Bits and Pieces

Bits. A little bit of your eyes when they looked at me. A little bit of your smile when you saw me walk down the street or when we met by accident. Your smile wrinkled your entire young face. Pieces. Your lips. They were lips I loved. I wanted to kiss your mouth and keep going, hold on to you tight as I put my arms around your neck. Never letting you get away was my dream in those days long, long ago. I lived for those encounters, for the unexpected moments of happiness each and every time we saw one another. Even on rainy days, the water coming down didn’t affect me. I didn’t care if I got soaking wet. There you were, right in front of me. I never bothered to carry an umbrella, anyway. It was you; it was us. We were a strong team, later we were no more. Now I don’t want to know what happened or why. It just happened.

Force

Oh, no. I don’t want to—I don’t want to. I love it here.  The woman stared more than looked at her luggage. There were 3 heavy bags and duffel bags right in front of her. She picked them up off the floor. “Not light”, she muttered. “Not light at all”.  She couldn’t leave any of it behind. The luggage had gifts that she had been given and books that she couldn’t part with. She had received the books from a special place, a place she would probably not be able to go back to in the near future. There had been another place, many years ago. She would have given anything to truly belong there. Then she had fought with her conscience and her heart. She had tried to find a way to stay; she couldn’t and she had left it. It didn’t matter that she had returned to that place once; she still had to leave it behind as if she had never loved it, as if it had meant nothing to her. Today, with this new trip, she was older—a lot older. She didn’t try to see if she could stay, at least a few days longer. She knew she wouldn’t be able to. Her eyes had tears; she got rid of them with the back of her hand. “One more time.” She slowly opened the door of her bedroom and started to walk down the stairs, one piece of luggage at a time. The car would be arriving soon to take her to the airport.  

The Name

The name again. It was a beautiful name. She thought about it all the time. It was the most beautiful name in the world. Once upon a time she had been happy there. She had lived as if the happiness would never end. She had walked the streets, the quiet streets of what could be called a village as if it all belonged to her. The houses with the small gardens out front had the most beautiful geraniums she had ever seen. Their colors were red, white and pink and sometimes she would cut off a dark green leaf or two to take back home. She had a home. It was hers, at least for the time being. She wanted to run back there, lock the door behind her. She was afraid it would all go away and that she’d be nowhere again. Nowhere was cold and dreary. She didn’t want or need that anymore.

2 Places

She wasn’t sure where she was. Was she in the town she had left behind or in the new place? At times, she didn’t know. She had left a loved one behind, but he was supposed to have a back -up person or persons. There were phone calls from the new place to the doctor and the replacement caregiver in the old town. She was on call constantly; as often as she could she stole a few moments for herself to do what she needed to do in the new place. She felt tense and she lost her temper once or twice; when she did, she shook her head. Using images of better times in her life to calm down, she went on. She had to do her duty for her loved one. He needed someone; he had to have someone make sure that he was stable. He needed to function as normally for him as possible.

Silence

The room was large, with a queen size bed and a good mattress. The bathroom was comfortable. It had an oval-shaped mirror and a tub. She hadn’t been in such a place in a long time. When they showed it to her, she couldn’t believe it. “Is this where I am going to stay?” she asked. “Yes. I hope you enjoy it.” Her host nodded and left the room. She took a shower and ate crackers out of a half full box. She went to sleep; the bus ride had been a long one, with no complications except for the bumps along the way. She woke up 6 or 7 hours later. She looked up at the ceiling; the sun was flooding her room. Silence. It was hard for her to believe that she was in a place filled with silence and peace. Her days back in the large city she had travelled from were usually noisy and chaotic. She smiled. “Nice, she said softly. “This is nice. It’s good.” Eventually she would have to go back “home”; there was no other way. For now, she’d make the best of her room and what was outside the room and the house. She’d live and pretend she was there for good.

Voice

The voice, the voice of the person on the other line, didn’t sound right. The person said the same things over and over again. He was sorry but he couldn’t do it today. He could not perform his duties. He wanted to but it was beyond him. She understood. His words were thick; he spoke as if he didn’t want her to know what he was talking about. He had not been able to “perform,” to do what needed to be done, in quite a while. He had more off days than on days. She figured that he had to push himself to open his eyes in the morning. He was exhausted. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You can do things next week or the week after that.” “That’s too long to wait.” “I can wait.” She would have to wait or pretend that she was waiting. There was enough energy inside her for that; she didn’t know how much longer her strength would last. The conversation would have to end. She couldn’t take it anymore. There was to much scarcity in his life now, too many pieces were missing. “I will talk to you later,” she told him. She hung up the phone and closed her eyes. She had seen more than she would have wanted to today.

Zero Night

The sandwich was cold. As she ate it, the wind blew in her face. It was a harsh wind; the temperature was 43 Fahrenheit but, to her, it felt 15 degrees or so colder. She took another bite. The ham and cheese didn’t taste as good as it should have; the bread was on the hard side. A cup of hot tea or coffee would have been nice. She looked down at her yellow cup. Nothing. Nobody had put anything in it today. Nobody had put anything in it yesterday or the day before. It was getting dark. She looked up at the building across the street. “An apt. building with balconies on the top floors,” she thought. “Wouldn’t it be good to be in one of them now and have something enjoyable to eat?” She got up and threw the rest of the sandwich away in the garbage can next to her. She put the yellow cup in one of the bags and started walking. When she got to the corner, she looked at the crate she had been sitting on that day. She had left it by the garbage. “Somebody will pick it up,” she said softly to no one. “I don’t care. It’s just another zero day; zero night.”

No Words, Part 2

 “I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!” The purse had been left on the bench of the subway station. Somebody had grabbed it and he had been accused of taking it. “I am an easy target. Look at me!” She looked at him. The stains on the pants, the tee shirt in need of washing, the big bag full of stuff that he always carried. And the walker. Sometimes he’d put his bag on the walker if the bag was too heavy; it often was. “No. I would never do that. Why should I?” The police detective had interviewed him. He had not been arrested, but he could not let go. “Why don’t they arrest real crooks?” His face was red and his arms moved from one side to the other. “Forget about it for now,” she said. “Think other thoughts.” He shook his head. “I can’t. They accused me because of what I am. “It was true; she couldn’t deny it. All she could do was say she was sorry. The ride back to Lower Manhattan was one of the longest she had ever experienced. He talked about the purse as if somebody had said he had stolen a priceless jewel. After she took him home, she sighed and attempted to smile behind her mask.

No Words

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! I am not a crook!  “He kept saying the words over and over. Nobody looked at him; nobody dared look at him. “I don’t take what doesn’t belong to me!” His friend helped him board the bus. The ride to where they needed to be wasn’t long; she helped him sit on the seat nearest to the door. His walker wasn’t large, but people had to go around it.  He could not stop. She touched one of his hands. “Please. It is not a life or death situation!” He looked at her. “I know it isn’t, “he told her.” I just didn’t like the way I felt.” She had no answer for him. She held on to his arm. The bus ride never seemed to end; when it did, she helped him down to the sidewalk. They got to his building. “I am done. I will see you tomorrow.” He closed the main door behind him and he was waved in.

Back

He did not come back. He did not come back for her. She was disappointed; her heart couldn’t believe it. She did not know what to do, but she wouldn’t seek him out. She would not beg for his love. A few years went by. Sometimes she thought that she would somehow get over it. She was mistaken. He was her love, her life, and nothing much could be done about it. She survived more than she lived. Having a routine was helpful. She could control her feelings if she kept busy. She missed seeing him, she missed the sound of his voice. But it was better not too see him again. The dream was over.