Stories and Such...

A Moment In Time

2008-11-12T08:22:00.009-06:00

***Quick note: For those of you who don't know, I'm currently working on a novel and in this novel, I'm exploring new forms of writing that I'm not as familiar with, and therefore I have undertaken the exercise of writing short stories that deal with the unexplored emotions and circumstances to which I consider myself a literary novice in order to practice and hopefully refine my skills in hopes of better creating these character emotions and scenes. This is one of those short stories, and thus I would greatly appreciate your honest feedback and am very appreciative of your taking the time to read it***

Thank You!!

Vern

A Moment In Time

A Short Story by Vernon Gaskill

"I just don't think he listens", she said, almost in tears.
Sarah listened, and wished she had any words of comfort to offer. Anything that came to mind, any words of wisdom she thought of, seemed inadequate. She reached across the table and grabbed her friend's hand.

"How do you feel about him, Allison?", she asked as she gripped her hand tighter. "Really and truly, right here", she said, pointing to her chest.

"Putting everything else aside, all the crap, everything else, how do you feel about him?"

Allison stared down at her untouched margarita for a long while and looked up at the same moment the first of her tears hit the table.

"I love him, Sarah. That's what makes it so hard", she said, almost in a whisper.

"Do you think he loves you?"

"I know he loves me, but…"

"Ok, so you love him and he loves you. If you know that, then the rest will work itself out."

Allison looked down again at her drink and wiped her eyes.

"I wish I was as confident as you about that", she said, allowing a smile.

"Well, you always said I was smarter than you", Sarah said, letting go of her hand and leaning back in her chair, feigning overconfidence.

Allison smiled at her and took a long drink of her margarita. Then another. Then she reached across the table and grabbed both of Sarah's hands and squeezed them.

"No, I didn't", she said.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, then both broke into laughter that made people across the restaurant look in their direction.

Once again, he was late. And even had she tried, Allison couldn't begin to have pretended that it wasn't pissing her off more and more with each passing minute. This time it was on a park bench that she sat alone, in what was becoming an habitual anticipation of his arrival.

Why was he doing this to her? Better still, why was she doing this to herself? She sat staring across the newly mown grass of the park, where a family played with their dog and a Frisbee.

A family. Something she wanted so badly she could feel the knot it created in the pit of her stomach when she allowed her mind dream that somehow one day she would have it. Maybe it would happen in time, but she wanted it to happen with him and he was not one to open up to anyone enough so that a relationship that could bear children would be born. She wanted this time to be theirs. She wanted him to show up for once and not leave her waiting alone on a bench watching her dream being lived by strangers and their dog. She wanted him.

And he was late.

She reached beside her and gathered her purse and turned to leave when she saw him walking towards her. She stood and walked towards him, her head down.

"I'm sorry, the meeting ran long, and…" he began, but she raised her hand to him. He stopped as she looked past her hand into his eyes.

"You're out of 'I'm sorry's', Matt", she told him. "You're fresh out. I'm at the end. I love you, and that is what makes this so hard. I can't take being second to your career anymore. I've always promised you I'd never make you choose between it and me, and I still won't. I know you've got your exhibition to prepare for and I want you to take the days between then and now to concentrate on that because I know how important that is to you, but after it's over, you will have a decision to make. I don't want you to choose between your career and me, it's not one or the other, but I can't be second anymore. Not even equal. I have to be number one in your life, or I'm never going to be happy."

He looked away, across the park, silent. His camera, his instrument of trade, hung from around his neck, resting at his side in a leather case. He always had it with him and she had begun to loathe it. Competitive people take no solace in second place, no consolation from being in the game but coming up just short.

And Allison was coming to the realization that she was very competitive.

She looked down and then back up at him. "Don't call me or come see me until after the exhibition. Take that time to concentrate on your work and know that I'm still your biggest fan. Then if you need some time afterward, I will give you that. But I'm going to need an answer."

She felt her stomach knotting and her voice cracked when she said "This is the hardest thing I've ever done, Matt. I want you to know that".

She paused and looked upward, trying to hold herself together.

"And I want you to choose me."

She stepped towards him and kissed him and then walked down the sidewalk that led back to her car. She thought more than once about turning around to see if he was following her or if he was still standing where she left him.

But she didn't.

She was wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa when the movie ended and the late news began. Her phone rang again and this time she didn't even look to see who it was. She couldn't remember when it had rung so many times in one day. But not one of the calls was from him. She had called in to work for the first time in over 3 years and stayed on the sofa most of the day, drowning herself in mindless television and trying in vain to read a book. It was cold and rainy Friday so it was a good day for laziness, and a byproduct of her playing hooky was a much needed long weekend.

The day had seen a war of different perspectives being fought within her with no clear victor declared. She had gone from "What have I done" to "This is the right thing"; from "I just hope he doesn't call because I might not be strong enough" to "Why in the hell hasn't he called?" and everywhere in between. She had cried and cursed herself for crying. On the coffee table in front of the sofa sat half-eaten attempts at meals, a near empty glass of wine, an open bag of chips, a bag of Hershey's kisses and dozens of empty foil wrappings scattered about.

As engrossed as he had become in his career, they had not spent a whole day apart since they met over a year ago. This was the first and there would be one more before the exhibition and she wondered if she could endure it. She slowly climbed from beneath the blanket and wandered into the kitchen to pour another glass of wine. She poured herself a half glass and returned the bottle to the refrigerator. On the door, she stared at pictures of them. They looked so happy. Her eyes went from picture to picture as she sipped her wine. She stopped on her favorite and the tears she thought she was out of welled in her eyes as she stared at him.

"Pick me", she silently begged.

Saturday was and will always be a good shopping day, so Sarah showed up early to pick her up. She had arrived chipper and even somewhat overly giddy, with two Starbucks and blueberry muffins. Allison hadn't smiled in over 24 hours but was laughing within a matter of minutes. Sarah was a good friend.

They decided to shop all day and then eat at their favorite Italian restaurant, leaving open the option for a movie afterward. At times she even thought of something other than Matt, but it was rare. Sarah knew Allison wanted to get a new dress for the exhibit and so she made that the day's first priority. Once a dress had been decided on and paid for, Sarah made her take it out to the car and grabbed her arm and led her back towards the mall.

"Now you're all mine!", Sarah said, and Allison laughed.

After a couple of hours, they stopped at the food court to for a light lunch when Allison's phone rang. She reached into her purse and gave an ever so slight look of disappointment when she looked at the caller ID. She sent the call to voicemail and returned the phone to her purse.

"You told him not to call", Sarah reminded again.

"I know, I know", Allison said with a sigh. "But why did he have to pick now to do what I say?", and they both laughed.

The day went as planned and after the movie Sarah dropped Allison off in front of her apartment. Allison thanked her for the day and hugged her. After reminding her that she would be by the next day at 5:15 to pick her up for the exhibition, Allison started to open the door and stopped.

"I'm so scared", she said, and turned back to Sarah. "What if I lose him?"

"Tell you what", Sarah said. "Why don't we cross that bridge when we get to it? And just know that you won't cross that bridge alone."

Sarah put her hand on Allison's arm and squeezed. "Try and get some sleep. There isn't anything you can do about it tonight, so why let it worry you sick? I mean, I could say 'what if I get in a wreck on my way home tonight' but it doesn't make sense to worry about it until it happens, does it?"

"Oh, thanks a lot!", Sarah responded. "Now I've got that to worry about too!"

They laughed and hugged again.

"Love you", Sarah said.

"Love you too".

From Sarah's apartment it would take 25 minutes to get to the exhibition and the knot within her stomach was tightening. It had been over forty-eight hours since she had spoken to Matt and she was emotionally spent. She honestly didn't know what she would do if he said it was over. One thought repeated itself over and over in her mind.

"What have I done? What have I done?"

She had almost broken down and called him after Sarah had dropped her off the night before, but she didn't know what she would say if he answered and didn't know what she would do if he didn't. She had been up since six o'clock, a full twelve hours before the exhibit, and she had been dressed and ready to go for over an hour before the time she had to leave to pick Sarah up. They arrived twenty minutes before the doors opened and sat in the parking lot with the car running. They made small talk until the time for exhibition to begin had come and gone.

"I feel like I'm going to be sick", Allison said, looking out the driver's side window.

Sarah grabbed her hand. "Sweetie, you're going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine."

Allison continued to stare out the window, fighting tears that would necessitate a make-up touch up.

"Come on," Sarah said, reaching over and turning off the ignition. "I can see from here to the door and there's not a bridge in sight."

Allison looked over at her friend, took a deep breath and smiled.

"Let's go", she said, and opened her car door.

The sign on the easel display read "Matthew Gray Exhibition" and featured a profile view of Matt shooting a picture. Allison gazed at his picture and tried to swallow the rapidly growing lump in her throat. She could never remember being so nervous. Sarah patted her on the back and led her in.

The walls of the dimly lit room were adorned with Matt's work, each photograph positioned beneath a piece of track lighting to properly illuminate it. Allison took the whole room in and it finally occurred to her how special this was. This was really, really big. There were people walking and pointing and standing still, taking in the beauty of his photographs. Sarah had wandered over to say hello to a friend who was looking at a Matt's photograph of the town square during last year's one and only snow. Allison was with him when he took that one. He had named it "Rare Beauty" and the name was presented at the bottom of the frame, along with the type of film and paper he had used.

Allison's eyes were constantly scanning the room for him, but couldn't find him. She was about to join her friends when a voice called out to her.

"Allison, have you seen Matt?"

She was still so intoxicated by the room, she found it hard to focus on what Vince, Matt's younger brother, was saying.

"What? Have I seen Matt?", she repeated.

"He came in earlier and looked around before it started, but now, nobody can find him."

"Well, I'm sure he's here somewhere…", she said instinctively, all the while mentally scrolling through a series of possibilities.

This was his big night. The night he had waited so very long for. What if something had happened to him? What if they couldn't find him? What if…

Vince's voice brought her back. "Look, stay here and I'll go look around outside. Maybe he's just nervous."

Allison's head was spinning. He couldn't not be here. She felt as if another minute passing without him would shred the frail seams that held her sanity together.

She wandered around the room, taking in the familiar photographs with new eyes and basking in the joy of the people admiring them, while periodically scanning the room and its exits for him. She heard someone commenting on his photograph of the high school pep rally around the bonfire. He had named that one after the ritual bonfire that was built before the annual football game against the neighboring town's rival high school. He called it "Spirit Fire". She remembered how proud he was that he got the glow of the fire in the lower right foreground of the picture, but yet still captured the cheerleaders and the crowd at just the precise moment he wanted.

There was an entire section devoted to his photographs taken on his trip to France. He had taken the trip and the photographs before they had met, but she knew all their names and stories. She knew all these photographs. She had experienced some firsthand and had heard about all of the rest.

All except one.

The photograph seemed to actually leap off the wall at her. She had never seen this one. It was on the south wall midway down, positioned slightly higher than the others. As Allison walked towards it, she noticed that it had a different lighting than the rest and that it was one of only a handful of black and white photographs. As the photograph registered in her brain, as she slowly came to the realization of what she was seeing, Allison stared at it almost trancelike, her mouth slightly open and her cheeks wet.

Her eyes had just found the name of the photograph, not written, but engraved on a gold plate, when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Excuse me, Ma'am", said a well dressed man with a nametag reading "Taylor". "Are you Allison?"

Allison was so startled she didn't wipe her face.

"Y-Yes…I'm Allison".

"Then this is for you", he said, handing her a folded piece of paper. She opened it and read the words written on it and read it again. She glanced back up at the photograph and left the building almost in a sprint.

"Allison, what are you doing? Where are you going?", Sarah cried out from behind her.

"I don't have time to explain. Stay here. I'll be back", she yelled at her best friend, sitting down behind the wheel, closing the door, and starting the ignition all at once. Her tires squealed as she took a right out of the parking lot and headed east, towards the river. She turned the radio off and drove in silence, far exceeding the posted speed limits and cursing at every stop sign and red light until she pulled into a parking space on the side of the road, in front of the park. She relieved herself of the heels she was wearing as she leapt out of the car and ran across the grass until she saw him.

He was right where she had left him Thursday, his jeans and button down shirt from that day replaced by the suit she had picked out for him for the exhibition. Her pace slowed as she approached him, and he walked towards her slowly.

"Matt…", she started, but he raised his hand to her. She stopped and stood still while he continued to walk towards her. Her eyes were wide and her breathing heavy as he approached her and took her hand. He paused for a moment and then took her other hand and smiled.

"I choose you"

He leaned down and kissed her as she cried and then he hugged her tightly, pulling her up on her toes.

Allison pulled away suddenly and said "There is so much I want to say to you, and I'm not letting you out of my sight until I say every word of it, but that's going to have to wait".

As she grabbed his hand and pulled, he pulled her back. "I've got time. What's on your mind?", he said with a grin.

"Matt, you crazy….Your exhibition is going on right now! This is what you've waited your whole life for, we've got to…."

Matt shook his head and said "That's just it – the exhibition is what I want. It's a dream come true and it is very important to me, but you've got to know something before it can mean anything to me, and I mean really know it. You've got to know that while I love my work, I do love you more, even if I'm lousy at showing it sometimes".

He pulled her close to him and moved a strand of hair from her cheek to behind her ear.

"You are what I've waited my whole life for."

Allison leaned up and pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.

"I love you", she said.

"And I love you", he replied, leaning down to kiss her again.

"Good, that's settled, now COME ON!", she said, jerking his arm and making him run along side her to the car.

They went back to the exhibition and the night was perfect. Despite his unscheduled absence, Matt's work was very well received. Professionally, Matt had a very good night, and personally they both had an even better one. They sat for a long while after the last person had left, in the floor with a bottle of wine, laughing, and talking. They sat in front of the south wall, in front of the photograph she had never seen. The one with the special lighting, the one that was singled out in it's positioning on the wall.

The photograph was of Allison in the park. As she was leaving him that day, the realization of losing her had smacked him in the face. The very notion of that happening hit him in such a dramatic way that he wanted to ensure he would never forget what he was feeling that very second. So he did what photographers do when they want to capture a moment. He took out his camera and clicked a single picture of the woman he loved walking away from him. As he did with all of his photographs, Matt gave the picture a name, because in naming his photographs, he felt an additional, crucial bit of insight would be provided to the viewer as far as what he was seeing and feeling at that moment. So at the bottom of the frame, engraved in gold, was the one name that in his mind captured exactly what he saw.
He called it "Unbearable".

The Dangers Of Late Night Pizza....

2008-11-07T14:51:00.002-06:00

No more pizza before bedtime for me.

The other night I had a frozen pizza very close to bedtime. I initially was naïve enough to think that the sandwich I had after work was going to curtail my appetite for the evening and it may very well have, were it not for the ill-timed Pizza Hut commercial that played during an episode of something I wasn't even paying attention to. Then I wanted pizza, but made my way, and I knew immediately this craving was going to be a persistent bugger.

So, I surrendered to the inevitable, taking the frozen pie, complete with the frozen sauce, toppings and cheese, and added my own toppings, primarily because the standard allotted amount per frozen pizza is beyond inadequate, it's almost insulting. The ingredients can vary, but on this particular night I added my own sausage, fried up in little pieces, pepperoni, onions and mushrooms, and then topped it all with shredded mozzarella and parmesan cheeses. I baked my creation at 450 degrees until the cheese was a perfect bubbly brown, and devoured it while I watched a classic episode of M*A*S*H, one of the ones where Hawkeye writes home to his Dad. I wiped my mouth when it was gone and made myself a drink and decided to do a little writing before turning in. I finally went to bed about an hour and half after eating my masterpiece.

Then it happened

The dreams. They came rapid-fire, all piping hot with extra toppings. As is the case with most dreams, there was no sequential order. In fact, there was no order whatsoever. It has always befuddled me how a dream can be so completely bizarre that even the mere mention of it out loud once you’ve awakened makes you question your own sanity and though you store this in your subconscious so that it won’t happen again, when the dreams return we are yet again swept into their world, in a trance, like kids staring down the cereal aisle

It started out tame enough. I am at a convenience store waiting in line to purchase beef jerky and a squirt gun, standing behind a man the size of a handicapped accessible port-a-potty, only taller. Sandwiched between this mammoth of a guy and myself was a man much shorter than either of us, maybe 5' 4 or so, and he was staring right into the crack of Mammoth Boy's buttocks, and it is making me giggle. The shorter man hears my laughter and whips himself around with a look of animosity that, while impressive, is short lived because he sees the size of my squirt gun and realizes immediately he don't want none of this action. Well, in the time it takes me to give the humbled little man a look of "You know that's right, stumpy” (editors note: I'm buff in my dreams), I become suddenly aware of a voice directed at me that is originating from behind the slim jims and "Who Farted" Zippo lighters near the register. I side-step five paces to the left so that I can see around Mammoth Boy and there she is behind the counter, a very large woman in a muumuu and a bad wig and she's calling me "Muffin".

******Another editor’s note: My dreams, for whatever reason, include “wipes”, the video editing tool that transitions one scene to another in different ways. For instance, a “star wipe” would be one that that takes the shape of a growing or shrinking star in transitioning one scene to another. Other examples include heart wipes, iris wipes (growing or shrinking circles) and matrix wipes, (a patterned transition between two images or scenes). Please do remember this, as you will need it sporadically throughout the rest of our adventure******

Before I can respond to Madame Muumuu, we star wipe to the stands at a football game. I’m not sure who’s playing because it appears Mammoth Boy has a brother and he’s positioned his large ass directly in front of me. But the beer man is coming and I’ve got my squirt gun, so all is well. I go to reach for my wallet, and I’m shocked to find myself in a muumuu with no pockets to be found. No wallet means no money. No money means no beer and the reality of not seeing the game due to Mammoth Boy’s brother and enduring this without the help of alcohol hits me hard. Oh, and by the way, I’M IN A MUUMUU!!! As the beer man stops at my isle I notice he is a man with a woman’s face. The woman behind the counter where I got my squirt gun. She rubs her brow with a hairy hand and asks me what’ll it be?

Then she calls me “Muffin”.

And we iris wipe to my desk at work. I’m hard at work when the phone rings. It’s an Indian man who owns a convenience store and says he has me on camera stealing beef jerky with a squirt gun. I explain that I paid for the gun and the jerky and he calls me a name that insinuates an incestuous relationship with my Mom, at which time I become so enraged that I start spouting out obscenities to this man at a rate that causes some of the words to become tangled in their delivery. Words like “Mother Bitch” escape my lips and now I’m embarrassed because my co-workers must surely think I don’t know how to curse properly. Before I can reassure them that I really am fluent in profane language….

…We matrix wipe to an auction house where fine art, automobiles and bovines are being bid on by energetic consumers. Before I know what’s happening I have inadvertently become engaged in a bidding war with a small man that looks curiously familiar to me. I see a reconditioned 1966 Mustang with a brand new engine and top of the line stereo system on the stage behind the auctioneer and, though I’m not really fond of classic cars, I continue to bid higher than the little man because the bidding is still at less than one thousand dollars and for whatever reason I don’t like the little bastard. A few minutes later I am declared the winner with a high bid of fourteen hundred and ten dollars. I cannot believe my good fortune at finding such a bargain and smile as the little man flips me off. I go to a window and give the woman my Visa and she gives me a receipt and tells me they will bring my prize around to me out front. Out front a pot-bellied man in overalls and nothing else brings me my prize, at which point I realize I was not actually bidding on the car, but instead on a cow. Didja get that? A fourteen hundred dollar cow!!! Not just any cow, though. This cow was wearing a muumuu.

And it’s name was “Muffin”.

Just then the little man I was bidding against comes out spewing obscenities at me for buying his cow and I realize it’s the little man who was staring at Mammoth Boy’s butt crack and I begin to giggle. As he gets closer, I decide not to fight him, however, because some little guys in my past dreams have turned out to be ferocious ninjas disguised as little men loitering at cow auctions and I realize I don’t have my squirt gun.

Right about this time I awaken to my find my television still on and a commercial with the chic-fil-a cows. Eat more chicken, they say.

Anything but pizza.

Something To Remember

2008-11-07T10:41:00.012-06:00

Something To Remember

By Vernon Gaskill

           She hangs up the phone slowly and though she tries she can't remember. After a moment she rises from the sofa with a sigh and goes to get the last of the laundry out of the dryer so that she can get it folded before getting ready for bed. The laundry is folded and put away and she's in her customary nighttime T-Shirt watching a movie and she still can't remember. When was the last time she went out with her friends? When was the last time she did something spontaneous? When was the last time she wasn't in her nighttime T-Shirt by nine thirty?
           She feels old beyond her years. She used to be fun and crazy and even unpredictable.
           She used to never wear a nighttime T-Shirt.
           She wanted so badly to go when her friends called earlier. A group of her closest friends going to dinner and a movie and then seeing what happened after that, and here she lay, on her bed at nine thirty. Alone.
           She cannot follow the plot of the movie she's watching for wondering what movie her friends are seeing. Where did they eat? What would she have eaten? What was the last movie she saw in a theater? Though she tries, she can't remember.
           She had never been one to plan her life out, but had she done so, it would not have followed this course. It has been said that life is what happens while you're busy making other plans, and in her case, life had most definitely happened.
           The screen on her television blurs along with the rest of the room as tears fill her eyes. She had never felt so lonesome. There is no "other half" available to console her. To tell her everything will be alright. To provide a shoulder clothed in a cotton shirt to catch her tears. Sometimes you can never feel less whole as when you have no better half. She had not lived her whole life without companionship. She had, in fact, been held and she had been loved. But though she tries to recall the last time that had happened, she can't remember.
           A sudden piercing noise rings out and every worry in her head seems to remain behind on the bed as she instinctively rises without wiping her eyes and crosses the hall into the room that holds her world. She reaches down into the crib and cradles her baby in her arms.
           "shhhhh", she whispers, and begins to rock the child in her arms. She wonders what has awakened her little one so far from feeding time and having only been down for an hour or so. But the child is months away from first words, and whatever it was seems to have been cured by a mother's touch. For a moment they stare into each other's eyes, both with tearstains on their cheeks. The child is the first to smile and the Mother's face lights up for the first time tonight. She holds her child's gaze and she can almost physically feel how full her heart is.
           "You're ok, now", she tells her baby. "We're both ok."
           Her child stares back at her with a look that shows no care in the world, and for that moment in time, her Mother's problems vanish as well. She carries her baby back into her bedroom and to the bed she left her worries on a few minutes before. The worries leave the sheets and then the room as they lay down together. She wipes her eyes and kisses her baby's head. She catches herself smiling again and wonders why she was so upset just minutes ago.
           And though she tries, she can't remember.

This story is dedicated to all single mothers. May none of you ever feel alone.

Growing Up Unconditional

2008-11-06T22:48:00.031-06:00

Growing Up Unconditional

A Short Story by Vernon Gaskill

My life has had its share of scary days, but none that compare to that Monday. I was nine years old and walking down the hallway of my new school holding my Mom’s hand. My short life up to that point had known only one school, one town, one house, and they were all over seventeen hundred miles away.

It had been exactly two weeks since my Father’s funeral and the time since had been somewhat of a whirlwind. Mom and I had traveled back to South Carolina, where she and my Father had been raised and laid him to rest. Then we returned to New Mexico to pack the house and the car only to head back to South Carolina to stay with my Mother’s parents until we found a house of our own. My Father was in the Air Force and so Uncle Sam footed the bill for shipping our belongings to my Grandparent’s home, the house my Mom had lived in when she was my age. We had arrived on a Friday and had been showered with attention from every relative within driving distance.

My Mom was holding it together well, though her pillow didn’t always muffle the sobs as much as she would have liked, and I fell asleep many nights listening to them from the next room. I knew somehow, even at that tender age that I had to be strong for her, and that included hiding my fear of the new town, the new house, and the new school that was starting soon.

Lying in my bed that Monday morning, a pillow the size of Texas wouldn’t have helped me.

In the school hallway, I forced a smile as she knelt down to kiss me goodbye. To our credit, neither of us cried, at least not in front of the other. She handed me over to my teacher, Mrs. Long, and I walked into my new classroom. I remember it vividly.

First I saw Johnny, then Jake, then Laura and Dave. They were the only faces that were smiling in the room and they happened to be surrounding my desk. They all greeted me and introduced themselves and as the day wore on, they soothed my fears with their kindness and acceptance. We became fast friends, and the most unusual of fast friends. The friendship started off strong and only grew, never fading.

From that point on, I never had a best friend. I had four.

We went through nine years of school together and spent most of the time away from school in each other’s company. I didn’t have any way of knowing that this type of friendship was rare, that I was blessed to have them. At least not back then. We were absolutely inseparable. In addition to attending the same schools, we went to the same church, and grew up in the same youth groups, another blessing not fully appreciated till later. We took turns at each other’s houses for sleepovers and all of our parents had a hand in raising us all. We had girlfriends and boyfriends, but they never came between us, or if they did, they were short lived relationships. We got into trouble at times, as all kids do, but we also avoided a lot by being with each other and holding ourselves up to a standard that was a reflection of our parents.

I had no idea back then what a glorious childhood I was living, and it passed by so quickly that before we knew it we were in high school. We had jobs. We had cars, at least most of us. Then, all of a sudden, we were seniors.

I remember so fondly our excitement towards the end of our senior year. You see, in our little town it was a tradition, a right of passage if you will, that following graduation the seniors went to the beach. Myrtle Beach. And you all left the day after graduation, thereby creating a series of convoys heading face first into a week of fun we had only heard now legendary tales about up to that point. Our time was fast approaching and it was all we could do to contain ourselves. We were so anxious about the trip we even had shirts made up in anticipation of the trip. The five of us had gone to a sporting goods store where they made sports jerseys and purchased white t-shirts, and we had but two words imprinted across our chests.

“The Beach”

It was all that needed to be said.

The Sunday before graduation, I was on the roof repairing some loose shingles when my Mom called to me crying. I hurried down the ladder as she explained that my Grandfather had suffered a heart attack and we had to rush to the hospital. I drove with my Mom beside me as fast as I could over to my Grandmother’s house and then we all three went to the hospital.

My Grandmother and Mom went back while I stood in the waiting room. I couldn’t sit down because my world was spinning too fast. I paced back and forth for almost an hour before a nurse came to get me.

When I saw my Mom’s face, I knew. I had seen that same look nine years ago. I burst into tears and we all three held each other in the hallway outside the room where my Grandfather died.

It was later that afternoon when the timing of this tragedy actually hit me. It was when my Mom said the funeral couldn’t be on Wednesday, because that was my graduation. It would have to be Thursday.

Beach day. A day almost nine years in the making. I tried not to let myself believe that the trip still mattered, but it did. The loss I was feeling for my Grandfather was only compounded by the realization that I couldn’t go on my only chance ever for a senior beach trip. Though it was killing me inside, I never even raised the issue with my Mom or Grandmother, as I assumed they knew that I wouldn’t leave them.

My friends had rushed over to the house as soon as they heard and they all stayed with me till graduation night. They, along with their parents, cooked, cleaned, and took care of anything else they could. I truly pity those who haven’t known the bond of friendship our families had.

And so my graduation night was, to say the least, bittersweet. I couldn’t even look in the crowd for my Mom and Grandmother because I knew that Grandpa wasn’t going to be there. But as we did that first Monday nine years ago, we held it together pretty well. My friends offered to come back to my house and forego the graduation parties but I insisted that they not miss out on anything on Grandpa’s account. He wouldn’t have wanted it that way, I told them.

We had planned to go to the parties and leave in enough time to be able to hit the beach soon after sunrise and I told them that was exactly what they were going to do. I helped them pack Jake’s car and then saw them off as they headed to the parties I wouldn’t attend. They hugged me and told me they loved me and that they would be thinking about me. I told them not to. I told them to make the trip everything we had dreamed it would be and to come back with stories better than any we had ever heard.

I waved to them as they drove off and I watched them disappear over the horizon.

That night was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. The night I had dreamed of leading to the trip I had dreamed of for what seemed like forever. For the first time, on the way home I allowed myself to break down. The sorrow, the self-pity, the anger all came out as I took a series of miscellaneous turns to prolong the trip home.

I had calmed myself by the time I arrived at my Grandparent’s house and tried my best not to show any ill effects of my collapse. In the kitchen I found my Grandmother with her friends from church. I leaned down and kissed her cheek and put my arm around her.

“You need anything, Grandma?”, I asked.

She looked up and smiled, then buried her head in my side as she hugged my waist.

“No, Sweetheart, I’m fine”, she said, then she looked back up at me. I’ve got all the help I need right here.”

She patted my back and hugged me again before rising from her chair.“But you have got to be starved. Let me get you someth..”

A chorus of “no” and “uh-uh” and “you sit down, Mary” bombarded her and though she tried to ignore them, they forced her back to her seat. Two of her friends tried to lead me to the counter filled with food as another grabbed a plate, but I waved them off.

“I really couldn’t eat a bite, but thank you”, I said. “Where’s Mom?”

“She went to lay down, Sweetheart. You want to go check on her?”

“Yeah, I think I will”, I said, and I kissed her forehead and hugged her again. She was so strong, I thought, and I admired her as much as I adored her.

I knocked lightly on the door to the room Mom and I shared for the first two years after my Father had died and opened it slowly.

Mom raised her head up and smiled through her puffy, red eyes.

I went and laid down beside her, and pulled her close. After a minute, she started to cry again and I held her tighter.

“Now I know how you felt, Matt”, she said. “I know what it’s like to lose your Dad”.

I searched for the words, but none would come. I simply held her till she fell asleep, and then quietly left the room. I slept on the living room sofa in the clothes I wore to my graduation, and drifted off to sleep dreading the day I had looked forward to more than any other day in my life.

I was awakened by the sound of pots and pans and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. After showering and eating a couple of pieces of toast and bacon made by my Grandmother’s friends from church, I went out to the front porch, where Grandpa had loved to sit in the evenings and on weekends. Even though he was gone, I still went to the chair beside his, and sat down wallowing in a sea of self-pity.

My friends were at the beach. Where I was supposed to be. They were probably on the beach by now. Like I was supposed to be. For the first time, I felt jealousy towards my friends, envied them almost to the point of resentment. They were in bathing suits and sunglasses and I was dressed for my Grandfather’s funeral.

It just wasn’t fair. What had I possibly done to deserve this? I actually looked up and silently asked this of God. I knew I had always been taught that God has a purpose for everything, but for the life of me I couldn’t imagine what that might be, and I would have welcomed the opportunity at that very moment to debate that point with the Almighty himself.

Before long, we were in the car, driving to the funeral home for one last family viewing of Grandpa before the service. Standing by the casket, I kept my arms around my Mother as she sobbed and hugged all of my relatives, aunts, uncles and cousins. For me, there were no tears, however. I was too angry. I tried with all my might to suppress the rage, but it had taken over my very being. I was angry that this had happened and as a result my Mother and Grandmother were so devastated. I was angry that my other relatives were crying, angry that my Grandfather was dead. I was angry that I wasn’t at the beach.

My temperament was not soothed with the enlightenment that the pall bearers, of whom I was one, sat separately from the rest of the family. Not being able to hold my Mother’s hand or put my arm around her during this service only added to my rage.

Then the service started. Two close friends of my Grandfather spoke and gave wonderful tributes to him. Hearing storied about Grandpa, both funny and sentimental, seemed to calm me. By the time Pastor Blake stood to speak, my anger had subsided, and was slowly being replaced by shame. All three men spoke of my Grandfather’s selflessness and how he was always quick to lend a helping hand, whether it was asked for or not. They spoke of the love he had for his Lord, and how it was so important to him that his family share that love. At one point, Pastor Blake told a story about how my Grandfather had lost one of his best friends and that he had come to the Pastor’s office one day to talk to him about it.

“I just don’t understand it, Pastor”, he had said. “Why him? Why now? I just can’t see any good coming out of this”

“We may never know the answer to that question”, Pastor Blake had told him. “But as hard as it is, we have to have faith that God knows what he’s doing and he won’t give us more than we can handle.”

Pastor Blake said they sat in silence for a minute or so, and then Grandpa looked at him with tears in his eyes.

“I’m just angry, I guess”, he said. “Angry that I lost my friend and that his family has to go through this.”

There were another few moments of silence, and then Grandpa said “Well, I guess if I would just quit worrying about myself and concentrate on helping his family through this, maybe I wouldn’t have time to be so angry”

Pastor Blake paused and then looked out at the overflowing crowd in the sanctuary and said “And he did. And they helped him through it too. And that pearl of wisdom from this man we pay our respects to today will serve us all well in the days to come. Let’s not think of ourselves, but honor his memory by taking care of each other.”

The words hit me hard. All morning long, all I could think about was how this tragedy had affected me. I looked over at my Mother and the rest of my family and I was truly humbled and ashamed. I silently asked for forgiveness from God and from Grandpa if he could hear me. I vowed then and there to concentrate on taking care of my family and not worry about myself. Although at that point I honestly felt that I deserved no pity, none at all.

The service reached an end and the other pall bearers and I took our places alongside the casket as we prepared to roll it out to the hearse. I looked over at my family and prayed they didn’t know how selfish I had been. My eyes stopped on my Mother and Grandmother.

“I’m going to take care of you both”, I thought. “I’m going to worry about you and let God take care of the rest”

But he already had.

We started down the center of the church and as my eyes scanned over the crowd, through fresh tears welled up in my eyes I smiled.

First I saw Johnny, then Jake, then Laura and Dave. They had made it halfway to Myrtle Beach when they decided they were needed elsewhere. I didn’t take my eyes off of them the entire way. Laura was sitting on the end of the pew and as I passed, I reached down and grabbed her hand. Right then, at that very moment, I knew everything was going to be alright.

We took the casket to the gravesite and listened to some more words of comfort from Pastor Blake, and then it was over. I went over and hugged my family and thanked everyone I saw for coming.

I was standing by Mom when my friends walked up. She had seen them as I had, leaving the church. Not even their own parents knew they were there till after the service. She grabbed and hugged every one of them. When she wrapped her arms around Jake, he asked how she was doing.

Oh, I’m fine, now, Jake”, she said. “All my kids are here”

For the rest of the day I tried to thank them but every time I started to, they would interrupt me and change the subject. They stayed with us that night and we camped out in the living room like we had done as kids, laughing and talking like only good friends can. I would make them to go back to the beach the next day, but that night I bathed in the glow of their friendship and all it meant to me. The next morning I awoke to find my bags were already packed and in Jake’s car and though I argued at first, my Mother and Grandmother insisted that I go, and Johnny and Laura dragged me to the car.

This is what your Grandfather would want”, they told me, and I kept that thought in my head to fight off the sorrow.

It was the greatest week of my life.

And we did make it through that very hard time, and, in retrospect, if there was a reason for it, maybe it was to remind me what friendship is. What it’s made of, and how valuable it is. And to never, ever, take it for granted.

That was twenty years ago and though we don’t all still live in our little town, we are still very close and have never lost touch. Last year, we lost Dave to cancer. He found out in January and survived till June, and we were all there at his side when he passed. The day after his funeral, I went to his mother’s house with food and to help out any way I could, as did Johnny, Jake, and Laura.

I pulled her aside that afternoon and told her that I wanted her to have something. I told her that whenever I spoke about Dave to those who didn’t know him, I had to show them a picture, and I handed it to her. It was a picture taken the night of my Grandfather’s funeral, after we had all come back to the house. It was a picture of the five of us, standing in the front yard, arms around each other. After they had decided to turn back, Dave, who was in the backseat with Laura, had taken off the shirt he was wearing. It was the beach shirt, and they all were all wearing theirs, the ones created especially for the trip they were on. Jake had made some signs for one of the graduation parties and there were still magic markers in his backseat floorboard, so Dave took one of the markers, and began scribbling on his cherished shirt. They all asked him what in the world he was doing, and then nodded in agreement when he put the shirt back on. Then they all followed suit. Jake took his shirt off while he was driving, and handed it to Johnny, and Laura pulled hers away from her body so Dave could take care of hers.

And so in the picture they all stood with me, their friend, wearing their shirts imprinted with “The Beach”, and underneath that on all of them, in black magic marker, was written “Can Wait”.