Novel Excerpt: Vigilante

I walked up the dock; my thick-heeled boots thudding on the rotting boards, my mind alert for certain danger.  I always went there when I felt restless.  I knew some would notice me.  There was always someone to notice me.  After a drink and a gamble the men stumbled into my path.  They stared at me with vacant eyes, trying to focus.  They wanted me.  I could sense it.  It made me feel powerful.  They couldn’t touch me but I knew one would try.  They always tried.

“Hey baby.  Ain’t you scared a’ the dark?” 

I knew it was directed at me, but it wasn’t enough to make me stop.  They’d have to try better than that.  It was my game tonight.

“Hey honey!”  The same voice called out, “I know yer waitin’ for me.  You heard how big I was.” 

This made his friends laugh.  I heard the low guffaws and the slap of a hand on a back.  They were behind me, but I could smell their breath.  They radiated stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey.  I heard laughter again and they moved a little closer.  It gave the ringleader more courage.

“Hey, pretty baby! You lookin’ for your mama?  I think I found her in the alley.  Come with me, we can find her together, make it a threesome.” 

“My mother is dead.” I said to the man behind me as I turned to face him and his friends. “You like corpses?”

There were four of them.  The ringleader was tall and dark with an unkempt face and a scar over his left eye.  The one on his left was fat, and unsteady on his legs.  The other two seemed to be brothers.  They were fair haired and their faces were burnt and ravaged by the elements.  Their clothes were dirty and caked with ocean salt.  You could tell they were from abroad with something exotic in their blood.

The fat one laughed and elbowed his buddy.  “Carl don’t care long as they warm!  Remember Morocco?”  The other two laughed remembering the image.

“I din’ know she were dead!”  Carl cried venomously.

“Course you did!  You’se the one who slit ‘er throat!  She bled all over you while you had yer fun!”  One of the brothers answered.

“Yeah, ruined it for the res’ of us.”  The other countered.

These men cared nothing for life.  They only knew money and petty pleasures.  Modern day pirates, they sailed, pillaged, raped and took anything they wanted.  They knew no boundaries. They killed for fun.  I stared at them with loathing in my heart and a song in my eyes.  They were the lowest of creatures, these dirty, foul men.  I knew they would spread their stink and filth if I didn’t stop them.  I wanted to kill them, and the fact that there were four of them only made it more fun.  It promised to be a good night.

I started walking towards them throwing a seductive smile on my face.  The fat one seemed to have forgotten I was there.  He stared at me first in surprise that I was approaching, then with lust and greed in his blank eyes.  Laughing, the brothers turned to me, one in amusement and the other in skepticism.  They were used to this, used to women, but I was different, they could sense it.  I had a secret.  They had no idea how different I was.

I walked right up to Carl, the ringleader, and saw that the scar over his left eye was fresh.  He stunk, but I ignored the stench and crooked my finger in the direction of the alley.  I knew they would follow.  Even men like these are easy prey under the powers of women.  The problem is women don’t seem to realize it.  Women just give it away.  Not me.  The night belonged to me.

I led them into the darkened alley.  I heard one, probably the fat one, stumble and crash into a garbage can.  A cat screeched at him as he swore.  

“You boys afraid of the dark?  Or is this spot good enough?”  I called back over my shoulder.

Carl leered at me and started unbuttoning his fly. 

“Only if was good enough for you, princess.”

I slowly took stock of my surroundings.  I quickly had to learn that everything could be used as a weapon.  The others chuckled softly, looking to him for leadership to see what would happen next. I knew from the Morocco story that these men were prepared to do anything.  I wouldn’t give them that chance.  I quickly spotted a rusted fire escape hanging three feet above me, a couple bags of garbage spilling out of the closed doorway of the building on my right, a broken glass bottle near the foot of one of the brothers and various broken stones and bricks littering the alley floor.

“I like small dirty spaces.”  I whispered deeply, my voice hinting at sexual, “who wants it first?” 

I unbuttoned my black blouse a button or two, almost revealing the promise of my body.

“How if we share you all at once?”  The amused brother smiled at me and revealed two broken teeth,

“There’s enough holes for all of us.”

“I don’t know if you can handle me.”  I taunted as I flipped my hair over my shoulder.

Carl laughed loudly up to the sky and took a step forward.

“Why don’t you boys share her first?  I want to watch.”

Like puppies, both brothers eagerly stepped up.  I shrunk into a crouch then quickly leapt into the air.  I caught the fire escape with both hands, swung my body towards them and caught the brother on the left in the face with my boot.  He crumpled to the ground holding his nose.  Blood spurted on the wall beside him.

“You bitch!”  The other one screamed at me. 

The fat one took a hasty step back and tripped on the garbage near the door.  He went down with a thud that knocked the wind out of him.  He sat there clutching his chest.  I quickly swung my body again and wrapped my legs around the other’s neck.  One quick snap and he hung lifeless in my grasp.  He dropped to the ground, his neck oddly bent, blue eyes still open.  I dove back into the alley and caught the scent of the blood pouring out of the first brother’s face.  He was standing now beside Carl still clutching his broken nose.  The blood dripped over his fingers and ran down his face.  The smell overpowered me.  The aroma of his life seeped into my senses and triggered an animal instinct in my brain.  I wanted him.  I wanted them all. 

Carl swung at me but my reflexes allowed me to easily escape his drunken attempt.  I ducked, rolled and grabbed the broken glass near his foot.  Springing to my feet I plunged the bottle into the neck of the remaining brother.  Carl gaped at me with disbelief in his eyes.  The fat one still cowered on the ground.

“You cut her throat.”  I mocked the gang leader with a vicious parody of his own story.  “You ruined the fun for the rest of them.”

In one quick swipe I dragged the broken glass across the neck of his friend never taking my eyes from Carl.  He stared at me with eyes wide with panic and disbelief.  Twisting my head I put my lips on the wound.  I could feel his heart beating wildly.  Gradually it slowed as he struggled a bit in my arms but his life slowly left his body.  Too quickly it was over and the body was heavy in my arms.  I faced Carl once more.

"Surprised?" I mocked him.

Carl started towards me but I hurled the body of his buddy towards him.  He tried to catch it but the deadweight caught him off guard.  He made a small moaning sound as he supported the body of his friend.  The look on Carl’s face made me smile.  He was stunned in his terror, his mind rebelling from the death in his arms.  He stared into the lifeless eyes of his partner and nearly shook from fear.

I felt no remorse for this man.  His life was not worth saving.  I stared at the two of them with complacence.  I was not sorry that I killed them and as he looked at me and I knew he could see it.  He threw the body to the side and charged at me, an unearthly howl escaping his lips.  Even on some primitive level he wanted revenge.

I used his momentum to my advantage.  I ducked underneath him and threw him over my right shoulder.  I heard him hit the ground and went in for a kick.  My high heeled boot caught him right in the eye.  Half blind he stood up shrieking.  I knew that even in this area all that noise was sure to attract attention.  I swung my arm and forced my hand into his windpipe.  Chocking, he was forced back against the wall under the fire escape and eventually slid to the ground.

I leaned in really close to look him.  I wanted him to know who I was.  I wanted him to remember me.

“You’re dead now.”  I whispered

Novel Excerpt: Life After

Chapter One:

Finally in the End

“We've done it.” I thought as I stood in the horses’ pen at the far end of The Property.

We had suffered grievously over the last two decades. We had endured beyond the full scope of natural emotion. Our world had deteriorated and our race had been pushed to the brink of survival. We had seen much, done more and survived through the darkest days.

“After all these years,” I whispered to my mother, “we've done it.”

She looked at me with her dark eyes and I could see the years etched inside her soul. She smiled slightly, with some mistrust then turned to go. I watched her, my mother, so strong and resilient. A beautiful match for my father who was the one distinctive and unwavering personality who had led us all to the Now Days. The peace and harmony were of his doing and I knew his deeds and fair justice here would influence the rest of humanity forever. We weren't the only ones, but we were the biggest and most prominent Community not only surviving, but thriving these 20 years after the most devastating outbreak ever to affect mankind the world over. It had destroyed most of humanity, yet our precious community was still alive.

“All but one.”

Yes, one didn't survive. Truthfully . . .

“All but two.”

The pain of remembering threatened to spill down my cheeks. Both of them closest to me. Both of them a part of me. Both of them my legacy. My father and my child. I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to acknowledge. There was beauty in daring to believe that my daughter lived on in the laughter of the children. There was courage in repeating old stories that kept my father's presence near. But I tried to forget. I tried to forget a lot of things.

I've almost completely forgotten the Old Days. That's what we called them; the Old Days. They have no other name. The Old Days were nothing now but legends. We tell our children stories of oil booms and convenience stores with rows and rows of candy, ice cream and other tantalizing treats. Some of the older ones would tell us marvelous, unbelievable stories of airplanes, giant metallic birds, flying within hours to exotic, tropical destinations. They'd speak of huge buffet tables covered with tons of food and all the rum you could drink. They talked of huge cities with buildings so tall they pierced the sky. They told us of the layers and layers of glass windows and the miles of grey and black concrete. People worked in these buildings. 'Office jobs,' they called them. I imagined cities full of glass towers; huge, sprawling complexes filled with unimaginable luxury. I had left when I was only 6. I could barely remember my old, brick school let alone the downtown core of the city I lived in. I remembered my house, my bedroom, the bathroom.

All that was gone. That life has been destroyed. The few of us left had managed to carve an existence out for ourselves that, although it didn't mirror the modern day life we had all left behind, it certainly mimicked. We had tried our best to reinvent strategies that would bring to life old luxuries. Electricity, indoor heat, refrigeration. These discoveries, all but taken for granted in the Old Days, had been denied us so long. Long enough to recognize the gaps left by their absence. Long enough to create a need for suitable substitutes. Long enough to realize that our old way of life was completely unsustainable. We'd been surviving off of so little that it was hard to accept the fact that mankind had once lived off of excess and monstrous greed. From what I remember and what I've been told, our old way of life was too much. Nature always finds a balance between the creatures that thrive and multiply on her surface. When rabbits grow in number, wolves will gather. It's law.

What we had managed to do was create a Community that could sustain itself in the aftermath of such devastation and ruin. We had escaped the repulsive fate that had made victims of billions of others. We might actually be considered the 'first race' of people after the epidemic. We had created a Community based on Now Day morals and beliefs. No excess. No greed, or power. No possessions. No consumerism. All of our needs were met, the need for water, food, shelter and human interaction. We have created a micro-society that doesn't rely on the great indulgences of the past. We don't need oil to fuel our homes and keep us warm, we eat what we find or catch. We respect Nature and are in turn blessed by it. We don't have computers, or cell phones, we don't have television or the internet. We make our own clothes and grow our own food. We don't have supermarkets, gas stations or buffets. We work by the light of the sun and keep warm by the fire at night. Our life is simple and satisfying. It was hard to relate to the stories of the Old Days. That life sounded rushed, mad and driven to stress and disease. We worked hard during the day, leisurely entertained ourselves at night and fully participated in our Community. We knew that if we wanted to survive, we'd have to survive together.

Memoirs: Prairie Road Trip

We decided to drive.  We didn’t know where, or for how long.  We didn’t even really know why.  We just decided to go.  Our decision took us East, straight across the prairies.  At the end of August the tall grasses gently bowed in the hot summer breeze and the sun glared down on at us as we made our way down the highway. 

Ready for adventure and expecting anything we saw in the distance a large, white sign elegantly directing us toward an art gallery.  Newly Opened! It exclaimed in red cursive letters.  Our intrigue peaked we made the split decision to explore the new opportunity.  Shortly we came across another sign confirming our path.  Slightly smaller and less impressive it told us the distance to our destination.  We nearly missed the third sign as small as it was.  This message was even less professional and quietly let us knows that it wouldn’t be much longer.  The last sign for our gallery was no more than handwritten letterhead with a crudely drawn arrow directing us to turn down a gravel road. 

Our surroundings showed no indication of civilization.  The land was flat, dotted here and there by clumps of evergreen trees and bales of yellowed hay rolled into tight bundles ready for winter.  There were no houses, certainly no city or towns evident, and no sign of equipment or storage.  There was only prairie, broken by the infinite stretch of black highway.  Still, the little sign promised us an art gallery and we turned down the dusty, rocky road.

Several kilometers later and still no sign, (of civilization or otherwise) we turned to each other and joked in bad taste that the journey felt like a ghastly ending to a bloody horror film.  We speculated on how long it would take for anyone to even find our car, let alone what happened to our murdered remains.  We tried to scare one another by elaborating on the story, adding crazy farmers with no connection to the outside world, and acres and acres of farm equipment and fertile land to hide bodies.  We suddenly realized the uncertainty of our judgment and counted on the narrow odds of anything horrible actually happening.  Still, we felt wary as we continued down that abandoned country road. 

Finally we arrived at a farm fenced in with tall willowy trees.  It was very secluded but sported a sign announcing that we had finally arrived at our destination.  Still slightly shaken from our imaginations we were reluctant to get out of the car.  At least there we were safe.  At least there we had a means of escape.  Once we left the car we were at the mercy of the unknown and as brave as we were, both of us could faintly see the headlines in our minds eye. 

“Two Girls Found Dead in Massacre at isolated Farm.”

Suddenly an enormous, shaggy dog lazily lumbered up from the shadows of the trees.  I noticed that his head came up to the top of our small car as he slowly welcomed us by dragging a wet, pink tongue as big as my hand across my passenger side window.  The tension shattered as we both broke out laughing. 

“Maybe he’ll protect us,” my friend joked. 

“Yeah right,” I laughed, “I bet he’s in on it!” 

We left the safety of our vehicle and followed the huge dog back through the trees.  We walked through a garden and up to an old, white farmhouse.  The dog escorted us to the door and sat patiently as we knocked for entry.  Suddenly we were met by a head full of bushy white hair and eyebrows to match.  An older gentleman glared at us, his glasses giving us the impression of large, buggy, blue eyes. 

“We’re here for the art gallery” I quietly announced, uncertainty clouding my voice.

“Well, come in!  Come in!” his face instantly brightened as he gestured us inside. “Leave your shoes on, it is in the basement.” 

Relieved to discover that our adventure truthfully lead us to the art gallery we expected, we listened politely as he explained that he and his wife just opened their doors earlier that year of their personal gallery in the basement of their home.  It was their dream to showcase their art and we, he announced proudly, were their first real visitors.  Smiling to ourselves we followed the man through the lobby and in to see the art. 

The first piece was a lovely sketch of a barn standing starkly in a field during a cold winter night with snow and barren trees set in the background.  He had used charcoal for this piece and the shading was well done and provided incredible depth.  The next was a similar barn, but this one was bright red and set in summer with a beautiful indigo sunset.  The third painting was of another, older barn set among some vibrant green trees.  He explained the location of the building in relation to his own property, and mentioned that it had been torn down the year before.  He became nostalgic when he revealed his appreciation in being able to sketch and paint it before it was wiped from the earth. 

The next exhibit was of another barn, this one a series with each portrait at a slightly different angle.  He revealed to us that he spent all day studying this barn to capture the life inside of it, the story from all sides.  Each picture had an anecdote or a memory attached to it.  He shared visions of dances with friends in one when he was younger, and the horses and prize winning animals that had lived in one of the others.  He was very passionate with his stories and his love for this art that he had created and brought to life.  He was excited to be able to have a fresh audience to share the stories of his past with.  He took pride and pleasure to show us his gallery, and consequentially, his life.  However, we soon began to see a pattern. 

“Did you notice that all of the paintings are of barns?” she whispered to me

Very quickly I saw that she was right.  Without exception, all the paintings, all the sketches, all of the artwork was, in fact, of barns.  There were from 40 – 50 separate pieces, all portraying one barn or another, and each one was studied and duplicated scrupulously by this man.  We laughed to ourselves, and swallowed back the many, many jokes that bubbled to our lips.  Only a farmer on the prairies of Saskatchewan would dedicate an entire art gallery to pictures and paintings of barns.  Towards the end of the gallery I noticed a break in the repetition and spotted some half dozen lovely, delicate paintings of local birds and plant life.

“These are beautiful.” I said to him, crossing the room to get a closer look.

“Oh, uh, those are my wife's,” he muttered inconsequentially, “but if you look over here I have a painting of one of the barns still located about 5 kilometers from here.”

When the tour was over he thanked us for coming and shoved some business cards in our hands.  We didn’t have any money to pay, but he excitedly exclaimed that if we told others about him and his gallery that would be payment enough.  I promised him I would share his story, as I instantly recognized our adventure as a tale I’d want to share.  He took some interest of our lives in the city and mentioned that if we wanted to, we would always be welcome to come back.  We said goodbye to the dog, our noble protector, and bid the old farmer farewell.  On our way back out to the car she joked about enduring another round of Saskatchewan barns.

“We can drive down the road and see if we can spot them in their real life setting,” she laughingly teased me. 

I mentioned that it might’ve been more interesting if we actually ended up at the climax of a horror film.  We laughed at our earlier fear and left the farm with good feelings of community, a strange sense of nostalgia left over from his stories, and a certain Canadian pride at our unexpected involvement in the exploration of our diverse cultures and vast nation.  I silently absorbed the fact that many people think they have the best ideas for living, but every once in a while you stumble across someone, or something in your own backyard that proves just how varied human beings are.  It made me appreciate the human spirit and all separate and unique interests and passions.  It made me think about the colour in our world created by us, and the similarities those barns had to humankind.  No two barns brought to life the same way, no two people born to the same thoughts.   Even though every single one of us may seemingly be similar, so many shades keep us apart.  It is the human condition to live forever unique, but somehow undeniably the same. 

Short Story: Cruise Bruise

My pounding head and rolling stomach protested the irony of being surrounded by water, but not being able to drink a drop.  I had discovered Kentucky Bourbon the night before at a local pub and was paying the consequences by keeping my eyes on the nearest garbage can, just in case my tormented belly decided to let me have it.  I stood in line praying that I could keep my composure.  Please, I silently chanted, please just let me make it.

I found myself frustratingly stuck behind an older, sun burnt couple who seemed to be unable to speak my language.  I prided myself on being a participant in internationalism while I seriously considered pushing them over the side of the railing.  My body simply could not take any more delays on my sole quest of feeling better.  I took a deep breath and bit my tongue against the riot in my body.

It surprised me to hear someone call our ship tiny.  I glanced up the line and saw, a huge, seaworthy ship.  I could not understand how a vessel this size could ever be called tiny.  I wondered if maybe some of my dead brain cells had penetrated the people around me.  It amused me to think that a hangover could be contagious.  Finally the line moved forward; we were on our way onto the giant that would take us smoothly into the Bahamas. 

Once on board, I noticed that the ship had a quaint feel of nostalgia from being built in the 1950's.  We found our room, and noticed that many things, including the bed, pillows and life preservers were still around since the maiden voyage.  I quietly speculated at the age span of such items while scanning the room for some water.  Ten hours had passed since the Bourbon originally declared war on my body and I finally tasted the beauty of a small, warm, $7 bottle of water compliments of the cleaning staff. 

Before we left the dock, we all had to practice the steps in case of emergency.  I was not comfortable with the fact that we must entrust our lives to the ancient, orange foam hanging from our necks.  Surely there had been technological updates in life preservers since the 50's?  Shouldn't we have life boats with sensors that automatically inflate in the face of an emergency?  How could technology completely miss the cruising industry!?  I could not help but think of the Titanic as I started into the water with my bright, orange, foam necklace. 

"At least there are no icebergs out here! The water will be warm if we go down," someone called out as if reading my mind. 

As we pulled out of the dock, we I happened to notice another cruise ship about 2 times bigger than ours.  I suddenly realized that our ship might be considered a tad smaller than the rest.  The ship beside us had 3 more levels, a tennis court, a climbing wall and a satellite dish bigger than my house.  It also had private balconies for each cabin for the passengers to enjoy a limited view of the ocean around them.  I felt my spirits lift as the Tylenol I had found kicked in. 

After dark we emerged out onto the deck to view the ocean at night.  My brain thought my eyes were playing tricks and I thought, at first, that the effects of the Bourbon were still tormenting me.  I tried to mentally stop the floor from moving and felt cheated when I realized that I was looking at the ocean, not a solid floor.  Indignant at appearing forgetful or ignorant and I vowed to remember the ocean and the vessel we were cruising on.  We saw another ship glide silently by us in the water.  The strings of lights hung on deck twinkled and blinked at us from the darkness.  The effect was beautiful.  This ship was at least triple our size and I was astonished at the wonders man could create with a simple act of will and a little bit of ambition.  I then started thinking of our ship as possibly a little small.

During dinner the following night every sip created the feeling like I was about to dive right into the glass.  The people at my table smiled and gently explain that the ocean was causing the ship to rock.  Again my brain felt ignorant for forgetting the ocean right outside the walls.  I vowed to keep in mind the concept of a cruise, and the fact that we are surrounded by a big body of water.

Once at the destination I again saw the huge ships docked beside us.  I felt envious that my ship did not contain half the entertainment paraphernalia that must be inside one of those enormous ships.  I started to feel the irony in the realization that I once thought our ship huge.  I felt silly at my lack of knowledge and vowed next time to take a real cruise where we had more than 2 days to enjoy the pleasure of the ocean with much a bigger opportunity to utilize the wonders packed inside the white walls of the giant cruise ship.  I looked back at my ship and thought to myself that was a cute little thing.

Novel Excerpt: Missing Out

“It won't be long now. Can you please try?”

The feminine voice at the other end of the phone pleaded sorrowfully with me. I was biting my lip again and twirling the phone cord around my fingers. She wanted me to meet her. This girl. My daughter. That concept was still hard to accept. At the beginning of this year, I didn't have a daughter. Now, suddenly, one was pleading with me to come join her. How could I not? I allowed my thoughts to drift back to Reese, my love, so many years ago. Her dark hair and pale eyes bewitched me. I was young and fell hard for her carefree spirit. She always had so much energy, she was so full of life, bursting with light. We were mad for each other, passionate but brief. She left one day, without me, without a kiss, without a goodbye. I longed for her.

“Will you make it?” the soft voice asked me, “I'd still like you to come to the funeral.”

The funeral. I had never been scared of impending events, but I couldn't get my mind off of this one. Reese, my beloved Reese, was dying. I only I'd known! If only I'd known how to find her. But she escaped, slipped away from me, and had our daughter in secret. The secret was out. She was pleading on the phone with me now. I'd looked up the meaning of her name and found Tanaya meant 'daughter'. My daughter.

“I'll be there,” I promised.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I don't know if I could've done this without you,” her voice was clearly relieved. “Our agreement is still in place, there is no need to worry. I still think it's best for everyone.”

The agreement. Yes, the agreement. How could I forget the agreement. There was much at risk. Tanaya had only found me out of desperation. Her husband had died on duty in the army and left her with 2 small boys. Her mother was really the only one there to help her raise them. When her mother got sick Tanaya had tried to make everything work, but as the illness continued, Tanaya faced the daunting task of losing her mother and raising her boys alone.

We developed an extensive long-distance relationship, via phone and email only. She said that getting to know me added a strength to her life. Her mother was only getting worse and any day they could lose her. She invited me to the funeral with a few conditions. She claimed that since her boys were still so young, and losing their only grandparent it was ultimately bad timing to introduce them to a strange new one. I had agreed, my initial hope of meeting my grandchildren extinguished. I knew she was right, they were already experiencing a burdensome loss, and now wasn't the time for me to come into their lives. Suddenly, in less than a month, I had gone from a middle aged bachelor to suddenly having a daughter and two healthy grandsons that I couldn't play with.

Her second condition was that I not see her mom. She explicitly asked for a closed casket. She told me that it was for my sake, that surely I must want to cherish her mothers memory untarnished with what she became. Again, some spark inside of me died knowing that I'd never again see my beloved Reese. I hadn't even realized that I wanted to. Again, I knew Tanaya was right, it was better if I didn't see her. I didn't want to imagine her sick and dying, I wanted to remember her young and full of promise. And I sensed that my daughter was only half concerned for me. I'm sure my presence would upset Reese, and in her frail condition I knew our daughter didn't want any more changes. I had agreed. Knowing I had a daughter was overwhelming enough, I knew she was trying to protect me. Or, more accurately, protect herself.

I made plans to fly out. They lived one state over and I didn't want the long hours in the car. Once everything was finalized I called my mother. Being an only child was difficult for me as I was the one person she relied on for everything. Tonight, as every night, I was to visit her for dinner. It was our ritual. I'd be there at 6 and leave promptly at 8:30. So at 6:00 that evening I was seated in the living room with the TV on and some appetizers in my mouth. She looked smaller to me somehow, shorter, I noticed more bones under her skin. She teetered around in fuzzy slippers and I hoped that it was just Reese in my thoughts reminding me of our shared mortality. For the first time ever I actually realized that my mother would someday be gone, just as Reese would someday soon, be gone. And I too, I would be next, then my daughter, and one by one her sons. We were all going to die.

I took a sip of my drink to clear my head. I had to shake this morbid mood. My mother had been suspicious of me lately. I hadn't told her that a secret daughter had contacted me, that I was planning to see her, that her mother was dying. I wasn't sure how that conversation would go, my mother had never known about Reese. I didn't tell her about any of my girlfriends. For as long as I could remember my mother had nagged me about having a family. As soon as I was old enough to notice girls she kept pointing them out to me.

“Look at little Nancy next door, Truman, isn't she cute?”

It used to embarrass me. It still did. She never stopped doing it. If we ever left the house she'd always point out ladies. As I grew older she started asking me if I was even still attracted to ladies. I knew she was concerned that she never saw me with a woman. I did date, but never seriously, and as the years passed my prospects grew older and older, and fewer and fewer. To my continued shame, my mother still longed for a grandchild. I had not yet found the courage to tell her that yes, she actually did have a grandchild, and not only that but two great-grandchildren. That would be a dream come true, but I could not involve her due to the agreement. I could never prevent her from contacting Tanaya and the boys. I couldn't risk it. Instead I evaded her questions and made up lame excuses.

In truth, I couldn't keep my mind off Reese. She plagued my thought during my flight to where she eventually called home. I couldn't forget her smile, her eyes. She made me feel alive, helped me explore life. She had an adventurous spirit. I had loved her, I was startled to realize I still did. I wondered if she loved me, or thought about me. I knew she probably didn't. She was too sick. But didn't the dying think about their loved ones? Even from long ago? I knew it didn't matter. She had made a choice. She couldn't have predicted it would affect so many lives. She couldn't have known that her secret would be unraveled with her passing.

It made me sick to think of her, to think of Tanaya. We could've been a family. I could've had a family. Those kinds of thoughts made me bitter, and I already felt terrible. I hadn't slept well, the flight was cramped, the love of my life was dying and I was about to meet the daughter I never knew I had. I felt like I was going to be sick. Finally we landed. Immediately my phone rang.

“Have you arrived?” that feminine voice questioned.

“Yes, just now.”

“I've been trying to get a hold of you,” her voice cracked, “she's gone.”

I stood there a moment and forgot where I was. I was stone as life continued to flow around me. She was gone. She was gone. I was on my way, I could've seen her, I was too late. It's all too late. A feeling of deep sorrow came over me. She was gone. My love was gone. The world got darker and made my memories of her more colourful. Her eyes, her smile, the way she smelled, how I had felt in her arms. How she felt in mine. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't talk. I realized I had a phone in my hand. I realized Tanaya was crying. I realized I was crying. I felt powerless to comfort her.

The funeral home was small, dry, and tidy. I was nervous to go in. I had purchased a suit just for the occasion and had picked up a small bouquet of flowers. I had spent hours in my tiny motel mirror trying to get my hair just right. I wanted to look perfect for when I saw her. I wanted her to like me. I still couldn't believe I was a grandfather. A grandfather. I had grandsons. I abruptly realized that I looked older. And here I was, an old guy, standing alone in front of a funeral parlour. I didn't recognize anyone. I felt like a fool. I almost left. But then I saw her. That hair, those lips, the same eyes. It had to be her. It looked just like her. Tanaya. My daughter. A replica of the woman I loved. My feet started walking. I was getting closer.

“I'm Truman,” I greeted her with a polite handshake, handing her the modest bouquet.

She drew in a breath and stared at me; her eyes were searching for something. I bit my lip self-consciously. I couldn't breathe while standing next to her. She was the same age as Reese when I met her and we fell in love. I was a young man again, standing next to the girl I adored. I had not been prepared for this, in my mind I just assumed my daughter looked like me. I had not fathomed a girl with long dark hair, abruptly pale eye, and a curving smile that matched hers. I had to admire her shade of lipstick. I knew her mother would've approved. I bit my lip again against the old memories of Reese. I had no idea what to do next. Thankfully, Tanaya smiled.

“Hello Truman, it's nice to meet you. I bite my lip too,” she whispered conspiratorially.

I laughed with relief. This may actually go better than I feared. She led me inside and showed me the refreshment table.

“Thank you for being here. Can we chat later? Just knowing you're here helps. Thank you, again.” she squeezed my arm to show her sincerity.

“It's my pleasure. You look just like her,” I added quickly. I flushed with embarrassment. Obviously she knew that.

“Thank you, she was a beautiful woman.”

“Yes. She was,” my voice trailed softly.

She smiled, her red lipstick gleamed against the white of her teeth. I wanted to kiss her, like a father would kiss a daughter he was proud of. But I stood, awkwardly, without knowing what to do. I let her go off to be hostess. As hard as today was for me I knew it was intensely more difficult for her. She looked so poised, polished, from the stylish shoes on her feet to the red of her lips against her pale skin.

I wandered around the funeral home purposely avoiding the auditorium. I said I didn't want to see her, Reese, that girl I had loved so long ago, who had stolen my heart, and only here, now that she was dead, did I even know it was missing. I hadn't wanted to see her, but now, I wished I could. I yearned for the life she stole from me. I wanted to confront her somehow. Finally I built enough courage and turned to go in. As soon as I passed through the archway I saw her. There it was, a picture of Reese, exactly how I remembered her. Her skin looked soft. Her pale eye shone and laughed mischievously, her pert mouth turned up in her signature smile. For a moment I imagined I could still smell her hair. I fought back the tears as I thought about her. I missed her with a terrible ache in my heart. I knew by seeing her face again that she was why I had never married. I loved her even then.

I found a seat in the back corner. I could see two boys in the front row, both with dark hair. I suspected they too had pale eyes. The service was crowded with friends and acquaintances. I didn't want to answer any hard questions and was hoping to remain unseen. As I sat there, listening to all the stories and memories from Reese's closest friends, I realized just how much I hadn't known her. She had never given me the chance to be a part of this life. It dawned on me that I was at the funeral of a stranger. Only her eyes in the picture told me I was wrong. That I had known her, intimately, and she had kept, and raised, our child. Tanaya took her turn at the lectern to say her goodbye speech. It seemed for a second that her eyes swept the crowd until she saw me. I sat a little straighter to get a clearer look. She stared at me for a moment, and then spoke the first words.

“Friends, family, and those who loved her most,” her eyes again settled on me, “thank you for coming.”

When it was over I stood alone in front of the picture of the face I thought I knew so well. Her eyes were looking right at me. I wondered if she saw me, if she remembered me? There were a book of photographs open on the table. It was the depiction of her life since I'd known her. Pictures of Tanaya as a baby, as a child, growing older in front of my eyes. First birthday, first day of school, graduation day. Reese stared out at me from the pages of her life, a life she built without me. One that she ran away from me to pursue. I flipped through the pages and saw Tanaya as a young woman, then a picture of her first-born. Reese, a proud grandmother. I noticed, as I flipped, that Reese had never found anyone either. I dared believe that it was because, deep down, maybe she loved me too. Each page I looked at brought me some of her fondest memories. I pretended I was the man taking all the pictures, the man in her life.

I heard someone approach me softly. I turned to see Tanaya. I felt my face crumple in tears. I couldn't help myself. It was all too much. Tanaya rushed to wrap me in her arms and buried her face in my shoulder. I sobbed and sobbed, my tears soaking her hair. My daughter, a daughter. I have a daughter. The life that should have been mine was right here in front of me. It was a cruel twist that the first time I held my daughter in my arms was at her mothers funeral. I cried for everything kept from me.

“Mommy, are you OK?” a small voice broke through our embrace. She let go of me hurriedly and I turned to compose myself. I was acutely aware that this may be my only meeting with these boys, my grandsons.

“Yes, darling, I'm OK. It's been a long day. Do you want to meet someone?”

I felt myself stiffen, this was it, this was the moment. I turned and faced the boys. Their features blurred as I struggled with my tears. I clearly and painfully saw her in them. I was suddenly angry that she had kept them from me. How dare she?

“This is Andre and this is Paul. Boys, you say hi to Truman. He loved your Grammy a very long time ago. He wanted to meet you.”

“Hi,” Andre, the oldest, took a step forward and stiffly stuck out his hand.

“Hi,” Paul, the smallest, and only about 4 years old, copied his big brother and stiffly stuck out his hand too.

“Hello boys,” I looked to Tanaya, I didn't want to cross any lines. She smiled in reassurance. “You two look like little soldiers. The army would be lucky to have fine men like you. Salute,” I touched my first two outstretched fingers and placed them on my forehead. The boys laughed and saluted back.

“My dad was in the army,” Paul, the little one offered, his fingers still in salute on his head.

“Yes, your mother told me. He'd be very proud of such fine, upstanding boys. Keep up the good work. Be good soldiers for your mommy. OK?” I made them promise.

“Boys, say goodbye, let Truman and I have a moment alone, won't you?” She asked them, tears visible in her eyes.

“Goodbye,” Andre offered to shake my hand again.

“Goodbye,” Paul copied.

I watched them leave. I sighed and held their memories close to my heart. I turned back to Tanaya, I saw the emotional toll in her face.

“Thank you for being good with them. They haven't really understood what this all means yet.”

“I hope for a chance to get to know them in the future,” I couldn't hold back.

I didn't want this to be the last time I'd see them. Any of them. She pursed her lips and nodded.

“In time,” she whispered.

“Do you know why she left?” She asked me after a deep breath.

It was hard to resist such memorizing eyes. They were so much like hers. I wanted to ask her the same question. Had Reese said anything to her, anything at all about me, in her childhood, through stories, anything at all about the father that didn't know her? I wanted to ask her, this woman, this stranger who looked just like her mother, my love. WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? I wanted to shout! Instead I shook my head no.

“That must be hard for you,” she offered after a while.

I shrugged. I thought I had gotten over it, over her. It turns out, I hadn't. Yes, it was hard for me. How many nights had I lain awake, wondering what I had done to drive her light out of my life. I had always blamed myself, that somehow I wasn't good enough, that I let her get away, that I could've done something else, something more. But I knew, deep down, that it was her spirit that took her. That restless spirit. She had always been secretive, and had always craved adventure. I had never even realized that I could never be enough. Yes, it was hard for me. She had my baby but left without saying a word. I didn't understand it, it drove me crazy. How could she do that to me?! Yes, it was hard, but I wasn't going to admit it.

“I'd better get going,” I spoke, the words tumbling awkwardly out of my mouth, “I fly out tonight.”

“Sure,” she took a step towards me and hugged me one last time. “Thank for being here,” she took a step back and looked me in the eyes. “My husband was my strength. When he died, I turned to my mother. The thought of doing all this alone, I ...” she glanced around, her voice cracked, the tears threatened to flow. I bit back my own.

“You had the strength to find me,” I hoped the words were enough.

The tears finally spilled as she nodded. Her smile, even dripping with sorrow, was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

“Don't forget these,” I handed her the photo album and the photograph of her mother at her age. The resemblance was eerie. I felt the ache in my heart.

“Keep that,” she said taking only the photo album, “if you want it.”

And with that she walked out. I closed my eyes and said a prayer for the family I had never known and yet had somehow just lost. I stood for a moment longer and gazed at the picture of that beautiful woman. She almost seemed to smile just for me. I kissed the two fingers that had saluted our grandsons and touched it gently to the lips in the picture. My darling, my love, my heart ached to be with her again. But the mere fact that I was holding that picture meant she was gone, truly, forever.

The flight home was unbearable. Alone with my thoughts I couldn't help but let my imagination run away making up memories with a family I would never know. Tanaya had said I might get to know them in time, but I didn't know what that meant. How much time? The thought was excruciating. It was a bittersweet torture allowing my thoughts to run free. I pretended the memories I were making were real. Who could tell me they weren't?

My phone rang again the moment I stepped of the returning flight home.

“Truman, where are you? Are you coming for dinner?” I could tell my mother was concerned.

“I'm on my way now, do you want me to pick anything up?” I offered as I glanced at the time.

I couldn't believe I had forgotten about our dinner. I didn't tell her I had left the state. I couldn't. She'd ask too many questions. As I left the airport, I knew I'd go to dinner, and my life would continue on as it did. But I knew, with that ache in my heart, that I would never again be satisfied with it. I knew, that out there, my love lived on in the faces of those boys. I knew that I had a daughter I couldn't share with my mother. I knew I'd have to keep everything a secret. I was never supposed to live that life. But I couldn't understand why my life was destined to be empty.

“Hi mom, dinner smells delicious,” I greeted, finally coming in the door.

“Truman, darling, you look pale, do you need a drink?”

“Yes, mom, that'd be great,” I called into the kitchen, “I had a long day.”

“What did you do?” she asked, bringing me a cold drink, ice cubes clinking in the glass.

I made up some excuse about errands, and line-ups at banks. What I was saying as true, it just didn't happen that day. I was startled to realized that this charade might all be easier than I thought. I could see she was listening sympathetically. Until I saw her gaze change and focus on my left shoulder. I could see her eyes squint, her head tilt, she leaned closer. I kept talking, trying to distract her from whatever she was looking at. Too late, she was coming closer.

“Is that red lipstick on your collar?” she asked, fingering my shirt.

“What? No. What?”

She grabbed my collar and pulled it closer to her face.

“Red lipstick! Are you seeing someone? When are you going to get married? Are you waiting for me to die? That's it, isn't it, you're waiting for me to die. Well why don't I just hurry it along for you. You would probably be happy if I died. Ungrateful son.”

Red lipstick?  I quickly looked at my collar.  Some must've rubbed off when we embraced.  I could still feel her, smell her, my daughter.  My sweet memory was pierced through by the pitch of my mothers voice.  I groaned, I hated this about her. She had been like this all my life. However, it seemed that the funeral I had just attended for a woman my own age made me see everything with different view. After meeting my own grandsons I realized just how important that can be for some people. I listened to my mother going on about wanting a baby to hold, a child to play with, a daughter in law to cook with. I felt the tears creep back into my eyes. Again I noticed that she was getting older, she seemed even more frail. I could see it on her; death from old age. And all she wanted was a family. A family I couldn't give her. I bit back my tears. I knew that no matter how much I wanted to I couldn't tell her the truth. Not at a time like this. She would make it all about her, and I really wanted to keep what little memories I did have of them kept pristine in the ache in my heart.