."
"I thought so, too. Doubt Claire was thrilled to hear it," he says, looking down at the iced treat before him. After a few seconds, he looks over at me. "So, was Daniel good at baseball?"
"Actually, he was very good. He was only eight, but he understood the game. His coach told Lou that Daniel knew the rules better than he did."
I look over at Jameson, wondering if he was getting bored with my stories but he is just listening intently.
"I was never very athletic. I guess I didn't really have to state the obvious," he says, a playful smile on his face.
"Nonsense. You're built like a runner."
"I ran. Yes, I certainly did. I ran from the jocks and the tough guys. Heck, I think there was even a time I ran from the nerds in the chess club." He laughs at his own joke. "Do you have a picture of Daniel?" he asks.
"I thought you'd never ask," I say, reaching down into my purse to fish my wallet out. I slide the photograph out of the plastic sleeve.
"May I?"
I hand him the picture and watch as he studies the yellowed photo. My child frozen in time at eight-years-old.
Jameson looks up at me. "He has your eyes. He was a cute kid."
"Thank you. I try to imagine what he would look like now. I guess it's really an exercise in futility. He lived his whole life in eight short years."
He gingerly places the picture into my hand.
I look down at the picture once more. Though it's faded and yellow, I can still see the details. Details that no one else notices, like the little bit of chocolate milk that was in the corner of his mouth, or the scab on his neck where he scratched a mosquito bite until it bled.
To the people who go so far as to ask for his picture, this is a remembrance of a distant life. Something kept safe in my wallet, to pull out occasionally, and refresh my memory.
To me, this little photo is everything I have left.
I tuck it away and break off a piece of the cinnamon bun with the edge of my fork. I look over at Jameson and raise my fork. "Bon appetit."
We both eat in silence. Me thinking about a little boy in a pinstripe uniform. And him, about his own son.
| Author Notes | Apologies to those who want longer chapters. This one had to end here. Sorry. |
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled with who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry meets Iris, a senior citizen, when his dog gets loose. After a brief conversation, they become friends. This is their story.
***************************
JAMESON
After parting ways with Iris, I start walking home. I can't wait. I have to talk to Finny. If I can't physically hold him, I, at least, need to hear his voice. I call Amanda, knowing full well it will be a waste of time to call Claire. She puts Fin on the phone.
"Daddy," he squeals.
"Hey, buddy, how have you been? You being a good boy?"
He's talking gibberish, making silly noises. Hearing his infectious belly laugh is like an invisible hug. I feel a warmth spread through my body.
"I'm going to come see you tomorrow. You want to come home and see Hessy?"
"Doggie. Hessy dog." he says.
"Yes. I think Hessy misses you."
"I see you," he whispers. His eye gets close to the screen. And just like that, he's tired of talking and drops the phone on the couch.
Amanda picks it up and sighs. "I think he's finished talking."
"Give him a kiss for me. And, Mandy, if you ever need a break, let me know. I'll come get him."
"I've told Claire that," she says with an unmistakable tightness to her voice. "She always says you're too busy."
I bite my tongue before answering. "I'm never too busy for Finny."
"I'll pass that along."
*****************************
The only thing between my place and Claire's sister's house is endless miles of tall pines and a few plowed up fields mixed in for good measure.
When I pull up to the house, I see Mandy pushing Fin in one of those bucket swings.
She looks over as I walk up. "You're early," she says.
"I didn't think you'd mind. Claire here?"
She tilts her head to the house. "Inside. Taking her sweet ass time in the bathroom."
"Okay, Finny. I'm going to go talk to mommy. I'll be right back." I give him a big one handed push before jogging to the front steps.
I knock but don't wait to be invited in.
"Claire," I call out loudly. I listen and hear the sound of the blow dryer coming from the hall bathroom. She's a creature of habit. Every morning she showers and then spends forty-five minutes messing with her hair and her makeup. When she doesn't answer, I bang on the door.
"What?" she turns the hair dryer to low, but doesn't bother to turn it off.
"Claire, it's me. I'm getting ready to take Fin."
"Okay. I put his bag of clothes by the door."
"Can you open the damn door, please? "
The dryer goes silent and the door handle rattles. She stands there, arms folded across her chest.
"Thank you," I say. "I was wondering if we could maybe talk when I bring him home tomorrow."
She does nothing to disguise her annoyance. "Soon, Jameson."
"You keep saying that."
"What do you want? I can't just pick a date on the calendar and say that's the day I'll be ready to talk. I keep telling you I need time."
"And I've given you time. It's been three months."
"It's not giving me time if you're pestering me every other day. Can we talk? Can we talk? How about today?"
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "My life is on hold, Claire."
She looks away with a forced smile playing on her lips. "I forgot that you're the only one who is affected by this. Hello. I'm living with my bat shit crazy sister."
"Then come home."
"I hate that place."
"We can look for another place," I say, reaching for her hand. She pulls away like I'm a leper.
"Don't." She takes a step back into the bathroom and starts to close the door. "Get his bag and have a fun day with your son."
The door closes in my face.
*****************************
I drive back to Patterson numb. I check the rear view mirror to look at my son. He's staring out of his window, his eyes heavy lidded as the ride works its magic to calm him. I want my family back plain and simple. But, if that happens, it's going to take time. I have what I need right now. Looking at him reminds me no matter what else is going on in my life, I am the luckiest man in the world.
******************************
We check on Heston before going to the Aquarium. Fin is obsessed with the sharks, so I end up buying him an overpriced t-shirt with a great white shark on it. We dig in the sand pit for shark teeth. We're having a great time until it gets close to nap time. Then it gets ugly.
He takes off running back towards the entrance to the building. "I go see sharks."
"No, Finny. We're going home now."
He let's out a blood curdling scream, thrashing and kicking when I pick him up. "Stop it. Don't be like this."
I wrap my arms around him tightly, holding him until the fight goes out of him. "Come on, Finny, let's not have a bad day. Okay? Let's go get some chicken nuggets and go see Hessy. We can watch a movie." I press my lips to the top of his head, and after a few minutes he relaxes, laying his head against my shoulder.
He eats a couple of nuggets, a handful of my French fries then falls asleep on the way home.
Heston greets me as I carry him inside the duplex. He makes little whimpering sounds as he recognizes Finny's scent. Three months without him and Heston hovers over him as I put him on the couch.
I stand there looking down at this beautiful boy, trying to memorize this moment. Heston gently climbs up beside him, his big head close to Fin without touching him.
"I think you missed him almost as much as I did," I whisper, reaching down to stroke Heston's wiry hair. He wags his tail as if to answer me, then closes his eyes.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter is labeled with who is narrating.
So far, thirty something Jameson Petry's life is in turmoil. He has a chance encounter with seventy something Iris. They bond over coffee.
******************************
IRIS
I used to love Sundays. Back when Daniel was little and Lou was still with me, Sundays were our family day. It was okay for us to sleep in, stay in our pajamas until lunchtime.
Everyone seems to love Sunday mornings. It's a free day of sorts. Have coffee in bed while doing the crossword puzzle from the overstuffed Sunday edition of the Patterson Gazette or going to church for fellowship and worship. Sunday allows you a certain freedom that the rest of the days of the week don't have.
I don't do any of that. Sundays are empty for me. Margaret has tried and still occasionally prods me to go to church. It is not my thing. She's told me to take walks on Sundays. In her defense, she has no idea that merely walking to the end of the driveway to check the mailbox wears me out.
I figure I'll probably die on a Sunday. My soul will rise up to the pearly gates and God will say, "You never cared for Sundays so I figured you wouldn't mind missing one."
I shuffle into the kitchen, intent on making an omelette. I do like eggs. Of course, what's the first thing the heart specialist tells me? Cut back on eggs. Did I take his well intentioned advice? No. No, I did not.
Eggs were Lou and my love language. Feeling sad, we'd have eggs and bacon. Feeling amorous, sunny side up. For special occasions, I'd fix deviled eggs. I'd get so mad because Lou would pick them off the serving plate, one by one, while I was trying to finish preparing the meal.
"Stop eating them." I'd turn around to catch him red handed. Hastily, he'd try to get rid of the evidence by stuffing them into his mouth.
He'd look at me with that devil-may-care grin and come up with a million excuses why he took another one. "That one didn't have enough filling."
"Louis, I'm warning you. No more. Leave some for dinner."
I'd peek over my shoulder to catch him popping another into his mouth. "Lou," I'd say, sternly.
"There was an uneven amount. Come on, Iris, we can't have an odd number."
Every time, it was the same. I miss it. So damn much. I miss his smile, his voice, his embrace on those dark and lonely nights.
I shake off the melancholy mood that's wrapping its tentacles around me. Pulling out the carton of eggs, I try to think about something happy. Jameson is with his little boy. I know he was looking forward to seeing his son. Hopefully, that wife of his is, at least, willing to discuss their marriage. He needs some flicker of hope.
Lou and I had our share of problems throughout our marriage, but we never walked away from them. Together we confronted them. Countless times, once the anger had subsided enough for us to talk with cool heads, we would sit at the dining room table. There is always a solution. But you have to be willing to work through it together.
There's not a lot of people willing to do that now. It's a world of instant gratification. That extends to the divorce court.
I pull out a pot from under the cabinet and fill it with water. No omelette today. I'm feeling like some deviled eggs. I'll spend the day with my husband, his memory, at least.
I sit at the counter and wait for the water to boil.
"Lou, if you were here, I'd let you eat every one of them."
| Author Notes | Very short chapter. But this was the obvious stopping point. |
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be marked at the beginning as to who is narrating.
*************************************
So far, thirty something, Jameson Petry meets seventy something, Iris. They meet on a regular basis for coffee and talk. Jameson had a nice weekend with his three year old son, but his estranged wife, Claire, still refuses to talk about their faltering marriage. Iris reminisced about her late husband.
*************************************
JAMESON
I push the little caddy that holds the sugar packets and sweeteners over closer to Iris. She's unusually quiet today. Not sad or depressed, per se, but not her usual self. I wait until she's poured the sweetener into her cup and has finished stirring it, before starting our conversation. "How was your weekend? "
"Truly exciting."
I can't tell from her voice if she's being sarcastic, but one look at her face and I see that she is.
"I changed the sheets on my bed, then Saturday night I watched a movie."
"Oh? Which one?"
"I thought it was going to be a western. But, no sir, it was not. Apparently, cowboy movies have changed since John Wayne's heyday." She looks at me pointedly, her eyebrow raised.
"Did you watch Brokeback Mountain, Iris?" I try my best to stifle the amusement that is building inside of me.
"It was some kind of mountain," she mutters. "You know what's funny? Gertrude recommended it. I sometimes wonder about her." She lifts her cup up to her lips and takes a small sip. "So, tell me how your time with your son was."
"Really good. We went to the Aquarium, went for a few walks, ate crap from McDonalds, played with some toy trucks. It was a whirlwind weekend." I can't help but smile.
"I used to play trucks with my brother, John. My father would sometimes bring one home from the feed and grain store in Roanoke."
I shrug. I try to picture a young Iris. I'm guessing she was a tomboy. Protective over John and probably didn't know fear like most little girls.
"I had a couple of Tonka trucks when I was little," I say. I'm sure I asked for things like that once upon a time, but once I learned to read, I just wanted books for Christmas and birthdays.
"Daniel had several of those. They're probably still in the attic."
I think about how hard it had been to say goodbye to Fin yesterday. I can't help but wonder how Iris made it day after day. "I'm sorry, but how'd you survive after losing him?"
Iris looks down at her cup for a few seconds then looks at me. "I didn't have a choice, Jameson."
"But you're so happy. I doubt I'd ever smile again."
"I hurt for a long, long time. Cried myself to sleep. I cut my friends off and almost shut Lou out. But, that wasn't fair. He lost Daniel, too. I just knew I couldn't go on like that. I went to grief counseling. I knew I wasn't alone. There were people from all walks of life. But what helped me the most was hearing a man who had lost his wife and twins in a house fire say one simple thing. He said that every morning when he wakes up he has to make a choice. He has to choose to be happy."
Her eyes look wet, but no tear escapes. "I realized that wallowing in sadness wasn't going to bring him back."
I shake my head. "You are a remarkable woman, Iris."
The sunlight from the coffeehouse window shimmers off of her silver hair. "So tell me, did you get a chance to talk to your wife?"
It's my turn to look away. "We didn't. She was busy when I got there and gone when I brought him home." I look up at her hesitantly. "You must think I'm a fool."
"Nonsense. If you think your marriage can be saved, don't give up. But it takes two willing people to make a marriage work."
"Her sister, Mandy, says Claire is done."
"Jameson, I'm so sorry. Maybe you should just ask her point blank. Have you talked to a lawyer?"
I look up quickly. "No. Of course not. I'm not giving up yet."
"It's not giving up. You just need to protect yourself ... and Finny. You'll need some sort of custody arrangement."
"But we haven't even discussed divorce."
Iris reaches over and covers my hand. "Sweetheart, your wife isn't discussing anything right now. I just wouldn't want you to be unprepared ... just in case."
Her words are from her heart. She means well. From a practical perspective, it makes sense. But I can't be practical. I can't bring myself to give up that last tiny shred of hope I'm holding on to.
Her hand pats the top of mine. "I've overstepped again. Forgive me."
"I probably need to hear it."
She sits back in her chair. "Did you take any pictures this weekend?"
I pull my phone out of my pocket. I let her scroll through the dozen or so pictures. She takes her time with each one, pausing to ask a question or make a comment.
"He's adorable. Looks like his daddy when he smiles." She hands the phone back and then reaches into her purse for hers. "I have a favor to ask. And just understand you are under no obligation to agree. Okay?"
"Sure."
"Can I put you down as my emergency contact with my doctor?"
"Of course."
"I have Gertrude, my friend, as my contact now. Well, quite frankly, she's dreadful in a crisis."
She's smiling but won't look me in the eye. "Iris, is everything okay?" I ask.
She bites her lip, thinking before she answers. "I'm having some issues with my heart."
"Like bad issues or just age related stuff?"
"I'm just going to lay it out there for you. No sense beating around the bush." She let's a small laugh escape. "I have congestive heart failure."
I frown, waiting for her to expand on that. When she doesn't, I push for more information. "What does that mean?"
"It's not good. To be blunt, my heart is starting to give out. It's getting weaker and sooner or later, no, I'm not going to pretend anymore. There is no later. Soon it's going to give out on me."
Panic rushes through me. I can't lose Iris. I'm just getting to know her. "What about medicine? Isn't there a medicine that can fix it? Or at least slow it down?"
"I've tried several different medicines. Either the side effects are horrendous or they just don't work."
Sweat peppers my brow. "What are we talking about, a couple of years?"
Her hands reach across and both wrap around my hand. "Six months, give or take a month or two."
I sit there, shell shocked, unable to ask anything else. But I have a million questions to ask. But not now. She squeezes my hand gently.
"I'm sorry, Jameson, I should never have imposed on you. I'll leave Gertrude as my contact."
"No. Please. I'll do whatever you need."
Iris smiles. "You're a good boy, Jameson. I'm lucky to have found you."
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella that has dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be a different character's point of view. Chapters will be marked accordingly.
So far, Jameson Petry's wife has left him. As he tries to figure out why, he meets Iris, a seventy something woman who guides him with wisdom. But as much as Jameson needs her guidance, Iris needs him to help her face this difficult time in her life.
**********************************
IRIS
Jamison calls my phone, then instructs me to save his number in my contacts. He nurses his coffee, forcing feeble smiles while my earlier statement whirls around in his head. I could have kept silent, should have kept silent. I have pulled this sweet young man into this pit that is consuming me.
I can tell he's upset. His normally sparkling eyes are dark. He wears his heart on his sleeve and I just ripped it off. First his wife leaves him, tearing their family apart. Then she plays games with him. He has so much on his mind and I go and set my problems squarely on his shoulders.
Jameson takes the trash to the waste receptacles then comes back to the table. "Ready?" He holds his arm out to help steady me as I stand.
"Thank you."
We walk to where my car is parked and he opens my car door for me. "Now that you have my number, Iris, call me if you need anything."
"I'll keep it for emergencies, like if I can't get the top off of the olive jar or something catastrophic like that."
He looks at his feet but smiles politely at my terrible attempt at
a joke. "I'm serious, I want you to call me when you need me. Even if it is just to pry the lid from a jar."
Impulsively, I hug him. "Hopefully, I won't need to use it. Thank you. You've taken a load off of my mind."
He squeezes me gently before pulling away. "Coffee on Friday?"
"That sounds perfect."
He waits until I start my car before he turns and heads home. I fumble for my inhaler. I am winded over the simplest tasks now. I think about the vial of fluid pills that I purposely ignored this morning. I didn't want to be hunting for a ladies room every fifteen minutes. Now my ankles ache from the fluid that's collecting in them. What a life.
*********************************
After my shower, I flip through the channels. There is nothing worth watching. No game shows, no old movies, just rubbish on the television. Lou used to call it the "boob tube". I thought he was just being silly. It appears he was right all along. I turn it off and put the remote on the coffee table.
Even though I'm tired, I'm not sleepy. I know if I go up to bed now, I'll toss and turn for several hours. The photo albums on the bookcase catch my eye. I bring one back over to the couch and open it across my lap. The photographs of my parents are blurred. Each page I turn takes me one step at a time through my life. Sienna memories of my parents as children turn to black and white of my own youth. The yellowed Polaroid of Lou and me at a baseball game when we were newlyweds. God, I was so young and Lou with those beautiful blue eyes and that lush dark hair.
Life was a technicolor dream back then. We had no money and still smiled all the time. Us against the world. We were certain we would never become our parents and never get old.
I turn another page to Daniel's baby picture. My finger traces the sweet curve of his cheek. I move through the pages of his youth, documented with photos. Then there are no more pictures. Just one of Lou and I at my nephews wedding. We're still smiling but there is something different about our smiles. Maybe by that point we realized we aren't invincible. The world moves on and all we can do is hang on.
I close the album, thankful that I have these moments captured. We should have taken more pictures. Seems everyone takes pictures now. Jameson had shown me the pictures of him and his son. A few were of the little boy digging in the sand but the others were just silly pictures.
We should have taken more pictures. Not waited for special occasions, but instead, made any excuse.
I file the photo album back on the shelf and look at the clock. Maybe one day I'll share some of those pictures with Jameson, if he's interested.
Lou would have liked Jameson. I'm certain of that. I know I've only known him for a few weeks but he's like family to me now.
I make the slow climb to my bedroom for the night. Maybe tonight I'll dream about them, Lou and Daniel. That would be nice.
By GWHARGIS
This is a story written in dual first person points of view. Each character will be given their own chapter. It will be marked at the beginning of each chapter to identify who is narrating.
So far, thirty something, Jameson Petry meets seventy something , Iris. They start meeting on a regular basis for coffee. She has just advised him to get a lawyer to protect his rights as a father. Then admitted that she would like for him to be her emergency contact as she faces the final stage of heart failure.
***********************************
JAMESON
Even before Iris said anything about her health, I noticed how winded she was. Just sitting at the cafe table, she moved slower than before. I walked her to her car, making sure we stopped several times. I knelt down to tie my shoes letting her pause and rest. Then I asked if she minded waiting on the bench in front of the pharmacy while I made an important work call. I called the local theater and listened to the show times of eight out of ten movies. Once I could see she had caught her breath, I ended my fake business call.
She's a proud woman, and though I doubt she would turn down my help, it would kill her to admit she needed it.
I finished one of my jobs, submitted it for payment and flopped back on the couch. Heston lay his big head on my thigh. "I know, Hessy. You want to walk, don't you?" I look into his eyes. If I didn't have him, I'd probably lose my mind. If he only knew, I need him much more than he needs me, he'd demand his walk. But he waits patiently, knowing the walk always depends on me.
"Let's go," I say, pushing as much excitement into my voice as I can muster.
Walking keeps both Heston and me sane. These walks have done wonders for us both. It gives me time to think. A walking think is more productive than a wallowing think. Maybe it's the motion and exercise that let's your mind see solutions. I was wallowing before. Trapped in an empty house, with memories and imaginary scenarios that stood like a house of cards. If I breathed wrong, my house would come down. Heston doesn't rush the door when I go to open it anymore.
And Iris, of course, was right. The walk during the day, seems to satisfy Heston's curiosity. He has become used to seeing people and things going on. The night time walks settle both of us.
I hook the rainbow leash to his collar, grab my keys and phone, and head out the door.
And Iris was right about protecting my time with Finny. But, I need to give it one final shot with Claire before I make that move.
*********************************
Claire answers on the second ring. "Hey, Jameson, I'm getting ready for bed. What's up?"
"I need an answer, Claire. Are we through?"
She makes a little grunting noise. "I don't have an answer for you. I told you I need more time."
"I've given you time. Plenty of time. I can't go on like this anymore. I need to be able to see Finny. I need a schedule, Fin needs a schedule."
"I'm not doing this right now, Jameson." She sounds like she's going to cry. But I've known Claire long enough to know she can cry on command.
"Fine. I'm just letting you know I'm getting a lawyer."
"What? Are you fricking kidding me? I just need a little more time."
There is pleading in her voice, and I fight the guilt that is building up inside of me. Maybe my declaration has snuffed out any chance we might have had, but I can't go on clinging to a lie.
Her voice catches as she tries to speak. "You're just giving up then?"
"I'll never be what you want. And I can't try to be anyone else."
"I just wanted you to be a strong role model for Finny. If he sees you working on a crappy computer, never trying to better yourself, he's going to think it's okay."
"Claire, that's utter bullshit. My dad drove a bus for twenty-eight years. We never had extra money. Never went on lavish vacations. He was a good man. I hope I'm half the man he was. When it's all said and done, Fin won't care if he doesn't have a bunch of material things. He just needs two good parents."
She sniffles and tries to catch her breath. "I wish that was true."
"It is. The trouble with you has always been you want to live a fairy-tale life. It doesn't work."
"Oh, why are you hitting me with this now?"
"Because, since you won't make a decision, I have to."
She's crying now. I bite my tongue before I start backtracking and apologizing. God, I didn't want this.
She's crying and calling me all kinds of horrid names. That's when a thought hits me. She never cared that she hurt me. Didn't feel bad when she drove off with my son, while tears rolled down my cheeks.
Claire is doing what she does best. She is becoming the victim. Now, I'm the bad guy. It's not a role I want, but it's better than the role of the fool.
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be clearly marked with who is narrating.
So far, thirty something, Jameson Petry has a chance meeting with seventy something, Iris. His marriage is collapsing and she is dealing with a terminal illness. They bond over weekly meetings for coffee. Jameson takes Iris's advice and asks his wife if their marriage is over.
**********************************
IRIS
Dr. Chalmers apologizes for the cold metal of the stethoscope as he places it on my chest. He moves it slowly from place to place. He asks me to cough once or twice. I've become quite adept at coughing on cue. And I'm a master of coughing for no reason. He transfers it to my back. "Did you start your new medicine?"
"I did." I don't say anymore because he is still listening to whatever tick tocks that happening inside of me.
"Your lungs sound good."
"Why, thank you. You always say the sweetest things."
He grins without looking up. He pulls away and let's the stethoscope fall around his neck. He studies the laptop across the room. "I see your blood pressure is a little elevated. Any reason that you know of?"
I glance around the room. The walls are adorned with posters of warning signs for heart attack, strokes, and blood clots. It is a literal smorgasbord of ways to be betrayed by your very own sweet, little heart. "I don't know. Couldn't be the artwork on the walls. I mean, geez, if you don't come in feeling like you're going to die, you will most definitely leave feeling like that."
He rolls back towards me, an easy going smile plastered on his face. "You're looking at this wrong. These are to give you the upper hand."
"Okay. Whatever you say. I mean you are the doctor."
He doesn't pull away. There's more, I can tell. So far, all I've heard is how good everything seems today.
"Are we done?" I ask, shifting the awkward paper gown around me.
"Iris, we need to talk about something."
"If you're about to tell me that you've fallen in love with me, need I remind you that I'm not long for this world. So, you better act fast." I pause nervously. He looks so serious. "So let's just skip the foreplay."
"Damn." He lifts my hand in his and squeezes it gently.
"Seriously, Dr. Chalmers, what on earth do we have left to talk about?"
He squeezes my hand again. "End of life stage."
End of life stage. The words hit like a brick between the eyes. I've known about it since I was diagnosed, but it was always in the distance. It was at the horizons line thoughtfully moving with the rotation of the earth. Now, it appears, the earth is actually flat. And I am skittering close to that edge.
"Iris, what's going on in your head right now?"
"Can we wait until my next visit?"
"Of course."
"I'd like to have someone here, with me. Would that be alright?"
He nods. "Am I finally going to meet Miss Gertrude?"
"Heavens no. That reminds me, I need to change my emergency contact."
"You can do that when you make your appointment for next week."
*********************************
I sit outside the coffee shop, wondering how I got so old. You never see it coming. When I was young I used to be fascinated by old women with snow white hair. I thought that one day I would go to bed with brown hair and wake the next morning with hair of white, like the lawn when it snows overnight. But age isn't like that. It's sneaky, working slowly. Taking away your youth and energy like a convict digging a tunnel with a spoon. It's slow, one spoonful after another.
A young mother pushes a stroller by me. I glimpse the child looking up at the trees. This child is looking up, while I'm looking down. Carefully avoiding roots and raised passages of cement. Can't fall, might hurt myself. What does it matter?
Who will mourn me? Gertrude? She'll miss me, of course, but she will shuffle her life around to fill the void I left.
I stop to rest, reaching into my purse for my phone. I pull up my contacts. Jameson's name and number come up. I don't call. I can't get into the habit of calling him whenever I'm afraid. He has his own problems. I cannot drag him into mine.
He owes me nothing.
| Author Notes | Sorry it's short. |
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella that uses two different first person points of view. Each chapter will be clearly marked as to which character is narrating.
So far, Iris and Jameson meet and bond over coffee. Jameson's marriage is on the brink of divorce, and Iris is in the end stages heart disease.
***********************************
JAMESON
My late night call to Claire must have rattled her. First thing this morning, my phone is buzzing across the nightstand.
"Morning," I say, pulling myself up to rest on one elbow. "You're up early."
"Who advised you to get a lawyer? I know damn well it wasn't your idea."
"Doesn't matter who suggested it. I need to get on with my life."
"Dammit, Jameson, I need time. I'm trying to figure all this out."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Closing my eyes, I try to fight the urge to hang up. "You decided to leave, Claire. You won't answer my questions about why you need space. You are making all the calls here. I have given you space. I have given you time. Well, guess what. I'm done waiting for you to make decisions that will affect the rest of my life ... and Finny's life."
"This isn't you talking."
"This is me."
"You've never treated me with so much disrespect and cruelty before."
There are times when I can swallow my pride and apologize for the sake of keeping peace. Today is not the day. "Do you remember what you said when you read the story I had published?"
"No."
I take a breath, remembering the disappointment I had felt at her reaction. "You said it was silly. Not good, not even that children might enjoy it. Claire, you never even said you were proud of me."
"It was an eight paragraph story."
"It was my story, Claire. That should have been enough. I was excited and proud, at least, until you dismissed it."
She's quiet. There is no apology. Nothing but silence while she reloads. "You sold one story. You'll never be the next Stephen King. I'm sorry to be the one that has to burst your bubble, but it's true."
"Good news, Claire, you burst that bubble a long time ago. But, I'm Jameson Petry, guy who wrote about a flying chicken. That should have been good enough." I take a breath, trying to reel in my anger. "You don't need time to figure us out, you want time to figure out if you can do this on your own."
"Are you through?" Her voice is tight. It doesn't matter what I've said, she doesn't even bother to deny it.
"I guess so."
"So, I'll wait to hear from your lawyer then."
"Give Fin a kiss for me."
She disconnects without a word.
I hold the phone for a long time. Willing her to call me back, and willing myself not to call her. I had to sound cold. But I didn't feel it.
Every part of me hurts. Nothing but loss and pain run through my veins. I can't have what means the most to me. I want my family back. Even knowing what I know now, I would give anything to turn back the clock to when I thought everything was perfect.
The rest of my day I go through on autopilot. Working at the computer until my eyes burn. I would probably work through until midnight but Heston starts to whine at the door.
"Ready for a walk? That's a good idea, Hessy." I stretch to get the kinks out of my back and legs.
We walk around the neighborhood, then down into the town. The fresh air feels good. Makes me feel almost human again.
I look around, hoping to run into Iris, but there is no sign of her. Pity, I could have really used a coffee right now. I could have used the advice from someone who has been through hell and back. Never in a million years would I have thought a random stranger would have been my life line, the one adult person who keeps me afloat.
I sit under the shade of a tree at the end of the block. I've lost everything. I wait for tears. Nothing happens. Just the dull ache that eats at me from the inside. No tears come. The slow realization of the fact you can't lose what was never yours in the first place.
I pull out my phone and call Iris. If I can't see her, I can at least hear her voice.
"Hello?"
"It's me, Jameson, just calling to check on you."
"Oh, you sweet boy, I'm fine. Just trying to get my ducks in a row. How are things with you?"
"Good," I say, forcing a smile into my voice. "I was wondering if you could make time for coffee soon."
"Of course. It's one of the few highlights of my week."
She sounds good. I can't tell her about my call to Claire. There is nothing she can do. If she asks when we have coffee, I'll tell her. Maybe by then, it will be easier. Maybe she'll know what to say to make this ache go away.
I hang up and stroke Heston's head. "You knew, didn't you? You knew she was the one."
He licks my hand, then stands, ready to go home.
Iris was right about it when she said Irish wolfhounds were smart.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be clearly labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson has called his estranged wife to let her know he is hiring an attorney. Iris met her doctor and he tells her they need to discuss the final stage of her heart condition.
*********************************
IRIS
I wallow in pity for a couple of days before I finally pull myself up by the bootstraps. I glance around the house. So much stuff, sitting around, collecting dust. And who wants it? Nobody. Things that had once been treasures in the glass curio or bookshelf, now just inanimate reminders of a past life.
"It's time," I say to no one. I go to the phone and scroll down the list of names I keep in a small book by the phone. I dial the number to my long time friend and lawyer, Mitchell Hatcher.
He was so kind and helpful when Lou passed. He's just the kind of friend I need right now.
With no close relatives, who will get my house, my investments? Who will get the silver my mother took so much pride in? The thought of having it go to nieces and nephews who haven't bothered to call or check on me in years ... well, it makes me sick.
Maybe it's old age and some loneliness mixed in, but I feel like Jameson is somehow connected to me. Maybe he's a convenient replacement for a son, filling that empty spot that Daniel left so many years ago.
**********************************
Mitchell stacks the papers together and looks over his glasses at me. "Well, I guess that's that, then."
"Thank you for getting me in, Mitchell."
He looks across his desk top and smiles with the familiarity of someone who has seen you at your highest peak and your lowest valley. "I've got a lot more free time now."
"Oh?"
"People like younger lawyers, Iris. They gravitate towards youth. Flash and technology have replaced dusty old law books and cigars. Hell, Iris, I still have trouble with email."
I laugh because I totally understand. I smile to myself when I remember Jameson's reaction to my statement about not owning a computer.
Mitchell sits back in his leather chair and pulls his wire rimmed glasses off. "We've known each other for a long time, Iris. What's brought this on?"
"I'm dying."
"We all are."
"Soon. Very soon. I'm in the final stage of congestive heart failure."
He shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"It could be worse. This is preferable to a few other ways to go."
"I guess it is. It's a shame we don't get a choice. I know how I'd like to go," he says, winking mischievously. "Her name is Loretta. Runs that little coffee stand in the lobby."
"Ask her out."
"Sometimes the fantasy is better," he says, sighing. "Back to business. I'll get these papers filed for you. Does Mr. Petry know the extent of your estate?"
"No. He wouldn't be comfortable with any of this. This will be our little secret. I'll leave it to you to deal with once I'm," I pause, the finality of the word dead catches in my throat. "Once I'm no longer in the picture."
He slides the papers into a manila envelope and writes my name in bold letters across it.
"I guess I've taken up enough of your time," I stand and hoist my purse onto my shoulder.
"I'll walk you out. It's time for my coffee break." He holds out his arm and I hook mine through it. "There aren't many like you anymore."
"I was thinking the same about you."
He holds the elevator door with his arm while I step in. "If you have a minute to spare, I'll introduce you to the most beautiful barrista in Patterson County."
"I have a few extra minutes. Lead the way."
The kiosk is set off to the side of the lobby. Mitchell orders us both coffee and I'm amazed how quickly an educated and reserved attorney can become a gushing, tongue tied boy in the presence of the woman he's fallen in love with.
"She's lovely."
"She's something special," he says softly, stealing a glance at her.
"You're in love with her."
"What? No. I don't ... We've never even been out to dinner. It's just a silly crush."
"Time is precious, Mitchell. Ask her out." I sip my coffee and watch as he mulls over my words. "You never know what you're missing if you don't take a chance."
"You're right. You are absolutely right, Iris. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go speak with Miss Loretta about a romantic dinner."
I touch his arm. "I need to go. I have one more errand to run."
Mitchell holds out his arms and hugs me. "When you see Lou, will you tell him I miss him."
"I will."
He clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'll send you a copy when I've dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's."
"Enjoy your dinner."
I walk toward the exit and pause just long enough to watch Mitchell Hatcher, attorney at law, become a love struck man.
By GWHARGIS
This is a novella written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson and Iris have struck up a friendship and meet over coffee on a regular basis. Jameson has told his estranged wife that he is getting an attorney. Iris has changed her will.
**********************************
JAMESON
What makes a good attorney? Apparently, it's not just having a degree from a prestigious law school. It's using catch phrases like "you don't pay unless we win" and "fighting for your rights since 1987".
There are two family law practices in town. One specializes in divorce. It's a woman named Karolyn Prescott. Immediately, I figure she's one of those feminist types who lumps all fathers into a bin labeled "deadbeat dads". But when I check out her website, I'm pleased to see she has more male clients than females. One of her selling points is, "fights for paternal rights". She is exactly who I need.
I hate that I am doing this, but I can't let Claire push me out of Fin's life like she pushed me out of hers. I make the call.
**********************************
My appointment with Ms. Prescott is Friday at 9 a.m. She is pleasant, calm and professional. If I didn't know better, I would think she was writing a book about Claire and me.
She pushes her wire rimmed glasses up on her nose and slides her legal pad closer. "Did Claire leave on her own or did you ask her to leave?"
"She left. I was completely caught off guard."
"Are you currently seeing anyone?"
"No."
"Any infidelities on either side?"
I look away uncomfortably. I know I haven't been unfaithful but with Claire I can't be certain. Her change had been so abrupt. "I can only speak for me. No, I was never unfaithful."
No comment comes from Ms. Prescott. She just jots my answer down and moves on. "Drug use?"
"No."
"Alcohol?"
I shrug. "I have a beer or two occasionally. "
She scribbles something down. "Did she ever express concern?"
"No."
She puts the pen down and looks over at me. "Are you still in love with your wife, Mr. Petry? I'm only asking because if there's a chance of reconciliation, we can put this on the back burner, so to speak."
"Yes, I still love her, but we, um, no. There is no chance of that."
She nods once, then picks up her pen to start writing again. "Will you be seeking spousal support or child support?"
I blow out a building sigh. "I don't care about money. I just want to be able to spend time with my son."
Fifteen minutes later I'm sitting in my car, numb, staring out at world. It's still spinning and still moving. Apparently, only my part of the world has stopped.
***********************************
Iris is already at the coffee shop when I get there. If she hadn't called and asked me to meet for coffee, I would probably just gone home and sunk into a pit of depression.
"Good morning, Iris," I say, forcing a big smile to my face.
"You look chipper. Did you win the lottery?"
I pull out my chair and sit. "How have you been?"
"Fabulous. How's your week been, so far?"
I look over at her. "I told Claire I was talking to a lawyer."
Iris makes a little tsk noise and leans forward. "How did she take that news?"
"Cried. Said she just needed more time. But we've had enough time. Can't keep stalling. She has no intention of reconciling. I guess I've known it all along."
The waitress brings our coffee. I push the caddy over closer to Iris.
"Thank you, love. What does your lawyer say?"
"She says it should be pretty straight forward. Usually, if both parties agree, things don't get too messy."
"I know it's tough, Jameson, but if there's no chance, this is what's best for all of you."
I tap my hand idly on the table top. "Yeah, I know. I just wonder how two people can be in love, start a family and then one day, it just stops. No lead up, no clues, just come home one day and say you need space." I stick the metal spoon beside me into my cup and stir the black liquid. "It doesn't make sense."
"Most of life doesn't make sense. Yet we still fight for every day we can."
"I'm a lover not a fighter."
"You are a father. You will fight for your child."
As much as I want to believe I am a peaceful man, Iris is right. I'll fight tooth and nail for Finny.
Iris sips her coffee. "Ooh, very strong today."
I raise my cup to my lips. "Good, I need a little strength today."
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be clearly marked to show who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry has met senior citizen, Iris. They hit it off and become good friends. Jameson has acquired a lawyer to handle his divorce and Iris has had her will changed.
*********************************
IRIS
By the time we are finishing our coffee, Jameson seems less depressed. Poor dear, he just can't see past life with Claire. He mentioned taking out a loan to pay for his attorney's fees. I wish I could tell him not to worry. He may not have a pot to piss in, as they say, but that will change. He doesn't know it but I do.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, picking up the small laminated menu tucked in between the ketchup and salt and pepper shakers.
He shakes his head. "I'll heat something up when I get home."
"They have really good sandwiches here. My treat."
"Oh, no really, you don't have to."
I put the menu on the table and slide it across to him. "I just don't want to eat another meal alone."
Jameson smiled and picks up the menu. "Well, I definitely understand that."
Had Daniel lived, I truly hope that he would be like Jameson. Though I've never seen him interact with his little boy, I have no doubt he is a good father.
Lou had been a good father. His love of baseball had somehow been genetically passed down to Daniel. Endless evenings the two of them would go out to the back yard to learn a new pitch or how to read a player. Lou's best advice was, "Danny-boy, you never want to be a one trick pony. Learn to play every position. And don't ever be satisfied just being a jock. Be the best at everything you try."
I think it was Lou's dream for Daniel to be a jock, but he was wise enough to encourage him to spread his wings. Poor baby, he never really got to spread them. I feel something catch in my throat and look up to see Jameson watching me.
"Sorry, just a tickle," I say. "I have a favor to ask you."
"Of course," he says.
"If you aren't busy on Wednesday, would you mind going with me to my doctor's appointment?"
"Sure. No problem. I can pick you up and take you there, as well."
"Thank you, I think it's going to be a lot of information and I might get a little overwhelmed."
We order our sandwiches and take them outside to the little cafe table. "When do you see Finny again?"
"Hoping this weekend. I'm going to pack up some of Claire's stuff and ask her to come get it. I might need to get a roommate once the dust settles."
"I toyed with the idea of renting out a room after Lou had passed. Thank goodness, Gertrude was there to scare the bejesus out of me. The thing with Gertrude is, she's a self-proclaimed authority on things she honestly knows nothing about."
"She sounds like a character."
He's smiling now, no longer sad and down trodden. I watch as he attacks his ham and cheese sub with gusto.
"Where are you from, Jameson? I don't think we've ever gone over that?"
"Just outside of Raleigh. Both Claire and I are from the same area. We went to different schools."
"Do you miss it? Raleigh, I mean."
"Culturally, very much. But I really enjoy the slower pace here in Patterson. I feel like it's safer here. A good place to raise kids."
I nod. "In one aspect, it is safer, but young people get bored. Tends to lead to different problems."
"Drugs?" He smiles warily. "Drugs are everywhere, Iris."
"Maybe it feels worse here because there's no anonymity. We know each other here. A story about drugs is always worse when there is a name you know attached to it. But, you're right about Patterson. The crime rate isn't like the city. Neighbors look out for each other."
He takes his trash to the garbage bin near the light pole,then comes back to sit in his seat again. "What time is your appointment on Wednesday?"
"Ten."
"I'll pick you up at nine thirty sharp. Will that be enough time?"
I press my napkin to my lips, blotting so I don't wipe my lipstick off. "That will be perfect." I reach for my purse to pull out the small note pad I keep handy. "Let me just find my pen and I'll jot down my address."
"Iris, just tell me your address and I'll put it in my phone." He laughs as I stare at him blankly. "I can pull up a map on my phone. You've never heard of Google maps?"
"I'd be lying if I said otherwise."
"Despite the cell phone having a bad reputation, it has made a lot of things very simple."
"Clever boy," I say, smiling as he types in my address.
"Okay. It's all in there. I'll be at your house Wednesday at nine-thirty."
He walks me to my car and waits until I back out of my parking space before he starts walking home.
I probably should have told him what to expect next Wednesday. It's not fair of me to hit him with this. But, truth be known, I'm scared of what Dr. Chalmers is going to tell me. I can't face it alone.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled to show who is narrating.
So far, Jameson has met Iris. His marriage is falling apart and he has called his estranged wife's bluff and hired an attorney. Iris is getting her affairs in order and has changed her will.
*********************************
JAMESON
I convince Claire to come get the items I've packed up for her. Initially, she wanted to leave Fin with her sister but I made it clear I expected to see him when she showed up.
He's excited to see Heston, who is equally excited to see him. The two of them make an odd couple. But it does my heart good to see them interacting. Heston makes little whimpering noises as he wags his back end. He circles Claire but she pushes him aside impatiently.
"He hasn't gotten any calmer, I see," she says stepping around him.
"He's just excited to see you."
Reluctantly, she runs her hand across the top of his head, once, and only once. She was never a fan of Heston's. She thought he was adorable when I brought him home at eight weeks old, but as soon as she realized how big he would grow, he wound up on her shit list ... as did I.
"I'll take Finny to the playground and we'll grab McDonald's. I packed as much as I could find, but look around to see if I've missed anything."
She makes a terse little noise in her throat. There is no eye contact today.
"Claire, this is for the best."
An icy smile graces her face. "The divorce or cleaning any trace of me out of here."
I take a deep sobering breath. "Is this how it's going to be from now on?"
"What? You expect us to be friends?"
Don't fight in front of Fin. Just pick him up and leave. But I can't get to the door before I say what's circling the tip of my tongue. "Why would I expect us to be friends now? We've never been friends, Claire."
"Fuck you, Jameson. Fuck you for that."
Instantaneous regret hits me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
I don't wait for her response or for her to accept my apology. I go into the living room and crouch down beside Fin. "Want to go to the playground?"
His eyes light up, and he scrambles off the couch. His fat little fingers wrap around my thumb as he pulls me towards the front door.
"Claire, we're heading out. If you need anything, just text me."
Finny is blowing kisses to Heston and as I turn around I see Claire, leaning against the door frame to the bedroom. Nothing remotely akin to warmth is in her eyes. I see a stranger.
**********************************
Fin and I build rock castles at the playground. Every time I get one going, he runs over and knocks it down. He erupts with laughter as I throw my hands in the air. I jump up and chase him, then scoop him into my arms and tell him I'm going to eat him up. His laughter melts away any of the anxiety I felt with Claire back at the house. I feel human again.
"Let's go get some dinner. We can take a milkshake to your mom, okay?"
Fin shakes his head no.
"Sorry, buddy, but I'm overriding you on this. We will take one back to her."
**********************************
She's sitting on the couch when we get home. Heston curled up beside her. She looks up and I can see her red rimmed eyes. Though she isn't crying now, I can tell she has been.
"Brought you a milkshake. It was Fin's idea." I hold the cup out to her.
Fin crawls up into her lap and leans his head back against her. "Thank you, Finny," she says, kissing the top of his head. Her eyes settle on me and she smiles just enough to let me know she appreciates the peace offering.
"If you're hungry, I can fix you something."
She shakes her head. "It's a long drive and it'll be getting dark soon. We need to hit the road."
It's just as well. End on a good note. I carry the boxes to her car, loading all that I can in the trunk and next to Fin's car seat. "I'll bring whatever is left when I come see Fin this weekend."
Claire stands, looks around. "I guess this is it." She takes it all in, not to see if she's left anything, rather to say goodbye to us. "Are you going to go for full custody?"
"No. You're a wonderful mother, Claire. He needs both of us. Why would I cheat him out of that?"
She shrugs. "Just figured when you told me you got a lawyer, you'd go for my throat."
"I still love you, Claire. I never wanted to hurt you. And, I never want to hurt Fin. He needs both of us."
She chews the inside of her lip and looks away. "We better go," she says softly.
I lean over and kiss her cheek. "I wish more than anything things were different."
I walk them out, fastening Fin into the car seat and giving him a hug and a kiss. Then I close Claire's door and step back.
As she pulls out of the driveway, I realize my marriage is over. We didn't end it screaming and yelling at each other. We ended it the same way it began, with a kiss.
Now, that's irony for you.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson has met a senior citizen, Iris. They meet for coffee weekly. Iris is wise and grounded and it is just what he needs. He has filed for divorce, and Iris is in the final stage of heart failure. Unbeknownst to him, she has changed her will making him beneficiary of her estate.
**********************************
IRIS
The shutting down of one's body is like being lost in a maze. You find another obstacle every which way you turn. And, if that isn't bad enough, your mind is about all you can say hasn't changed. I've never been a genius. But, I can honestly say I still feel sharp, mind intact, and fully aware that I'm trapped in a broken down shell.
My grandfather lived with my family when I was a little girl. As his body started to give out, he grew mean. Snapping at John and me for the smallest things. I started to resent him, to the point where I wouldn't come into the room if he was in there. It hurt because he had always been such a sweet old man before he got sick.
My mother explained it the best way she knew how. "Iris, he still loves you. He's afraid. His mind is still sharp as a tack. It wants to fight, but his body wants to rest."
I understand now. My mind isn't ready. No matter how tired my body is, I'm not ready to leave this place.
Jameson pulls to the curb at precisely nine-thirty. He hops out of the car and jogs up to the porch where I sit, enjoying the light breeze. He's clean shaven, dressed in black pants and a powder blue shirt.
"My goodness, you look very daper,"
I say, standing and reaching for the porch railing.
Color rushes to his cheeks. "I guess I clean up pretty well. Can't show up looking homeless." He reaches for my arm.
After making it down the walk to his car, he looks past me. "Your house is beautiful. I like the brick. You don't see that very often around here."
"Lou, my late husband, insisted on brick. Said brick was about the only material that would stand up to a hurricane."
He starts the car and he looks over at me. "Tell me about your husband. What was he like?"
I think about it. "Well, he either liked you or he didn't. He didn't care if you were a bank president or a janitor. If you treated people with respect, you were on the good list. He hated a phony."
"You and he must have had a lot in common. Cause I know you don't put up with a lot."
He means it as a compliment. I can tell by his smile. "He would have liked you, Jameson."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Jameson pulls up in front of the building where Dr. Chalmers' office is. He pops on his hazards and runs around to open my door. "I'll find a parking spot and meet you inside."
*********************************
Jameson sits in the waiting room while the sweet little nurse takes me into an examination room and checks my vital signs.
I follow Dr. Chalmers back to his office while the nurse goes to get Jameson.
"I'm Jeffrey Chalmers, Iris's doctor," he says, extending his hand to Jameson, as soon as he walks in.
"Jameson Petry, nice to meet you."
He motions for us to sit. "I'm guessing she's filled you in on why we're here today."
Jameson nods but looks toward me nervously. "Yes, sir."
I clear my throat in an effort to remind the good doctor that I'm sitting right here.
"Okay. Things are going to start getting a bit tougher now. "
"Wonderful." My words come out sharply. Sharper than I intended.
"First thing we need to go over is how you want to handle things. Would you like hospice to come in or would you prefer to have hospital care?"
"There's no one to take care of me at home, so, I guess it's the hospital."
Dr. Chalmers writes it down. "I'm going to suggest we put you down as a DNR." He looks up, waiting for me. I can't argue about that but I sure as hell don't want to acknowledge it either.
Jameson looks at Dr. Chalmers then at me. "DNR?"
"Do not resuscitate," I say quietly.
"What exactly does that mean?"
"It means no measures will be taken once she starts actively dying. We will make sure she's comfortable."
Jameson goes pale. "Can I ask why?"
Dr. Chalmers takes off his glasses and pauses before looking at me, not as a doctor but as a friend. Someone who has been there since the beginning. "Congestive heart failure is, in its final stage, neither pretty nor pleasant. Why would we want to prolong it?"
Jameson nods. His jaw is tight. He's fighting to maintain composure. Maybe I've made a mistake. He already has so much going on. This may just be too much for him.
I reach over and squeeze his arm. "I've had a bit more time to get used to the idea."
Dr. Chalmers goes over the list of what to expect. I remain silent as I try to take it all in.
"Maybe I'll go in my sleep, like Lou. He looked so peaceful."
As our meeting of the minds ends, I realize we were only in there for eleven minutes. Eleven minutes to make the decisions to dictate your last days on earth.
Jameson is quiet, dare I say, shell shocked as we walk to the car.
"You can back out. I wouldn't blame you."
He stops walking, turns and hugs me. "No, ma'am. I'm gonna be here for you. You're all I've got."
By GWHARGIS
This story is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, thirty something Jameson meets senior citizen, Iris. He is estranged from his wife and she is in the end stages of Heart failure. They have become friends and Iris had changed her will. He has retained a lawyer. After going with Iris to her doctor's appointment, Jameson realizes she is much sicker than he thought.
***********************************
JAMESON
Iris is very calm in the office. She has a stoic facade that has me fooled until we step outside and I see her in the natural light of the day. She is shaken.
"You okay, Iris?" I ask.
She looks at me, nodding. I hug her tightly. I don't wait, because right now, Iris understands what the doctor has said. She understands what the DNR means, the fluid, the unpleasant journey she is about to embark on.
Her full weight leans into me. "Thank you for going with me. Thank you for asking questions. I don't think I could have gone inside with out you." She pushes back, becoming Iris again. "Thank you for caring about this old woman."
I smile. No words of comfort rise, but they wouldn't help anyway. That damned phrase, "it is what it is" comes to mind.
"I'm going to run into the coffee shop and then, well, I thought we could go for a drive. Are you up for that?"
Twenty minutes later, we pull up at the only beach access with an uninterrupted view of the ocean.
"I thought a change of scenery would do us both some good."
She takes a sip of her coffee and looks out at the waves. A calmness washes over her. "Would you mind if we went and sat on the deck for a few minutes?" She sets her coffee cup into the cup holder beside her.
"Let's go."
It takes a few minutes but we make it. I start to brush the sand off the bench but she stops me. "A little sand on the derriere never killed anyone." She sits back, tilting her face upward. Her eyes close and she just breathes. "Have you ever noticed how the ocean smells?"
"Never paid attention to it."
"Each season the ocean smells different. It's true. My husband used to tease me. He would say, "Iris, how can you smell water but you can't smell when the roast is burning?" She smiles broadly. An errant breeze lifts her silver hair.
I look out, the rhythmic sound of the waves making me forget the seriousness of the morning's start.
"Jameson, do you believe in the afterlife?"
"You mean heaven?" I think about it. There has to be something after this life. Good people should have some reward. Even if it's not pearly gates and streets paved with gold, there has to be some reward for good people. "I do. I very much believe it."
She and I sit there quietly for a few minutes more before she asks me to take her home.
"How is young Finny?" she asks.
"Good. I got to see him on Sunday. Claire came to get the rest of her stuff."
"How was that?"
Iris turns to study me. She wants the truth and she expects it. "Sad. It was the beginning of the end. But, there was no going back. We agreed to share Fin equally. She's a good mom. I'm thankful for that."
"He's a lucky little boy. I'm glad you two could set aside your differences to do what's right for him."
After I help her up to her door and make sure she's okay, I say, "I hate to do this, but I really need to go home and let Heston out. Do you need anything before I go?"
Iris steps closer. "Another hug would be nice."
**********************************
Heston barely makes it down the steps before he cocks his leg. Once he's finished, I walk him a couple of blocks then we head back home.
He curls up on the couch and I go to my computer. Three new jobs are waiting in my email. I'll spend the rest of the day in blue light heaven. But it will be an escape today. No soon to be ex-wife, no friend dying, no failed writer. Just codes and numbers, a sterile hiding place.
I stop working at seven, eat a can of ravioli while I scroll the television channels. Somewhere between channel sixty-three and channel two hundred and ten, I fall asleep. I wake up still holding the remote and the light of the morning sun is spilling in through the window.
I glance at my phone. It's nearly eleven a.m. I feel good but in a guilty way. It's been a few years since I've slept in. But the past week has been pretty tough.
I call Iris as Heston and I go for our morning walk.
"I'm just checking in on you. I'm going to be chained to my computer for the day, but if you need anything, I can run over."
"No. I should be good. Gertrude is coming for dinner. She's bringing a casserole and we are going to watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy."
"Good. That sounds like fun. How about tomorrow we grab some coffee."
"Sounds perfect."
Heston and I return home and I dive right back into work. As I stop to fix a sandwich, I catch a glimpse of the boxes by the door. All that remains of Claire is there. I go grab the afghan off the couch and toss it over the stack. Out of sight, but still very much on my mind.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be marked to show who is narrating.
So far, Jameson has filed for divorce from his estranged wife, Claire. He has gone with his senior citizen friend, Iris, to her doctor. It is finally clear to him just how sick she is.
**********************************
IRIS
Sometimes I can predict what is going to come out of Gert's mouth, and then there are times when I am speechless.
"Gert, you know I have heart issues. I've made that no secret."
Gert pauses setting the table and knits her brow. "Did something happen?"
I try to think of the simplest way to tell her where I'm at now. I don't want her going all hysterical on me. "I haven't much longer. My heart is starting to shut down on me."
I wait for the tears. Instead, she stiffens and nods curtly. "I can't say that I'm surprised. You've become quite the spectacle with this May-December thing going on."
"Are you talking about Jameson?"
"I don't know, am I?"
"Good Lord, Gert. He's young enough to be my grandson." I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but if I do, I'll start that damned coughing.
"This town has eyes. People talk."
I roll my eyes. "I know it has eyes. Plenty of them. What it lacks is brains and common sense. You have your facts mixed up."
This time it's Gertrude who rolls her eyes. "Someone saw the two of you holding hands in the coffee shop."
"He's going through something. I'm going through something. He's my friend, Gert. End of story."
"That's not how it appears. And why is this the first I'm hearing about him?"
"I've mentioned him before. Countless times, actually."
Gert sets the plates down and puts her hands on her hips. "Well, Millie Stanforth, you know that terrible soprano in the choir, she said that you and he were ... embracing on the street. Now, while Millie may not be able to carry a tune in a bucket, she does not lie."
"No, she wasn't lying. She did misinterpret what she saw and she made up what she wanted to see. She's a gossip and you, Gert, are no better because you believed it. And another thing. I don't give a damn what these small minded, malicious people think."
"Apparently, not."
I hold up my hand. "Shut it, Gert, and let me finish. This young man has come into my life when I needed it most. He is my friend ... that is it. So, if you would rather believe this rubbish that is being said, have at it."
Gertrude's eyes are wide. She's never been one to stand her ground. "I never said I believed it."
"It certainly sounded like it to me. So, pick a lane. You either believe that I'm telling you the truth or I'm some harlot who's, ugh, I can't even finish the statement."
Gertrude shrugs as if she's the one offering the olive branch.
After small talk and dinner, we make our way over to the couch and turn on the television. We watch Wheel of Fortune in silence. Midway through Jeopardy, Gertrude looks over. "I miss Alec Trebec. He was so handsome."
I accept the olive branch. "He was very handsome, indeed."
Most friendships would have ended after a dressing down like the one I gave her. But old birds like us, we just flap our wings and squawk a bit. Then we settle in to watch television.
It isn't until after she leaves that I think about what she said. Everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame. Was my fifteen minutes spent as a geriatric harlot? I laugh out loud at the thought. Coughing be damned, that's funny.
| Author Notes | Sorry folks but this is a short one. |
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be marked as to who is narrating. So far, Jameson is in the midst of a divorce, and has opted to be Iris's emergency contact. Iris is starting to show more signs of heart failure. She has changed her will. Now she finds out she is the subject of church gossip.
**********************************
JAMESON
Working like a maniac, I manage to finish two small jobs. The good thing about my line of work is I get automatic payments as soon as I submit the finished job. Today I venmo money to Claire for Finny's expenses. I venmo Amanda as well. If I know Claire, she isn't giving Amanda a dime for watching Fin. Within ten minutes I get a texted thank you from Mandy. I hear nothing from Claire.
I take a shower, order a pizza and while I wait I dig through the closet for my leather bound journal. My mother gave it to me several years ago. Claire tucked it away, her subtle way of discouraging my silly hobby.
I wander over to the couch. I slide my palm across the smooth soft cover. My initials are stamped in the lower right corner. The edges of the pages are gold. It's showy, I'm used to notebooks from the Dollar General. But tonight, I'm going to christen this.
Tonight, I will write for Iris.
The pizza is cold when I finally set my pen down. It's rough. I haven't written in so long, but it feels incredible. The words, images pouring out of me. Four pages, edited, scratched through in hurried passes. Now, I have something, rough and raw, yet I feel like Iris will like it.
Blushing skies
like a nervous bride rising,
peeking over hilltops of gold.
The world awaits
Another day of wheat fields,
swaying under gentle winds.
Dragonflies lighting on dancing stalks.
She bounds out, tangled hair
and bare feet.
Cunning and agile
Fighter of imaginary foes.
Curling toes in fresh cold mud.
Childish ways like summer heat
pass, and she grows
Woman's body and sharpened mind.
Heart taken by a kindred spirit.
She is tickled when a child arrives,
with freckles and pale skin.
A fleeting being, one day gone.
Still she sees him, pictures tucked
in her heart.
A heart now beating for both.
Loves now seen in the reflection of
the blushing skies.
I read it over and over. It needs tweaking. I know I can polish it over time, but time is the one thing I don't have with Iris. If I know Iris, like I think I do, she will like it.
**********************************
Iris makes her way to the table. She's a few minutes late, but I filled my idle time by calling and talking to Fin.
"I'm so sorry, Jameson. I got tied up at the hairdressers. I should have called. Have you been waiting long?" She is winded and I jump up to get her chair for her.
"You look lovely. Worth the wait."
She laughs as she settles into the seat. "So, you've gotten a lot of work done?"
"Probably more in the past couple of days than in the entire time since Claire left."
"That's good, right?"
I nod. "How was your evening with Miss Gertrude?"
Iris raises one eyebrow, slowly shaking her head. "She is something else. I'll leave it at that."
"Sounds like there's a story there ... but I probably don't need to hear it."
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."
Small talk fills the time between the waitress taking our orders and returning with our steaming mugs.
I finally work up the nerve to show her the poem. I rewrote it on a clean sheet of paper.
"I, uh, wrote something. I'm not Keats, but I hope you like it." I slide the folded paper over to her.
She smiles pleasantly as she reads. I watch as the words start to sink in. There is no mistaking the poem is about her. Blue eyes lift to meet mine. "I don't know what to say."
"Do you like it?"
"It's beautiful. You've captured my life. Each line," she says, eyes welling with tears. "I could see John and I running out the door, straight into the fields. We used to have a mud bakery after it rained. Mud pies and cakes. Ooh, my mother would get so mad at us for getting dirty." She pauses and looks down at the paper. "You really wrote this about me? You are truly gifted, Jameson. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently."
"It's easy when you have the right inspiration and the right audience."
She folds the paper and starts to hand it back but hesitates. "May I have this?"
"That's for you to keep."
Iris slides it into her purse beside her. She can't stop smiling, as she sips her coffee she blanches. "Your poem got my mind off my coffee making. I forgot to add my sweetener." Once her coffee is up to par, she continues smiling.
The look on her face is better than any literary accolade. And for the first time in quite a while, I feel like a writer again.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry meets seventy something, Iris. He is in the midst of a separation and she urges him to retain a lawyer. He accompanies Iris to her doctor to go over end of life care. He is sick at the thought of losing her but agrees to stand by her. She, in the meantime, has changed her will making him beneficiary. He has no idea. At their recent meeting for coffee, he gives her a poem he wrote especially for her.
*********************************
IRIS
Every few minutes I pull the poem out of my purse, re-reading it over and over. I'm still stunned at the thoughtful verse he wrote. The boy is extremely talented. No one has ever taken the time to write something specifically for me. Even Lou used Hallmark as his mouthpiece. It's the thought, I know, but this was like a beam of light putting me in the spotlight. I had to share it with no one.
Lou's picture sits on the end table next to the couch. I used to talk to it daily. I'm certain people with degrees and doctorates would say I was in denial about his absence. All I know is it kept him close. Over time our conversations grew less and less, but there are still days when I need to talk to him. Today is one of those days.
"You'd like him, Lou. He's a good kid. He's taking good care of me. Listen to what he wrote for me," I say, picking up the paper to recite.
The photograph smiles, frozen in that one moment. Lifting the frame, I press it to my chest. We sit like that for a few minutes. And for those few moments I feel less alone.
*********************************
The alarm clock glows in the darkness of my bedroom. Three sixteen a.m. announces itself with my heart beating wildly in my chest. I feel my lungs fighting to keep me from breathing. My mouth gasping greedily but only tiny bits making it into me.
"Breathe, damn it." I reach over to grab the emergency inhaler from the top drawer of my bedside table. I close my eyes and concentrate. Mind over matter. I made it through labor, delivering a large, healthy baby, I can do this. Focusing every bit of energy into breathing, I exhale and puff on the inhaler. Once, then a second time. Within a few minutes I can breathe easier.
I lean back against the headboard and close my eyes. Thinking about the girl with tangled hair and bare feet, the girl from Jameson's poem. Where is she now? I want to be her, not this old crow, struggling for every breath. Anger wells up inside of me.
"What did I do to deserve this," I croak into the darkness. "Just take me quickly. Why do I have to go through this?"
My grandfather had died an angry man, never accepting his fate. I won't do that. I don't want my final days to be like this. This is my lot in life. I don't have to be happy about it, but I refuse to waste time being angry. Anger robs you. It changes nothing.
***********************************
The nurse from Dr. Chalmer's office tells me to come in after lunch. I call just to let them know about last night.
"I'm better today."
She tells me that Dr. Chalmers insists. "You know how he can be when it comes to his favorite patient," she says, teasing me. "Just get here when you can. Otherwise, he'll be pouting all afternoon."
I start the slow process of getting ready, then have a pack of nabs and a coke before I head out.
***********************************
"I'm afraid there's fluid building up around your heart now." He checks my swollen ankles.
"There's no million dollar drug that will buy me another month or two?"
He isn't his usual playful self. He looks sombre. "Not this time."
"So, I guess now we wait."
"I'm sorry, Iris, but that's exactly what we do. We wait."
I look away, busying myself with the edge of the paper gown. "Well, I'll go ahead and get dressed. I've got things to do."
Dr. Chalmers leaves me to dress.
There is a calmness that settles over me once I leave. I sit in my car, cleaning out my purse, not ready to go home yet. I need to make one stop before I go home to wait.
Four miles outside of Patterson Proper lies Curry's Grove Cemetery. I follow the road around to the back of the property, and pocket my rescue inhaler before exiting the sanctuary of my car.
Daniel's gravestone glimmers in the sunlight. My sweet little boy resting next to his father.
"Good news," I say. "I'll be seeing you both very soon."
I listen to the songbirds in the branches above me. They carry on, still singing, still flitting from one branch to another. Keeping watch over the cemetery, oblivious to the heartache these stones represent.
*********************************
Maybe it was the sound of my voice when Gertrude called, but she rushes over.
"What happened?" She sounds panicky, her voice shrill.
"I had an episode last night. I couldn't breathe well for a while. I was fine in the morning, but my doctor had me come in. Gert, there's fluid building around my heart."
She makes a face. "Can they drain it?"
"No. And it wouldn't matter anyway. It would just keep coming back."
Gert moans, eyes full of tears that threaten to pour forth. "You asked them? Did you?"
"I asked them several different things. This is what it is. I just wanted you to know."
She turns away, twisting her mouth, trying to keep from crying.
I reach over and squeeze her hand. "It'll be okay."
She won't look at me. "Are you in any pain?"
"Thankfully, no."
"What can I do?"
"Pray that it's quick."
Her shoulders shake and she heaves a raw cry.
"Please, don't. It's too soon for tears."
She sits with me in the quiet.
"Let's have a toast," I say.
Gertrude goes to the liquor cabinet and pulls two bottles out. I have no idea how old they are, but I doubt something eighty proof has an expiration date.
I should be so lucky.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry meets seventy something, Iris. They talk about life and seem to fill a need for each other. He becomes her emergency contact and good friend. She gives him advice and shows him what it takes to be strong in the face of adversity.
**********************************
In the past couple of weeks I've been happier. Part of it is because I can concentrate. I'm not waiting on Claire any more. I have a new goal. Being the best father I can be. And, you can't be a good anything if you're focused on the wrong thing.
Iris had said after her little boy had passed, she had started to shut down. She realized she had to choose to be happy. I might never have Fin more than a few days a week, or I might only see him every other Christmas. I have to choose to be happy. Whatever time I get with him, I'll be happy and thankful for it.
I take Heston for a quick walk and grab my keys. Today is my lucky day. Claire is in Raleigh and Amanda has to cover for someone at work. That means I get Fin.
*********************************
Fin is so happy to see me when I pull into the drive. He runs as fast as he can down the sidewalk, yelling, "Daddy's here. Daddy's here."
Mandy shoots me a thumbs up and hops into her car. She rolls the window down and waves at Finny. "She should be home after 6. At least, that's what she told me."
"Doesn't matter. I'm just glad you called me. Have a good night."
I look down at Finny. He's grown in the past few months. Using more words, running faster, he's turning into a little boy.
We spend most of the afternoon outside in the yard. There's nothing wrong with Amanda's house, but it's not my house. I fix French fries and chicken nuggets for dinner then we eat on the front porch steps.
Fin starts to get cranky around seven-thirty. I pull him into my lap and tell him a story. He's fast asleep when Claire pulls into the driveway.
"What are you doing here? Where's Mandy?"
I stand, shifting my sleeping boy in my arms. "She had to work." I step aside so she can grab the door.
She let's me put Fin to bed, giving me a few minutes to watch him. I press my lips to his cheek before returning to the living room.
"Well, thanks," Claire says, she won't look me in the eye, instead she glances towards the door.
"No need to thank me."
Her phone buzzes and she grabs it. She looks around nervously as it buzzes. "I really need to take this."
I show myself out. "See ya, Claire." She doesn't hear me, she's too busy giggling into the phone.
***********************************
Iris sounds tired when I call her the following morning. "You alright?"
She sighs. "Just over did it yesterday."
"Are you free for coffee?"
"Of course. One of my favorite things is our coffee dates."
I smile because I feel the same. Iris has never judged me or made me feel any other way than safe. And, she's seen me at my weakest moments.
"Let me go get presentable. I'll meet you in an hour."
"Iris, you always look lovely."
She laughs lightly. "That's very kind of you to say ... even though I know it's utter bullshit."
*********************************
She's out of breath when she arrives. Her chest rises and falls like someone who just finished a race. She stands just inside the door of the coffee shop and rummages through her bag. Her hand comes out with an inhaler. She quickly shakes it and inhales as deeply as she can.
I get up and walk over to her. "Next time, I'm coming to get you."
She waves her hand, still panting but not nearly as bad. "It wouldn't matter if you carried me on your shoulders. This is how it is now."
I help her with her chair and sit down across from her since there is nothing I can say to ease the ugly truth. "I got to see Finny yesterday. Amanda, his aunt, got called into work and Claire was in Raleigh."
"I'll bet that was nice for both of you."
"He's growing up so fast. It's like every time I see him, he's grown."
She nods. "It does seem like that, doesn't it?"
"I think Claire has met someone."
Iris looks over, concern clouding her eyes. "Did she say something?"
I shake my head. "No. She got a phone call as I was leaving. She seemed, nervous, I guess that's the best way to describe it. Said she had to take the call. It's pure speculation but ," I look across at Iris. "It really doesn't matter."
"You've a right to your feelings, Jameson. Even though you're ready to move on, seeing her do so is bound to hurt."
Iris finally opens up about her breathing scare. "I couldn't put off telling Gertrude any longer. She's a pain in my rear some days, but she's been through everything with me. I owed her the truth."
"I'm sure she's upset."
"Calls me every few hours. She doesn't find it funny that I answer by saying, 'I'm not dead yet.' I think it's hysterical."
I can't keep a serious face. This is Iris. A true lady one moment, and a teamster the next. "That's funny, Iris. Wrong but funny."
Iris smiles. Her eyes twinkle with renewed life. "I'm not going to go out angry or frightened. I may have come into the world crying, but I'm going out laughing."
"Guess I should learn a few jokes, shouldn't I?
She winks. "One or two."
I walk her to her car after we've finished our coffee. I hug her tightly as I realize that our coffee days are coming to an end.
"I'll call you tomorrow. But, if you need anything in the mean time, please call me."
"Deal."
I step back on the curb after closing her car door. As she backs out I turn to walk home.
I'm a lucky man. I really couldn't see that when my life started to spin out of control. But now, I see that I will never be the same again. Thanks to Iris, I know what's important in my life. Friends and family. And it doesn't matter if it's just my son and dog or one friend. I need them.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson has met senior citizen, Iris. They have become friends. She has taught him to stand up for himself, and he makes her feel less alone as her condition worsens.
Jameson wrote a poem for her. It's the first thing he's written in a while. Iris, unbeknown to Jameson has changed her will, making him beneficiary of her entire estate.
**********************************
IRIS
Mitchell calls me, telling me to come to his office tomorrow afternoon. He's going to go over all of the changes to my will.
It's the first positive thing to happen in a while. Finalizing things for Jameson and his little boy's future.
**********************************
Mitchell sits behind his big desk, a pair of readers low on his nose as he reads line by line what my estate is. He gives me an approximation of how long it will take to get everything into Jameson's hands.
"We'll have to see if he has any leins or is in collections. Those things will have to be taken care of first." Mitchell looks over his glasses to see if I have anything to offer.
"He hasn't mentioned anything. But, truth be known, I don't really have a clue what his finances are." I lift my purse up and pull out a folded cache of papers. "Oh, I found these. I'd forgotten about them. Some investments Lou made. Will you take care of these as well?"
Mitchell leans forward to take the papers. He puts them on top of the now finalized stack, then pulls his glasses off. "Are you sure there's no family you want to include? This kid is a stranger."
"Mitchell, do I look stupid? Do you think I've fallen victim to an elaborate scammer? He's never so much as asked me to buy him a coffee. We are friends. I know, it's odd. I've been informed how it looks, but this is no May/December romance." I pause, look down at my hands. "He's like a son to me. I'm like a grandmother to him."
Mitchell smiles. "Just asking, Iris."
"I'm of sound mind, as for the body ... not so much."
"Well, he's going to be a very comfortable young man, financially speaking."
"Good. Oh, one question. He's going through a divorce. What happens if she tries to go for half?"
He looks over at me and winks. "I'm a good lawyer. Leave that to me."
"You're a very good lawyer, and a wonderful friend."
**********************************
It takes me a while to settle down at bedtime. I've been terrified since my uncomfortable episode the other night. But, I fall asleep, knowing that Jameson and his son will be taken care of.
It's a good feeling.
***********************************
Jameson calls first thing in the morning. He's excited as he tells me about spending most of last night writing.
"It's about a little girl and her baby brother. Their adventures with their dog. If you've got some time, and only if you're interested, I'd love for you to read it. Tell me what you think. I'd really love your feedback."
I think about the poem he wrote for me. He's a gentle writer. Perfect for children. He isn't pretentious or silly, he writes through the eyes of innocence. "I'd be honored. Bring it over and join me for lunch. Gertrude brought a big pot of soup over yesterday. More than I can possibly eat alone. And bring Heston. I have a big fenced in backyard. Let him get used to playing in the yard."
"That sounds great. I just need to do a few things around here first. Is one o'clock too late?"
"One is fine."
"Oh, and Iris?"
"Yes?"
"This is a very rough draft. So, just keep that in mind."
"So, I should leave my red pen in the desk drawer?"
Jameson laughs.
The boy is a natural writer. It amuses me how nervous he is when I read his work. I'll never forget the look on his face when I finished reading the poem he gave me. He had no idea how beautiful it was. He has no idea how very special it made one old lady feel.
I settle back on the couch. He will come to understand it, though. I may not be around to see it, but he will soon find out just how special he is to me.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson meets seventy something, Iris. She helps him cope with an impending divorce and he stands by her as her heart condition worsens.
**********************************
JAMESON
The little girl in the story is named Violet. I had toyed with the idea of calling her Iris, but this is a work of fiction. I've only written four or five pages but they came to me so easily. I used to struggle. I fretted over every sentence, wanting to sound like Dickens or Hemingway. This was different. I just wanted to tell the story.
Now, comes the true test. Will she like it? Or will I see the look of dismissal that Claire used to give me. I used to feel so guilty when Claire would catch me writing. In her eyes, I was wasting time, and not just my time. I was wasting her time. After a while, the guilt outweighed the pleasure of writing.
It's what I am though. I'm a writer. Maybe I'll never be famous, or even published, but I can't stop. Seeing my messy scribbles on a piece of paper makes me happy.
I hook the leash to Heston's collar and take him for a long walk. I figure if I get him really tired he'll behave at Iris's.
After the walk, I put him in the car. I turn to face him. "You will be a good boy. You will be on your best behavior. No jumping on her or her furniture. No excessive sniffing. Lift your leg on anything in her house and you're dead meat. Got it?"
Awkwardly, he circles around on the backseat before plopping down.
*********************************
Iris is sitting on her front porch when we pull up. Her smile broadens as she sees Heston's big head poke through the half opened window.
"Good. I was afraid you wouldn't bring him." She holds out her hand as I walk him to her.
Heston pulls hard on his leash, trying to get to her. "Knock it off, Hes," I say.
"Let him go. He's fine."
I let the leash fall from my hand and hold my breath, praying he doesn't run full force and knock her over. But, as eager as he is, he crouches in front of her, his head resting on her knee.
"It's getting very warm. Let's go inside," she says.
I follow her in and she motions for me to sit at the dining room table. She goes into the kitchen and takes two glasses out of the cabinet. "Sweet tea, coffee or water? "
"Water's fine."
I watch as she takes deep breaths. She's struggling. Doing the simplest things and she's struggling to breathe.
"I have an idea. Why don't you sit here and pet Heston while I fix the drinks and heat up the soup."
She doesn't argue. She can't. Her blue eyes are faded and her cheeks flushed.
I put the pot of soup on the stove and stir it as it heats. "So, is your friend, Gertrude, a good cook or am I going to be grabbing a burger after I leave here?"
"She used to be. Nothing fancy but she can hold her own."
I carry the two bowls of steaming soup to the table.
"If it's no good, we can toss it and order pizza." She raises an eyebrow and winks.
She eats several spoonfuls then puts her spoon down.
"It's gotten pretty bad, hasn't it?" I ask. I can't pretend I don't notice.
"They're delivering an oxygen machine on Friday."
"That's good though. It'll help you."
She nods but I can see the humiliation in her eyes. She's a proud lady. To be dependent on a machine for every breath must be like a punch in the stomach to her.
"You know what sucks about getting old, I mean really old?" She doesn't wait for me to answer just looks at the half eaten bowl of soup in front of her. "From the moment you take your first breath of life, people are telling you what to do. They teach you words, how to use a fork and knife, to read and write, to drive. But then, it somehow goes awry. No one tells you how to die. You have to figure it out on your own. They can tell you what's killing you, but then it's up to you."
I wait for her to cry or tear up but she doesn't. She simply looks me in the eye with a slight smile and taps the table lightly. "And, that sucks."
She doesn't want my pity. All she needs is someone to listen.
We put Heston out to run around in her backyard. He is busy sprinkling every bush, tree or flower he sees.
"Now, I'd like to read that story of yours," she says as we go into the living room.
"It's a rough draft. Just remember that." I hand her the pages.
She reads each page, a smile gracing her face as her eyes travel across the page. She looks up after she's finished. "You are so gifted. I can't say talented because lots of writers are talented. You have a gift. I could see it all. I could feel the breeze and smell the rain as it started to get close. You captured the feeling of childhood."
"You liked it?"
"Very much. Promise me you'll finish it." she says.
"Do you have any pictures of you and John from your childhood? "
"Sit right here. I'll get my albums."
Iris goes to one of the bookshelves and pulls a worn black album off. "This is mostly filled with pictures before I was married. Not in great condition but this is it." She sits beside me, the book open on her lap. She tells me about her parents, there are several pictures of Daphne, her old Wolfhound. "This was John." A black and white photo shows a boy about six or seven standing next to her parents. He was a cute kid.
"John passed about four, no wait, it's been five years now. Started smoking as a teenager, got COPD and caught pneumonia after Christmas. Was gone within a week." She traces her finger across the picture. "Best little brother anyone could want."
"I'll bet he thought you were the best big sister."
She shakes her head. "He said I was bossy." She grins. She sits back on the couch. "In just a couple of minutes I'm going to tackle that kitchen."
"No, you're going to sit back and tell me some of your childhood adventures while I clean up the kitchen."
"If no one has ever told you this, Jameson, you're a God send."
While I clean up the kitchen, Iris takes me back with her to play in the fields with John and Daphne.
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry has become friends with Iris, a seventy something woman who is dying of heart disease. They have shared their lives and problems with each other. She encourages him to start writing again and has had her lawyer change her will, making him the sole beneficiary. Jameson has no idea. He realizes she may not make it much longer and he is determined to learn as much about her as possible.
**********************************
IRIS
Jameson let me ramble for a good part of the afternoon. He's a good listener, teasing me and calling me Rambo when I told him about the time I punched one of the Davis twins right in the nose. But I had no choice. He was picking on my baby brother. If you have siblings, then you know you protect them. You are the only one allowed to bully them.
It was a good afternoon. I showed him the entire house. Jokingly, he pointed to the small study that Lou used as a home office, and said it would make a wonderful place to write in. He was fascinated with Lou's old manual typewriter. I insisted he take it, but he wouldn't. This is how I know he's of pure heart. He wants nothing from me.
I put the photo albums back on the shelf. I feel it happening. My chest tightens, only small shallow breaths allowed.
I fumble for my phone, pressing the number for emergency services. While the operator takes my information, the paramedics, police and fire department all show up.
"All this for a little trouble breathing," I try to joke as a nice young man leads me to the couch.
"We only do this for certain people," he says, smiling like a young Paul Newman. He checks my pulse, listens to my heart. "Any history of heart issues?"
"I'm in the final stages of congestive heart failure."
The young Paul Newman looks over at the other paramedic. "We'd like to take you for a ride. Maybe we should have a doc look you over."
"I have a DNR on file. It would be a wasted trip."
He nods slowly. "Okay, well then, we are more than happy to hang around until this passes. Are you up for a party?" He winks.
"Thank you."
I offer to fix them coffee, but they make me sit. Instead, we talk. Small talk can be a wonderful thing. It passes the time, you can learn a great deal about people. For instance, Paul is getting married in October. His partner has twins who are starting their senior year.
They are funny and attentive. I'm thankful I'm not alone. Without warning, my heart starts with a crazy beat.
Paul leans forward, steadying me so I don't fall off the couch. "Mrs. Taylor, what's happening now? Do you feel like you're getting light headed or like you're about to pass out?"
My hand flutters to my chest. Maybe if I press my hand to my chest, it'll stop beating uncontrollably. I want to assure him this will pass. It always passes. But I can't form a sentence.
Gently they lay me back on the couch. "Stay calm, Mrs. Taylor. We're right here. We're gonna take good care of you."
Paul turns to see his partner hurrying towards me, a portable defibrillator in his hands. He shakes his head. "Put it back. She's a DNR. Go get the stretcher."
I don't hear much of what they're saying. The sound of my blood pumping fills my ears, roaring like the ocean waves. Paul squeezes my hand, " Is there anyone we can call for you?"
I open my mouth but I can't speak. It's breathy sounds coming from my throat. "Jameson."
Paul looks to see if his partner can understand. "We're going to get you to the hospital right now. You hold on to my hand, alright?"
I try to, I truly try to hold onto his warm hand but my fingers loosen, my hand sliding to land at my side.
I close my eyes as they shut the ambulance doors. The siren sounds like it's miles away. It had been so loud, shrill the day they took Daniel away. I wonder if he heard them ...
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson meets seventy something, Iris. She is a much needed supporter for his writing. He is there to help her through her worsening health. She has changed her will to make him the sole beneficiary. He has no idea. They had lunch yesterday and Jameson noticed how Iris is struggling more and more.
**********************************
The bedroom is pitch black. The buzzing of my cell phone drags me out of my deep sleep. I squint, trying to make out the phone number. It isn't one I recognize. It's a local number and isn't flagged as a scam call.
"Hello," I say, my voice barely audible.
"Have I reached Jameson Petry ?"
I pull myself up until I'm sitting against the headboard. "Yes."
"My name is LaShaundra West and I'm with Patterson County Hospital. I'm sorry to be calling so late, but we have a Mrs. Iris Taylor here. You were listed as her next of kin," she says.
I feel my stomach lurch. Suddenly, I'm wide awake. Iris is in the hospital. "What's happened? Can I speak with her?"
"Mr. Petry, she's in the emergency department right now. I was wondering if you could come down here and help with the paperwork. She's being admitted and she's having difficulty breathing. It would be a great help if you could come on down here."
"Uh, yes. I just need to take care of a couple of things. Will I be able to see her?"
"You'll be able to see her as soon as we get her situated. Thank you. Just come into the emergency department and tell them why you're here. They will be able to direct you from there.
I slump back, my head resting on the wooden slats of the head board. I should have seen this coming. Today, while I was there, I saw how weak she was. I should have just settled in for the evening. But, I was greedy, asking her endless questions, taking her energy until she had little. And this happened.
I shower quickly, before the sun has started that climb in the sky. Heston wags his tail but doesn't get up to greet me. He just wants to rest. I hook his leash on and lure him out with a treat.
This town is so different at this time of the morning. A numbness washes over me. Heston stops to look at me every few minutes. He feels my emotions through the leash.
**********************************
There is a policeman sitting in a metal folding chair when I get to the emergency room. He looks over at me with mild interest as I enter through the automatic doors. Only three other people are in there. One lone man, asleep, head propped against the wall and a couple, both mesmerized by their phones.
A young woman smiles as I walk up to the glass partition. "I'm here for Iris Taylor."
She smiles and nods. "Hi, I'm LaShaundra. We spoke on the phone earlier. Come on through that door there."
I hear a muted buzz then a click. She is courteous and professional. Asking the pertinent questions and waiting patiently as I stumble around for answers. As much as I know about Iris, I honestly know very little. Is she an organ donor? Who is her cardiologist?
"Sorry. I haven't known her for that long."
"She has you listed as next of kin." She peers at her computer screen to see if she misread it.
"I'm all she has. Her husband and son are deceased."
"That's fine. Just thought I'd called the wrong person. I just got word she's on the cardiac floor. Room three eighteen. Just take that elevator up and let the desk know you're here to see Mrs. Taylor."
*********************************
The elevator doors open to the third floor. The lights are dim and a nurse looks up. "Mr. Petry?"
"Yes. The lady downstairs said I could come up to see Mrs. Taylor."
"Follow this hall and three eighteen will be on your left."
I pass by several rooms with doors ajar. Low lights spill out into the hallway. Then I see it. Room three eighteen. As anxious as I was to get here, I pause before knocking lightly on the door. I listen for Iris's invitation to come in. The voice that bids entry is not her's.
I push the door open. A nurse is tending to the various machines. "I'm here for Iris."
"There's a chair right there. You can pull it closer to the bed, if you want."
The legs of the chair squeak loudly as I drag it close. Iris has a mask over her nose and mouth, an I.V drip attached to her hand. She's sleeping. Her face barely visible.
"How long before she wakes up?" I ask.
The woman pauses but shakes her head. "We're making sure she's comfortable. But you can talk to her. I'm a firm believer she can hear you and she knows you're here with her."
"Is this it?"
She walks around to fiddle with Iris's covers. "It seems so. I'm sorry."
"How do you do this? Day after day, watching people die?" I ask. I know it sounds harsh but I can't wrap my head around someone who chooses to do this kind of work. "How do you not try to help them. I can't imagine watching another human being die and not trying to stop it."
"Its hard to fathom why some people don't want any steps taken to save them. But we have to respect those wishes."
I search Iris's face. "It must be hard."
"Some days it's very hard. But, they aren't in any pain. Your friend here isn't suffering. Only you are suffering right now."
She finishes her tasks and squeezes my shoulder as she walks past to exit. "Talk to her. She knows you're here."
I sit silently, listening to the whirring of the assorted machines. "I'm here, Iris." I touch her hand, curving mine over hers. I feel the tiniest squeeze. "I'm not ready for this. Not yet. I want you to read more of my story. Without you, I wouldn't even be writing again. I'd be twisting on the line that Claire had me on."
I wipe a hot tear that rolls down my cheek. "I know you're tired. Two weeks ago, you were still fighting. I wish you were still fighting. But, I could see it in your eyes yesterday. You're ready."
I lean close, pressing my cheek to her forearm. "I'll keep writing. I promise you."
An alarm sounds and within seconds, the nurse returns. "Just a hiccup. It's fine." She writes something on the clipboard. "Her blood pressure has gone down. She must know you're here."
It's little comfort to know that, when the outcome is inevitable. But she knows. She isn't alone. "You just rest, Iris. I'm not going anywhere."
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson has become friends with Iris. She is dying of congestive heart failure and he is in the midst of a divorce. Their friendship has grown deeper and both fill a need in the other. Now, Jameson has to face a critical time of losing his best friend.
**********************************
IRIS
I hear his voice, so sad, distraught mixed in with noises that sound foreign and unfamiliar. I feel his pain as he holds my hand. He's clinging to me, like a life ring in a vast ocean of unknowns.
Voices come into the room, seeping in from under the closed door. Voices from other floors, mingle together. The joyful sound of a baby's first cry, disembodied voices calling out in pain. I hear them all, each one distinctive from the next.
The darkness swirls around me like a smoky haze. I'm here, I'm still here, but I can't quite reach Jameson. I can't let myself take a step away. I'm in limbo , if you will. Caught in a riptide. The beach so close, but the tide pulls me further away.
"It's time, Iris," a voice says. "Let go of his hand." It is Lou. I know it is. His words spin my mind to that dark day. Holding Daniel's hand. Lou had wrapped his arms around me, trying to pull me away. "Let go of his hand, Iris," his gentle but heartbroken voice had whispered in my ear. "We can't hold on to what's gone."
"He needs me," I call out into the silky darkness.
Lou is close. I can feel it. "He'll be fine. I promise you, he'll be fine."
I reach out, arms flailing as I search for my Lou.
His gentle laugh tickles my ears. "You can't come with me until you let go."
"Is Daniel here? Is he with you?"
"He's waiting for you. Let him go, Iris."
This is so hard. I will myself to physically squeeze Jameson's hand. I feel his fingers squeeze back. I sit up in bed, and Lou steps over, the swirling mist shifting from Lou to Jameson. The machine with its dancing lines goes flat. In the moments it takes me to fall into Lou's embrace, I hear the distant sobbing of Jameson.
"I've missed you," I say, my fingers tracing the lines of his face. "Missed you both. Where is Daniel?"
"Come on. He's right over here."
I look back once more at the sweet young man who openly weeps for the old woman in the hospital bed. This mist thickens until they are both gone.
Lou puts his arm around me. "You were right, Iris. I would have liked him. He's a good guy. I'm so glad you found him."
"I knew you would." I say. But as hard as it is to leave Jameson, I'm about to be reunited with my angel.
| Author Notes | It's short, but I wanted the reader to know Iris truly is in a better place. This chapter may seem syrupy or contrived but I genuinely feel those who have passed on before you, those departed who you ache for in life will come for you when it's time. |
By GWHARGIS
This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.
So far, Jameson Petry has become friends with senior citizen, Iris Taylor. She has given him sound advice regarding his crumbling marriage and he has stepped in to help her deal with her terminal illness. When she passes, he is there with her.
**********************************
JAMESON
I still think about Iris. When my divorce became final, I really wanted to talk to her. No matter how prepared you think you are for it to be over, it's like falling down the stairs. You take a few steps, then without warning, you are crumpled on the ground. You check for broken bones or bruises, wondering what caused you to fall. Was it a misstep, a rotten tread, or did someone push you? Iris would have put it into perspective. She had that gift. She didn't sugar coat things, she stated the obvious. But she did it in such a gentle and caring way.
I look across the room at Finny. He's grown so much. He'll be five in October. "Go grab your shoes, we need to take Heston for a walk."
"I don't want to go." He barely looks up from his trucks.
"We can stop by the park and you can swing."
The mention of the swings sways the vote. He runs into the bedroom and grabs his light up sneakers.
I hook the faded rainbow leash onto Heston's collar. I think back to that first day, when Heston ran through the middle of town, right to Iris.
Finn runs up behind me and jumps on my back. "Let's go, Daddy."
I stand up with Finny clinging to me, arms wrapped around my neck. "Okay, Heston, let's go. I don't know where Finny went." I turn around, pretending to look for him. He giggles in my ear. "Bye-bye, Finny. Heston and I are going to the park."
**********************************
Finny and Heston are both dragging after spending this afternoon at the park.
I check the traffic before crossing and see a dark gray BMW in the driveway. A man is standing on my porch, knocking on the door.
"Can I help you?" I call out.
He looks around and finally spots me. "Are you Jameson Petry?"
"Yes."
"I'm an attorney, Mitchell Hatcher. Do you have a moment?"
I cross the street, pausing to ease Finn down from my back. "Did Claire send you?" I ask.
He smiles, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "No, I'm actually here on behalf of the estate of Iris Taylor."
I slip past him and unlock my front door. I hold onto Heston as he tries to greet the lawyer enthusiastically. "He's friendly, I promise. Did you say Iris's estate?" I push the door open and Finn races past me straight to the refrigerator to grab a juice pouch.
"Yes. Can I come inside?"
I hang the leash on hook by the door and wave him in.
"Mrs. Taylor thought very highly of you."
I smile. "I thought very highly of her."
"She left you her entire estate, Mr. Petry. Her house, her car, her bank accounts, stocks, bonds, you name it."
My legs threaten to give out. "Excuse me?"
"It was Iris's wish that you receive her entire estate."
"Why?"
"Mr. Petry, she loved you. Iris cared a great deal about you. She had me hold back on notifying you until your divorce was final. Once I had confirmation I was at liberty to notify you."
He places his briefcase on the coffee table. He goes over everything line by line. It takes an hour. "Well, do you have any questions for me?"
I have a million questions but they aren't the kind of questions he can answer. She thought of everything, right down to the timing of my divorce. "I just can't believe it. It was so nice of her. She never said a word."
"She thought you might be uncomfortable with the idea."
I look at one of the checks he hands me. Seventy-two thousand, one hundred and eight dollars. The others are several thousand dollars and upwards. What do I do with all of this money?
"We can sign the deed to the house over one day next week. There are a few more things we need to go over but they can wait. You appear a little overwhelmed," he says, sympathetically.
"Would you like to go get a steak? My treat," I offer.
Mitchell Hatcher stands and shakes his head. "Another time, perhaps. I have a date tonight."
"Okay. Another time. Thank you for this."
"You're a very lucky young man," Mitchell says. "She thought very highly of you."
"I was lucky to have met her and gotten to know her. She changed my life back then and now ...," I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
I watch Mr. Hatcher walk to his car and wait until he is on his way before I gather Finn and carry him to the car.
We drive to the grocery store and I buy a small bouquet of flowers. Finny falls asleep in his carseat as we drive to just outside of town. I drive around the back of the cemetery.
It isn't hard to find where Iris is. It's a plain granite headstone. Nothing fancy. Just her name.
"You were a remarkable woman, Iris. I don't deserve this. But, I thank you."
I glance back at the car to make sure Finn isn't awake.
"I'm still writing. I changed the little girl's name. Violet didn't suit her. I changed it to Iris. This is your story. I miss you. I'll probably always miss you."
I bend down and place the flowers near the headstone.
"Next time I'll bring what I've written." I look around. "I hope you're happy now. Just know I'm doing okay. I love you, Iris."
I wish she knew what a difference she has made in my life. As I drive back home through the twilight I see a star shoot across the sky.
She does know. I'm sure of it.
| Author Notes | This is the end of it. |
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