#when the clouds clear I burn up in the sun's boiling rage. struggling to resist becoming enthralled by it

[perktarts]

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#i long for the pathetic melancholy that moping brings about #there is peace in it. like gentle rain #when the clouds clear I burn up in the sun's boiling rage. struggling to resist becoming enthralled by it #was this anger always here? repressed by a greater need? or have i been wronged and only now have i reached the boiling point? #they say grief manifests in many ways #i say that ever since elanor died everyone has only been patronizing me #i read a book that said siblings often experience disenfranchised grief. that they're overlooked in favour of parents and children #i say that couldn't be me. me and my sister were a pair. our reputation preceded us. people I've never met calling us the bannon boys #surely people would know that I care deeply for my sister and we were extremely close #people brush me off. blatantly. #....... #even my sister's dear friends brushed me off. even though we would know how each other hurt #my sister's funeral was nothing but disrespectful to her memory #droves of people came out of the woodwork many of whom my sister explicitly said she hated #even the rituals and prayers felt disingenuous. #..... #i grow weary of living for other people. i grow weary of not loving myself for the convenience of others #i tire of others expectations and disrespect #the world doesn't love me it loves this parody of me. this mask i made for them #i need to be me. i need to be the me i want to be. not the me i should be #... #it's almost cruel 🤣 #woe am i

[hilswriting-blog]

Any Minute Now

Short fiction by Hilary J. MacDonald

The clock is ticking away with waves of clicks and tapping coming from fingers hitting keyboards. You could almost cut the tension in the air with a knife as everyone in the room scrambles to finish their work for the day. When the clock nears 5pm, the clicks and tapping start turning into shuffling of papers on desks and muffled footsteps on the carpet floor. As they start to leave one by one, sometimes in groups, I wish them a good evening from my desk and that I’ll see them again in the morning.

Those were the days. Back when I worked as a secretary for an advertising company in New York during the 60s and 70s. It was the simple 9-5 life. There was nothing special about it, but it was all I needed. My husband and I have four children so he also worked to make ends meet. It was tough at times, but by the grace of God we were able to get through it.

Roger and I are still happily married. In fact, he should be back any minute. He goes to the store every few days to pick up basic things like the milk. Sometimes it feels like he’s gone forever. Don Draper keeps me company while I wait though. He’s on the television everyday being an example of how not to live my life like mad men. But even he has some good qualities about himself.  

One of our daughters comes to visit us regularly which is very nice of her. She doesn’t have to do that. She helps me be more active and do things around the house like puzzles! She also brings the extra groceries that Roger doesn’t get. Every once in a while she brings my favorite pie: lemon meringue. It’s been a few days since she’s visited though, or anyone even. It’s starting to get lonely, but Roger should be back any minute now.

 ___

The burning lights fade out and a thunderous applause roars from the audience. “That’s a wrap!” echoing throughout the room. Everyone is feeling the same sense of accomplishment as we wrap up the last scene for the day. Cameramen are collecting their cables while the models and host exit the stage. The audience is starting to clear out one by one, sometimes in groups. I see if I can assist the members on set before we all go home for the evening.

Those were the days. In the heat of the Los Angeles sun, in the midst of the 1960s. The hustle and bustle of the Hollywood life was an everyday norm for me. I met my husband, Rich, on the set of our jobs at one of the Hollywood studios. He was impossible to resist with looks like his. We got married and shortly after had a daughter; the rest is history.

Rich should be back any minute. He’s gone to get milk. However, the lovely Bob Barker is keeping me company, telling me to “come on down!” for a chance to win my dream vacation. Though, I would never be able to go because I’m pretty much stuck in this lazy boy recliner. I live vicariously through the contestants on the screen and can only imagine the amazing time they will have on their awarded vacations. My dream vacation would be going to Greece. The food, the salty breezes blowing through my hair, the crystal blue water. An old fart like me can dream.

Our daughter, Samantha, hasn’t visited for a few weeks now. I don’t know what happened because she used to visit Rich and I all the time. She has a busy life that she needs to focus on – I don’t blame her for not wanting to just watch the television with me. Samantha never liked me being glued to that darned thing anyways. Mmmm, she always brings the best pies when she visits though.

I hear a rustling coming from the hallway outside of the family room.

“Hey honey,” I call out because Rich should be back any minute now.

___

ER nurses burst through the door rolling a stretcher with them. All I hear is multiple people yelling for doctors as they steer the victim into the emergency operating room. With the clipboard attached to the stretcher in my hand I try to record the jumbled details about this patient. Running to my desk I let the clipboard go, swinging wildly, as I go to page for a doctor to come immediately. I record the patient’s information and wait behind the desk to get out of the way. Almost instantly one doctor comes flying down the hall and stops at my desk. Our eyes lock for what feels like an eternity. I can’t focus on the words he’s saying so I just point to the operating room where the nurses took the patient. He gives a flirty grin and runs off. That was the day I met Alex. So gentle and graceful in his job as an ER doctor, always with such passion. This I saw when our eyes locked that very day. I worked as an ER receptionist during the 60s-70s at a hospital in Seattle, alongside Alex. Within a year of seeing each other we got married, settled down, and had twins. We both took less shifts at work so we could put more of our time and effort into raising our children.

           But those were the days. Our children are now grown up and it’s just Alex and I. Alex is still such a great man and tries to take care of me the best that he can by running little errands like getting the milk. Actually, he should be back from the store any minute. I’m happy here in my lazy boy recliner watching Derek “McDreamy” Shepherd woo the ladies of Grey’s Anatomy. I have definitely found my McDreamy. Mine is loyal and dear to me. My daughter is also very loyal and dear to me. She does the favor of visiting us every once in a while, but it’s been a long time since I last saw her. To make life seem a bit more exciting she gets me doing things like trying to knit or helping bake my all-time favorite, lemon meringue pie. The recipe we follow uses milk, but Alex should be back any minute now.

           I hear a rustling coming from the hallway outside of the living room.

To my surprise, a woman pokes her head in. I thought it would be Alex who should be back from getting the milk, but it’s this strange woman. Scared, my immediate response is to tell her to get out. A concerned look spreads across her face as she still stands there holding crumpled up newspaper. I become confused when she doesn’t leave.

           “Vivian, it happened again, didn’t it?” she spoke softly while she was occupied with that newspaper. Even more confused I stare at her with a blank expression. A discerning sigh comes out of her.

           She comes over, places the newspaper on the table, and sits down on the footrest in front of me. We make deliberate eye contact.  

           “Vivian, I’m Sherry, your–“

           “You’re my daughter. Yeah, yeah, I know, Sherry.” I snap at her out of embarrassment that she thinks I don’t even know who my own daughter is.

           “No, I’m your caretaker, Vivian.” I sit there, still, with that blank expression. “I come here, to your house, every day to care for and assist you. I understand that this is probably going to be hard for you, but your memory has been declining over the years, and lately it has gotten worse. Your therapists say you’re suffering from short-term and now long-term memory loss; symptoms of dementia. This started around five years ago after the accident.” She takes another sigh and she places her smooth hands over mine. “I’m sorry that you have to go through this again, Vivian. Your husband was involved in a hit-and-run accident while he was out getting milk… and he passed away.”

           Feelings of rage, grief, and disarray boil up inside me, and I can’t hold them back. “Where is– my daughter?! I need her. Where?! I need to– talk to her right– now!” I managed to get out gasping for breath between words. Tears rolling down my face.

           “You don’t have any children, you miscarried when you were 21. I try to keep you away from that TV because the therapists say that with your recollection issues you start confusing what your actual memories are with what you’re watching on TV.”

           After the silence of me being stunned, Susan gets up, takes the newspaper and starts wrapping the glass candle holder that was on the table.

           “Don’t touch my stuff! What are you doing?” This imposter is getting on my nerves.

           “Your memory has gotten so bad that you can’t take care of yourself anymore. I’m helping you pack your belongings so you can move to a 24-hour care home. I know you’ll love it there, Vivian. There’s gonna’ be different caretakers so I won’t be able to make you your lemon meringue pies anymore, but they have dessert after every meal, every single day. You’ll love that.” She has such sincerity in her voice. This calms me a bit. Sandra takes the ball of newspaper she’s holding into the other room.

           “Lemon meringue pie. Yeah, that would be nice,” I think as I struggle to get out of my recliner and walk over to the window.

           I draw back the walnut-coloured curtains of the living room window. Before me is the drizzling rain falling from an ominously clouded sky. Children are running down the street with their toys headed for cover. A cat jumps off of our fence scrambling underneath a shed; a young man opens an umbrella and holds it above his lady as they lock hands and continue strolling along.

           My left hand wipes tears away and I feel the cold metal of my wedding band graze my face. Delightful thoughts scatter through my mind. My hands rest on the window pane as I stare down the street, searching for the familiar. A smile cracks through my lips.

           Leonard will be back any minute now.

 The End.

#fiction #short fiction #short story #sad