The Letter

(2 Minutes)

I remember sitting in the car for twenty minutes contemplating whether to pay my respects. I was angry at Alicia for hurting me and felt hypocritical pretending to be sad, but I eventually gave in. I knew I had to see her one last time.

Entering the funeral home gave me a new perspective on what kind of person she was. She was a popular girl and well liked in the office, even if I wasn’t included in her circle of friends. I spent an hour hiding in the back mixing with the other mourners, not knowing exactly what to say. I had no idea what a mother that just lost her daughter of twenty-nine would want to hear. I eventually found my way on line.

Embracing her mother and saying a few commiserating words was the easy part. Just being there was of some comfort to her. What surprised me was how difficult it was to see Alicia. She looked beautiful in her casket. There was no indication of the illness that claimed her. I didn’t even know she was sick until someone at work told us that she died. We were all shocked.

The montage of photographs adjacent to her coffin told many stories of happier days. There was one taken of us while we were on a weekend away together. The memories instantly transported me back and it awakened the pain I hoped I had left behind.

It was a year earlier when Alicia put the announcement up for a white-water rafting trip to West Virginia. She was only in the office a week and was already arranging social gatherings.  It was the first of many such weekends. She was always living in the moment.

Ten of us braved the class-VI rapids of New River that weekend.  As it worked out, we were all coupled up. On the first evening we lit a fire on the riverbank. After a few beers, we all took turns relaying our dreams and confessing our secrets.  When it was my turn, I admitted that I couldn’t swim. After a round of laughter and the inevitable jokes, Alicia led me to the river and held my hand until the water was neck deep. She sensed my nervousness and didn’t push me to go further until I was ready. Being accepted by one of the cool girls wasn’t something I was used to.

We spent several wonderful minutes discussing whatever came to mind until I forgot that we were in the middle of the river. It was as if she read my mind when she surprised me with a gentle kiss. She whispered that I should follow her to the other side, and I impulsively swam after her. She was with me the entire way. An hour later, we returned to the campfire and dried off. I came home from that weekend exhilarated and in love.

Alicia and I did all sorts of wild things on our dates. Sure, we had plenty of quiet and romantic evenings, but she wanted to experience too many things to limit ourselves to basic activities like going to the movies or the occasional amusement park. We drove to New Jersey for a hot-air balloon ride, spent weekends in Niagara Falls and Las Vegas, and climbed the knife-edge trail up Mount Katahdin in Maine. I was terrified balancing on the cliff with a thousand-foot vertical drop. She even convinced me that jumping out of an airplane would be fun. To this day I still laugh at the series of photographs of us falling. The blood-curdling screams had slowly transformed into euphoria—and the camera caught it all! There seemed to be no limits to her wish list. We were planning two weeks of scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef in Australia when she abruptly ended the relationship.

Friday night was when we would all meet after work. It was another weekly get-together that Alicia organized.  We played pool, ate burgers and usually got a little intoxicated before we’d see each other safely to the train. After the break-up, the Friday nights weren’t as fun. I felt like an outcast again pretending to laugh with everyone else. Alicia and I played it cool because of our work relationship, but our friendship suffered. She organized another long weekend to the Grand Canyon, but I skipped it. I eventually avoided going out with the office altogether and kept to myself.

It was during the Christmas party when she finally spoke to me. She was friendly and we spoke politely most of the night. We both did a good job at avoiding the obvious: I pretended to be over her, and she pretended not to catch on. I still couldn’t understand why she pushed me away. I was too wrapped up in self-pity to realize that she was trying to say goodbye.

Entering the funeral parlor that night changed the way I approach life. Seeing the photographs of some of Alicia’s experiences reminded me how I should live. She taught me the most important lesson a man could ever learn; to attack life and not be afraid. I know too many bitter middle-aged people with regrets, and I will not become one of them. I intend to look back on my life with a sense of pride knowing I’ve lived it to the fullest. I’m thankful to have simply known her. I’m finally going to the Great Barrier Reef like we had originally planned and her spirit will be with me. I will always love Alicia for teaching me how to swim and how to live. I miss her.

Just before she died, I received a letter from Alicia. At the time, I was still angry with her and tossed it aside unopened. I discovered it again while I was packing for Australia, and it gave me pause. I assume it said something along the lines of how much she loved me and didn’t want to hurt me further knowing that she was dying, but I’m still afraid to open it. It would crush me if it said anything else.

©2008 by Charles Rice

Gwen

(2 Minutes)

I knew I was going to live through it. Even as my car rolled for what seemed like miles, I knew it wasn’t yet my time. Strapped into the car seat behind me, my daughter had screamed in horror. She had already lost her mom and I was all she had left. When the car finally stopped rolling, I was confident that God would not allow Gwen to grow up an orphan.

When I awoke, the light was too bright, and I couldn’t open my eyes. All sorts of possibilities went through my mind. Was I dead? Were they oncoming headlights? Emergency room lights maybe? I ruled out the light being Heaven or angels because I didn’t have that warm fuzzy feeling of acceptance one is supposed to experience upon passing, or so I read. My speculation ended when I finally opened my eyes to find myself lying in bed in a strange room.

The sunlight filled the bedroom from somewhere behind me. A wooden dresser faced me at the foot of the bed. The mirror atop the dresser provided me with a clear view of artwork hanging over my head. If I was able to move my neck a little more, I could’ve confirmed the painting’s location. To my left, the door was only slightly ajar, as if someone meant to close the door but it didn’t quite latch, and a slight breeze had moved it from its jamb. I felt warm and comfortable.

The muffled voices were unfamiliar and distant, but the unmistakable sound of children running somewhere inside was clear. I remember smiling. Judging by the authoritative maternal voice commanding them to stop, I deduced my position to be in someone’s upstairs bedroom.  Just about to doze off again, I felt a cat jump on the bed to investigate. She wasn’t mine but her purring comforted me just the same and I dozed off contented.

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes again was the chill in the air. The bedding was heavier and warmer, and the artwork visible through the mirror was now partially obscured by a silver balloon that read Happy Birthday. I couldn’t imagine whose bed I was lying in—I know it wasn’t mine. This time I was more alert. This time I felt strong enough to get out of bed.

I sat up and saw someone unfamiliar in the mirror, and someone sporting a gray beard and balding looked back at me. I rubbed my face to confirm that the old man was me. How long has it been?

A child stood in the doorway, apparently surprised to see me sitting up. A woman in her mid-thirties, her mother perhaps, walked up behind her to investigate what the child was staring at.

“Dad?”

The woman was obviously astounded. She knelt on the floor and held me tightly. I could feel her tears drop on my neck like warm rain. I knew it was Gwen. At that moment, I knew I had been in and out of a coma for three decades.

“I’m sorry Gwen.” I began a feeble apology for my poor driving. I realized that thirty years after the fact, she would think my guilt silly, but to me, it felt like only an hour had passed.

“Don’t you dare,” she responded. “I’m happy you’re finally with me.”

Gwen proceeded to introduce me to my son-in-law and grandchildren. The kids seemed scared that I was finally awake—I was back from the dead after all. I could only imagine. I had a hard time comprehending what pain I must have caused Gwen. I put her through hell. Whatever money I had in my savings must’ve been exhausted within weeks of the accident. My care must’ve been astronomical. What have I done?

I’ve always prided myself on handling any situation thrown at me, but I couldn’t bear the guilt. Gwen forgave me. All I wanted to do was fall back asleep like a coward. She deserved better.

I was grateful. I was able to walk downstairs for a hot meal, which was in itself a miracle; my muscles should have atrophied after three decades. My daughter was blessed with a beautiful family, and I was blessed to have at least spent some time with them.  As I dozed off, I had a sense of enlightenment. I knew nothing of the mysteries of life or death – I had no answers, but I felt at peace. More than anything else, I had a will to live greater than ever before.

When I awoke, I was strapped to a gurney in an ambulance. I was in pain and confused. If it was time for me to pass on, I was ready. I found comfort knowing my daughter was fine, and that’s all that mattered. I passed out.

When I again awoke, or when I opened my eyes for the first time—I still can’t decide which, my sister was smiling at me. She was young and beautiful as I remembered from years ago. I smiled back. She asked me if I was ready to see Gwen. A pain shot through my chest thinking she was already in Heaven, but I couldn’t resist the thrill of seeing her again. My sister stepped to the doorway and reached out her hand. I began to cry in anticipation, but a four-year-old toddler entered.

©2010 by Charles Rice

You can reach me at:   charlesrice361@gmail.com