(Oubaitori — An ancient Japanese idiom that encourages people to embrace their individuality and unique journey, and to avoid comparing themselves to others)
Christmas Alone
“Thank you, Ben, have a merry Christmas.”
“I will have a delicious one, enjoy your family tomorrow.”
I picked up my sack of cinnamon rolls, caramel coated with pecans. Nearly as good as Mary made. I took my grandson’s hand as we left the bakery. His eyes still staring at the colorful Santa Claus, reindeer, and Christmas tree cookies. I needed to return him to his parents who were driving to the other grandparents for tonight and tomorrow.
I buckled him in his car seat. We shared in such loving and amused smiles when I had my grandson. Five years old, a happy, fun-loving, cute little boy, he lifted everyone’s mood. “Mom said we will open one present tonight and the rest tomorrow. Christmas sure does take a lot of waiting.”
“It does, but it will be worth the wait.”
“Is one of your presents for me?”
“It just so happens that one is for you. Old Santa Claus was kind of enough to share with me a list of the gifts you had asked for.”
“Will you play with me tomorrow? We can play superhero.”
“When you come to my house, we will. You are driving to your mother’s family. I won’t be there. You’ll have grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins to play with tomorrow.”
“Who will you play with tomorrow?”
“I will enjoy a quiet day remembering and resting up. You have energy bristling out; it tires an old man. Grandma’s spirt will keep me company. The rolls I bought for myself are a good reminder.”
Bradley sat silent. He had been told not to ask too many questions about his grandmother. He didn’t quite understand why she was gone, but I didn’t either. After thinking for several minutes until we were nearing his house. Bradley asked, “Do you talk to grandma’s spirit?”
“Yes, in a way, death is difficult to adjust to, but it is part of life. I will relive the memories of joy. Likely nap: it seems little boys bounce out of bed rather early.”
He grinned at me in the rear-view mirror. I pulled into his drive. My son came out and took the basket holding my gifts. I carried the bakery sack for them inside. I picked up the two-year-old as I handed her mother my sack. “Cinnamon caramel rolls nearly like Mary made.”
“Thank you, we will save them for tomorrow morning. We need to be on the road soon.”
My son came in, “I put your basket back in your car. I packed away the gifts. Amazing how much stuff it takes for two nights. You could have come with us.”
“I know, have a safe trip.”
We gave each other parting hugs. Mr. Bradley’s hug was especially tight. Reflection characterized my mood. Grateful my son and his family were close. When Mary was sick; they were caregivers. I felt fortunate his wife found a job here, then a house close to the school their kids would attend. My daughter lived far away now. I’ll take the long trip out there in the summer, no winter hazards then. No, I will not fly. I hate it. I have duties to perform at church tonight. Christmas Eve service required people to pass out candles. The service was at 6 PM. I had all day to get ready and prepare for my planned Christmas day alone. I anticipated eating one of the caramel rolls when I got home leaving one for in the morning.
Jessica on Flickr 2010
I began setting my table in the dining room. I first had to remove the clutter I had let it accumulate. I was cooking myself a festive meal proportioned for a single diner. I had decided to set the table as it first was in this house. I placed a photo of all who were here that day. People now long gone. I hadn’t decided if it would be less lonely or simply maudlin. Some guests attending were active in the temperance movement. Others imbibed occasionally, often, if not caught or it was free. It is a good learning experience to grow up in a family and see both sides of the coin. I had decided as the only living guest, wine would be allowed, but not in excess. I heard a knock on the kitchen door.
I went to the door to see Paul, my neighbor, holding a plate of cookies. I opened the door expecting him to hand me the cookies and run. He was a sophomore in college; I was sure he had places to go. He came in and sat at the kitchen table. “I would like to talk with you if you have time?”
“I have all the time in the world and not much left in another sense. Yes, Paul we can sit and talk. I have coffee.”
“A cup of coffee would be good.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“No black is fine.”
I sat as I placed a cup of coffee for him.
“The cookies were packaged on Sunday. Someone had put your name on the list at the new church. My folks waited until I came home, then sent me over. I guess they still won’t speak to you.”
“I wave. If we run into each other, I smile and say hello. They nod in return. I think they feel I am an ally of the devil. Mary very bluntly expressed her opinion of their trying to disaffiliate our church. Our encounters have always been cool and silent since then.”
“I was sad over all the anger they caused. I know Mom and Dad were really pushing their agenda. I know you are kind to everyone; Mary rarely criticized.”
“She was beginning to live with pain; she didn’t mask her feelings. How’s school?”
“School is fine. I’m in the orchestra. We only had a band here. The complexity and richness of the music is thrilling. I am getting good grades; my boyfriend is a great help with my courses.”
I looked up at him and paused to understand. “Boyfriend?”
“Yes boyfriend.”
“It must have been a shock to your parents.”
“They don’t know; I’m starting with you. You have been a wonderful neighbor and such a servant at church. I know you fought for the church to be a sanctuary of acceptance and love when my family split.”
“Paul, I saw your anguish as your parents made such harsh assertions. I knew their words hurt you. I am sure you will have a great life; I don’t know if your family will support you. I listened, as they fought to put our church in what I call the bigot camp. The church they joined, well I think they even banned rainbows in the Noah’s ark story.”
Paul smiled, “I plan to tell them the day before I leave. I am spending New Year’s Eve with my boyfriend. His parents are coming to pick me up. They have been open and accepting. They have welcomed me as a son.”
“It ought to be like that. God created you; I know what a good person you are. It is time for those of us brought up in the dark ages to open our eyes.”
“This may be the last Christmas I spend with my family. Today, we are leaving at noon. Our families attend a midnight mass at my uncle and aunt’s church. They do a musical production; it is very elaborate. I will keep quiet until the day before I leave. I won’t destroy this holiday. I want to ask if I could spend the night at your house, if they kick me out.”
“I want my home to be welcoming. I don’t lock the kitchen door come in anytime you need to.”
“Thank you.”
“You are making a wise decision. Don’t inflate the already explosive moment that is coming. Remember it is not your fault. You want to be loving and honest. I hope your parents can be, but I understand. Hopefully, they will react more calmly than you suspect.”
Paul pointed to the photo I had placed on the kitchen table, as I opened the door. “Is that a photo of Mary when she was young?”
“Yes, it is we had photos taken after we were married and moved here.”
“I saw you carrying it as you came to the door. Are you rearranging things?”
“Come into the dining room, I will reveal my own quirk.”
I placed the photo at her place setting. I had a photo at each place around the table. The same place where the family sat on our first Christmas dinner together. “I know you will find this somewhat insane. I set the table just as we did on the first Christmas. A photo of everyone where they sat. It makes me feel connected. I will be alone tomorrow, but I have memories. Each of them has a story.”
“This is either the most sentimental thing you have ever done or the creepiest.”
“Paul, I haven’t decided which it is, but I wanted to do it. No one was here to stop me.”
“I know sorry. Christmas without Mary; she always treated me like family.”
“You still are.”
“Enjoy the cookies; I’ll stop back when we’re home again. Are you holding a séance?”
“No but I can almost feel them being here.”
I walked Paul to the door. I gave him a hug, “Try to remember the love. Stay strong, you are the person God intended.”
A small tear was visible on Paul’s cheek as he left. I walked out to the mailbox. I would wave a thank you to my neighbors if they were looking out. It would be an acknowledgement of a kind act. I did not see anyone. I don’t have a direct view of Paul’s from my house because of their expanded garage. When in the front yard it is difficult to see the house. They fly more than one Trump flag. They have yard signs galore: God Made Two Genders, Jesus is Lord - Trump is King, Woke-ism is Socialism, Guns Save Lives, School is for Prayers not Queers, and several We Vote for Life. Paul’s father has a system of mowing and rotating signs daily. He is amazingly organized. He is often angry and unreasonable. This is my opinion, but all the neighbors agree. He or his wife have had an angry confrontation with every neighbor at some point. Mary and I always got along until the church fight, then we were seen as devil worshipers.
I used the day as preparation time. I wanted to do all the traditional family dishes. Readjusting for a person not a dozen. I returned from church. Even though it was early evening, I went to bed. Walking past the dining room table instilled a sense of anticipation. Christmas morning excitement without the glowing faces of chattering children; the faded faces saved on old photographs my only guests.
I awoke early as old men do. I looked at my Christmas tree and turned on the lights. I would not have put one up, but Mr. Bradley insisted. I had a few presents under the tree. I was made to promise not to open any until Christmas. They may have thought this would lift my spirits. I suspect it may be to add torment. The aroma of the kitchen was a lift to my spirits. The cinnamon roll was marvelous, sweet, gooey, melt in your mouth good. The room was filled with memories. Cooking kept me busy all morning; I listened to Christmas programming on NPR. When the food was ready, I went into the dining room. I sat down and said a prayer, “Lord bless my family wherever they are today. Thank you for the joy and health they bring me. Allow me to make their lives more meaningful. Thank you for the life I have lived. Lift up Paul, during his time home. Soften his family’s hearts, as unlikely as that is. Amen. Lord I shouldn’t have added that last part, should have more faith in miracles.” I decided to start with a forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy. I heard Mary’s voice. ‘You help Paul, don’t let people hurt him.’
I answered, “I will, you know I will.”
I looked to the end of the table. I did not see her, but it seemed like she was present. I took a sip of wine. Light reflected colors in the glass, a balanced red blend. ‘Benjamin you should not be a drunkard.’ It was Grandma Hill’s voice. I think she was at her place. Uncle Jovie said, ‘A little sip for one’s digestion.’ I heard Grandma Hill’s scowl. Uncle Jovie’s wife said, ‘Jovie never stopped at a little sip.’ Uncle Jovie’s voice, ‘On occasion I got a little overcome.’ Grandma Hill’s voice added, ‘On every occasion.’ Then I heard my father’s voice, ‘Allow Ben a little moderation. Prohibition failed Grandma, and Uncle Jovie was careful around family.’ I concentrated on the food as the guests talked amongst themselves. I went to the kitchen and returned with second helpings of some foods. My mother’s voice, ‘Ben do not overindulge now that you are alone.’ Grandma Hill spoke, ‘On Christmas it is allowed. Did you make a dessert?’
“No, I have the cookies Paul brought over. I have ice cream left over from little Bradley’s visit. I’ll wait until evening. Proves I can be restrained, Mom”
I felt Mary was there. Her voice cut through clearly, ‘You must protect Paul when he returns. His family is unbalanced.’
“Mary, give them a chance. People sometimes surprise.”
‘I see beyond your knowledge. Paul is in danger; he deserves a full life.’
I returned my dishes to the kitchen. The voices were getting too real, but it had been fun. It was good to relive memories. Mary seemed more present. I suppose because I missed her intensely at Christmas.
After cleaning up and storing I took my second glass of wine to the living room. I would open the presents. I opened the smaller lighter one from my son’s family. A home-made hand colored card from Mr. Bradley and a handprint greeting from the little one. A pair of gloves and a new cell phone with an attached note, it read, a phone that works and is waterproof. I then opened my daughter’s very heavy gift. A nearly complete set of James McPherson’s Civil War histories all hardcovers. He has written many books that explained the weight. I had also received a card from them. It contained an Amtrak reservation for next summer in a sleeper car to the coast. I would rather drive, but I suppose this would cause the family less worry. Enough books to have a few left to read on the trip. I began rereading Battle Cry of Freedom. Evening was well along when I returned to the kitchen for cookies and ice cream. Time to call it a day and head to bed. I set my photo of the young me at my place in the dining room. It seemed to require completeness. I said, “Good night, everyone.”
Paul returned the next morning. He brought a large duffle bag and a backpack. “Where should I put these?”
“In the guest bedroom.”
He returned to the kitchen. I put down my book. Real books are heavy, “You want a cup of coffee?”
Paul nodded. He sat and had a cup of coffee with me.
“I will tell my parents tonight. If they throw me out, my stuff is ready.”
“Yes, just in case.”
“My boyfriend’s family will come tomorrow morning. I see everyone is at their place in the dining room. How did the séance go?”
“We had a lively conversation.”
Paul chuckled, “Are you being intentionally ironic?’
“I heard it as lively. I am often unintentionally ironic, then must play along. Mary made me promise to look out for you.”
Paul smiled, “I knew she would. See you tonight, maybe only tomorrow morning.”
I patted his hand, “The door is always open. Try to stay calm don’t respond to anger. Tell them you are going to stay with a friend and leave, if you must.”
“I’m afraid they will follow me over here and scream at you.”
“Take a roundabout way to here and they will not know. Both your parents have screamed at me. I do prefer tranquility.”
Paul left. I walked through the dining room carrying my book. I thought there was a new buzz of lively conversation in there. I sat in the living room and began reading. My daughter had promised to call. My son had taken my old phone and told me the new one was activated and working. I had turned it off last night but remembered to turn it on this morning. I managed to answer without cutting her off.
“Thank you, for the books I am reading one. Amtrak will be convenient; I do enjoy driving.”
After all the updates on family and local weather she ended with a reminder, “Dad you are not a young man anymore, be cautious. My brother says, sometimes you have no more sense than Bradley.”
“Little Bradley is the wisest person I know. It takes my full effort to keep the old man away. I do not jump up from playing on the floor as easily as Mr. Bradley does.”
“Summer will be a great time; we planned many things. Goodbye.”
I thought planning and organization. I will miss the fascinating conversation in some small café in Wyoming or Montana driving would have afforded me. I spent the afternoon reading and sipping wine. Once opened, a bottle becomes over breathed, if not drunk. I did not go through the dining room; Grandma Hill didn’t need to know. In the evening, I had finished one book and begun another. There was no wine left to go bad.
I looked at the neighbors; I did not envy Paul tonight. No police were arriving; I went to bed.
Amtrak sleeper — Amtrak not the highest speed rail connecting regional airports to hubs with links to urban centers we need.
In the morning the guest room’s door was closed. I leaned against the door and listened in the quiet. I heard soft breathing. Paul had come in last night; I had slept through it. I should think about breakfast. Paul had often had breakfast at our house. We used to keep him on mornings his parents worked. He always enjoyed French toast. Mary liked it, but I wasn’t a fan. I decided one last favorite meal, before we sent our boy off into the world. I sat reading sipping coffee. Paul came in, “I hung my towel up, and tried not to leave a big mess.”
“Not to worry, would you like French toast? I’m ready to make it.”
“Yes, Yes, wonderful memories. I’ll carry my stuff to your porch. They texted, should be here in an hour.”
I turned the griddle on and dipped the bread, then set out butter and syrup. Paul came back in and took a coffee cup and filled it.
I laughed, “It used to be chocolate milk with your breakfast.”
“Coffee is better now; I didn’t sleep all that well. Again, thank you for a refuge. It wasn’t a good talk in the sense that we will all move forward as a family. More I will leave and never come back. They will be glad not to see me.”
“I thought they would not be open to you. I hope it wasn’t awful.”
“Well, pretty awful. I left when they threatened to take me someplace, they knew of that cured gayness. Dad shook me once. Mom left this little mouse.” As Paul pointed to a small red mark. “Her ring scratched as she slapped me. I took a long walk. I hung out in the park. I sat in the swings I used to love. I came in as quiet as I could and went to bed.”
‘I didn’t hear you. I saw the door closed this morning and knew you were here. Griddle’s hot, time for breakfast.”
I began turning out French toast, and Paul covered it in butter and syrup like he always did. I fixed two and then he asked for another.
I joked, “Very hungry this morning.”
“My stomach was churning all day yesterday. I couldn’t eat. Now it is all in the past; I’m starving.”
“Appetite returning always a sign of health.”
Paul finished, and I cleared the table. He said,” Let’s go say goodbye to Mary in your haunted dining room.”
I was a little surprised but walked in as Paul followed. He looked at Mary’s picture at the end of the table. “She was a very beautiful young woman.” He turned my photo around, “You look rather dapper yourself. Were you ever tempted by a handsome man?”
“No Paul I wasn’t. Mary and I started dating in high school; we always desired each other.”
“My folks don’t understand not everyone is wired the same.”
“People have trouble seeing others and being understanding.”
Mary spoke, “Paul you treat others with respect. Have a good life.”
Paul shivered a little, “Did you hear her?”
“Yes, I did. Feel it, don’t think about it.”
The doorbell rang. “Honey, go answer the door I want to talk with our little Pauly.”
“Paul don’t be alarmed. This house is a sanctuary for my spirit. Live a life filled with compassion. Respect everyone, even bitter hateful people like your parents.”
“Mary, little Pauly and Big Paul thank you for the love and breakfasts.”
“Learn to forgive others and yourself. If you wait for people to admit they’re wrong, it won’t happen. You have talents the world needs, do good work. Are you engaged to the boy coming to the door?”
“I think we will be on New Year’s Eve.”
“You are the same age, we were. Have the committed marriage we have. Live a great life.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
“You need to get out of here, your stuff is loaded. All my love, my fine little boy.”
I was joking and making idle conversation. The young man and his father seemed very nice. Paul came out.
He gave me a hug, “Very weird, but nice to hear her voice.”
“It started Christmas Day; I thought it was my hallucination.”
Paul hugged his love and new father-in-law. Paul gave his new dad his phone to take photos, as he hugged and kissed his fiancé. He posted it and expressed his joy.
His gayness was announced to all friends and family in doing this. I must say people are weird these days; everyone promoting themselves like a celebrity, then demanding privacy from trolls and creeps. I went back inside, popped back into the dining room.
“Mary you are here.”
“You knew I was, now go clean up the kitchen. Don’t make more French toast, you don’t like it. You can throw it away. Latch on to our family’s love during the next precious hours.”
I didn’t enjoy French Toast; ruined toast is what I called it. I did pitch the egg batter. We were trained not to waste food. I made toast, real toast, and put strawberry jam on it. A family at church had given me a jar of jam at Christmas Eve. I finished and cleaned up the kitchen. I would be more diligent, now I knew Mary was watching. I poured another coffee and sat back to return to my book. There were gay people in the Nineteenth Century. People left private what was private. President Buchanan and Wm. Rufus King, Miss Nancy and Aunt Fancy as they were called, the nieces destroyed the evidence fearing embarrassment. Possibly the story would have helped create less hysteria in our time. Slavery split the church in the nineteenth century, not sexuality. I absorbed back into Tried by War, Lincoln always fascinating.
Paul’s father, my bigot neighbor, came busting into the kitchen, “Where’s my son? You, sissy groomer.” I looked up from my book, not sure what he meant. I stood, saw the gun he had in his hand.
“Paul left with his boyfriend’s father for their home. I don’t know where they live.”
I raised my book as he fired. I felt the pain as I fell to the floor, then I was gone.
The old Mr. Hill fell to the floor; I saw the young vigorous Ben Hill. The talented, shy, and caring Ben Hill. Paul was right; he was dapper. Hang on my dear.
Time of trial for our nation —
He does love history; I have no idea why he was reading another book on the Civil War. It did absorb the first projectile misdirecting it. A wound not a killing shot, He was hit again. Bleeding to death was the next threat. Ben fell to the floor. His new phone had a feature to detect a fall; it sent alert texts to both our son and daughter. Ben couldn’t respond; they called an ambulance. A neighbor heard shots and called the police. Mrs. Carter our eighty-five-year-old neighbor came over to see what was going on. She saw Frank’s car driving away. The kitchen door was left open. She went in then saw Ben’s blood pooling. She used her phone and called 911. She described the situation. Ambulance and police soon arrived. An alert went out to stop Frank’s car.
“You should go home and leave things as they are until someone inspects the crime scene.”
Mrs. Carter was not impressed, “Go get Ben help. It’s obvious what happened here, investigations aren’t necessary.”
Mrs. Carter walked into the dining room. She was startled by all the place settings and photos. She saw Mary’s photo at the end place. “Mary, Ben’s been shot. It’s awful; I think our neighborhood crank did it.”
‘I know Helen, don’t be startled. I hear you.’
“We are both still hanging around, I guess. “
‘I am aware, if limited to being here. Ben set up our first Christmas dinner. He is so sentimental. Somehow, I became present; now I am aware of things. Paul told his parents he was gay and had a boyfriend yesterday. They threw him out, and he slept in the guest room last night. He left with his boyfriend and soon to be father-in-law this morning.’
“Not surprised about Paul. Not an easy Christmas home for him. Mary, I hear a car pulling in.”
‘It’s Brad, send him to the hospital. Tell him to have little Bradley hold Ben’s hand talk and sing to him in recovery. I hope he lives to be in recovery.’
Helen Carter went back through the kitchen to intercept Brad. He didn’t need to see the blood.
Brad stopped as Mrs. Carter came out the door before he reached it. “Did dad fall?”
“He was shot. Now go to the hospital. Mary says to have Bradley hold his hand and talk and sing to him in recovery.”
Brad started to his truck, stopped and turned back. “Shot how?”
Mrs. Carter simply pointed to the Robertson’s house. “Go be with your father. I’ll stay here and call some friends from church to help.”
As Brad got in his truck, “He thought Mary said, old Mrs. Carter must have imagined that.”
Helen Carter began cleaning up. She had been neighbors with Ben and Mary for thirty years. She started by mopping the floor. A police detective came. “Who are you?”
“I’m Helen Carter; I‘m the Hill’s neighbor.”
“You called 911?”
“Yes, I came in after I heard gunshots.”
“Describe what you saw then.”
“I saw Ben Hill lying on the floor bleeding to death. Fortunately, an ambulance came shortly after I came in.”
“You reported seeing a vehicle driving away. You thought it was Frank Robertson, a neighbor, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Any reason Mr. Robertson would have to shoot Mr. Hill?”
“Frank Robertson is an angry man. Ben let Robertson’s son stay last night after he told his parents he was a homosexual. He left with his boyfriend this morning. Frank likely blamed Ben: he wouldn’t blame himself.”
“Does anyone else live here?”
“Ben’s wife, Mary, died a year ago. He lives here by himself, sometimes his cute grandson stays overnight.”
“Where was Mr. Hill’s body when you came?”
“He was lying on the floor between the table and the wall. He may have been standing when he was shot. I don’t think he fell out of the chair.”
“You seem remarkably calm after a tragic event.”
“Mister when you are as old as I am you’ve seen bad things. Women are always the ones fixing and cleaning up. I need to get back to mopping.”
“A work colleague of Robertson’s is coming here. She felt her information was important, and I was already driving here. I’ll sit at the table and start writing notes.”
Helen went back to dining room. “Mary a policeman is here, and someone from Robertson’s work is coming.”
“Thank you, Helen, I can sense these things. I won’t make eerie sounds”
“I should go back to the kitchen; praying for Ben.”
“I am too, Mr. Bradley will pull him through.”
Helen saw a young woman coming up the walk. She went to the door.
“The detective from the police department said to come here.”
“Yes, he is sitting inside.” She opened the door.
The woman looked around. “Is this where the man was killed?”
The detective stood, “He was wounded; he’s at the hospital. Hopefully he will survive.”
Helen interjected, “Mary and I are praying for him.”
“I am a detective with the county; you work with Frank Robertson?”
“We both work in the same insurance office.”
“I’ll take notes; you relate what happened.”
“We were at work when Paul’s post light up his social network. My sister was in Paul’s high school class. She is open about her identity; she dated another girl while in school. She texted, “Our friend Frank is going to be fit to be tied. If you do have to tie him up, let me come give him a few hard kicks.” Frank spouted off during breaks. Homophobia, misogyny, and hate for libtards all boiled over from Frank’s mouth. When I told my sister we both fumed about it. The office manager never stopped him; he encouraged the hateful language.
Frank lived in a delusional world built on falsehoods and lies. He was always angry about something. Sometimes they were real events, usually imaginary. My sister texted and shared Paul’s post. The photos of him hugging and kissing his fiancé, as Paul labeled the boy in the photo. I couldn’t help myself after enduring his verbal abuse. Our office has been such a hostile work environment. I went over to Frank’s desk. Looking at my phone I said, ‘Frank I’m envious of your new son-in-law, he is drop dead gorgeous. I am sure you both feel lucky to have him.’ I then showed Frank the photo on my phone. He flew into a rage. Frank had been irritable all morning, but that was standard Frank on most mornings. He said, ‘You keep your wicked smut to yourself, you Jezebel. I’ll fix this.’ He stormed out.”
“What time was that?”
“We all went to break; it was between nine forty-five and ten. The Frank haters all were pleased. Since our boss is definitely in the Frank camp, we kept ourselves restrained.”
“Thank you, I will walk over and see if Mrs. Robertson is home. She may speak with me. Robertson’s car hasn’t been spotted yet, but the details and requests for public information are everywhere. Thank you, Ms. Stein and thank you Mrs. Carter.”
The detective left. “Mrs. Carter I should go, do you live here?”
“I’ve been Ben and Mary’s neighbor for years, both wonderful people. Would you show me the photo?”
Helen assessed the photo, “You are correct a handsome lad. The Robertsons are grumblers, always upset about someone in the neighborhood. They had arguments over church with Ben and Mary. They left for a more conservative church that denies homosexuality exists. Ben let Paul stay overnight when he was kicked out. His new father-in-law and boyfriend came this morning; the photo clearly shows this house. Frank might have thought Paul was still here. I am sure he in was in a rage.”
“Mrs. Carter, I feel like I’m responsible for a man being shot.”
“Young lady, do not lay the sins of others on your soul. I’m Helen no need to not be friends.”
“I’m Marcie; the wounds must be serious. I assume Ben is an older man. Will he survive?”
“Ben is old and yes, he looked awful when I came in. I believe in his toughness, prayer, and grandson love to pull him through. Some folks from church should be here soon.”
Helen Carter began to finish cleaning. Marcie decided to help her. They had restored the kitchen to a normal state when Ben’s cell rang, the old-style landline ring. The phone was on the kitchen counter where Helen had placed it. Marcie picked it up, “Needs the passcode.”
Helen said, “One, zero, two, five, six, nine. It’s their wedding date.
Marcie handed the phone to Helen. It was Ben and Mary’s daughter. “Hello this is Helen Carter.”
“I didn’t know your number. I wanted to give an update; Brad said you were watching the house. He said you were the one who found Dad.”
“Lucky the ambulance came soon after I came in.”
“Dad is out of surgery. He has regained consciousness. Brad says if he doesn’t get an infection or other complication the doctor thinks he will recover. It will be slow, no one recovers easily, and he’s not young. Can you text me your number, I will share a video with you. I think the people at church will want to see it.”
“OK Marcie will help me. These new phones don’t always cooperate with me. She is helping me.”
Marcie took Mrs. Carter’s phone. “See the number is here under recent. I will type it in.”
Marcie texted Helen’s number. Helen’s phone soon dinged. Helen handed her phone to Marcie.
Helen explained, “I have trouble reading texts. Please read it to me.”
Marcie read it, “My brother sent this video of Mr. Bradley holding Dad’s hand. He finishes his story and says I’m singing the Bear song again. As he sings you see a response and then dad mumbles, ‘there is no bear there.’ Brad says from that moment he has stayed conscious. Brad says the hospital informed him; we should plan to find a placement for care and recovery. It will require a caregiver if he tries to come back home. Thank you, Mrs. Carter.”
“Please play the video.”
Helen and Marcie watched. Mr. Bradley completely serious talking, singing and holding his grandpa’s hand. He was all love. They both cried when it ended.
Dawn in the Shire
Marcie asked, “The Bear song, I don’t know it.”
“Ben makes up little ditties as he calls them; his grandkids love singing them with him.”
“Mary said Little Bradley would pull him through. He has. He is a precious and loving little boy.”
Marcie found a box of tissues by the bread box. She used one to dab away her tears. “Helen, I don’t think I can go back to the office. The manager is horrible. He will somehow blame me for setting Frank off.”
Mrs. Carter held her hand, “Honey you can find another job. You can’t work in torment. Life is meant to be enjoyed. Work should allow you to do something worthwhile and be respected.”
“I wish that was true. Maybe I could be the caregiver for Mr. Hill. I think I would like to get him back on track. I would love to meet Mr. Bradley.”
“Ben will want to be home, as soon as possible. You will love meeting the family, especially playing games with Mr. Bradley. I think his grandson will want to be here most of the time. I would enjoy seeing you as a neighbor having tea together. Time to move away from this trauma.”
“I think I would like to transition to a new job. I’ve been living with too much trauma in the office. I need to recuperate myself.”
“I believe I can make it happen. I’m too old to care for Ben, especially before he gets his strength back. I can help you. If you are applying to be caregiver, and staying here as you will need to, you should meet all the family.”
“Yes, I want to build trust with the son and daughter.”
“There’s another family member we need to talk with. Now don’t freak out as I hear you, young people, say. Hold my hand and we will go into the dining room.”
Hear the Bear Song on substack - free sub worth every penny
I return to helplessly watching the insanity of our current world. Climate should be the first priority of every policy.
Novel Solace of Solitude & Null Stillness: Land of Spirit for a Barren Soul are available on Apple Books & Kindle — search for ShireSteve
Journeys begin, stall, end, begin again - I am not stacked or a sub, but I am stocky
Stay up with literature in Dubuque John’s Substack
An interesting Indie publisher in Iowa — Ice Cube Press Pulse of the Heartland
