A Night to Remember

Raindrops cascaded down the window like tears down a child's face. A
pair of eyes looked back upon my own, reflecting the heartfelt loss
that reached down to my soul. I watched as my hand traced the
reflection of my face, as once my husband had performed so
affectionately in the past. Feeling the tears form, then roll
unhindered down my cheeks, I looked for their reflection on the window,
but for once they were lost in the myriad drops that lashed down from
the heavens. Memories flooded into my mind, some better than others,
but subconsciously I knew my mind had embellished details as they faded
over time. In some cases, I realised that my mind had taken upon itself
to hide facts it knew I did not care to remember, instead substituting
false memories that it knew would cheer my heart. These, for the most
part, did not entirely fool me, but I found they brought contentment
where once heartbreak reigned free.
Unwilling to experience these thoughts this early in the night, I
quickly drew the curtains, locking my reflection out into the night in
a vain hope to keep the memories from flooding back. I went back to my
favourite chair, its form molded to that of my body, and turned on the
television, hoping that just this once, its power to take ones thought
from the mundane would manifest itself and bestow an hours grace. As I
watched familiar faces trawl through their own petty lives, I found
myself imagining myself in their place. To be able once again to feel
the joys and pains of family life, or to be able to experience the joys
of raising a child. To be able to feel my husbands arms enfold me when
times were bad, or to be able to observe his little foibles, once so
annoying, but now so badly missed so that it physically hurt to be
reminded of them. Feeling the melancholy rush toward me, I pulled
myself slowly from the chairs grasp to busy myself by making a cup of
tea, one of my favourite ploys to escape histories endeavor to break my
heart yet again.
I observed my body go through the motions, as first the kettle was
filled, the milk brought from the fridge and then the cup was taken
from the cupboard. All these actions were performed on auto-pilot, as I
had trained myself to switch off during the everyday chores I undertook
more and more often as I tried to fill my day. As the kettle reached
its boiling point, its top bursting to break free of its bindings, I
saw tremors rock my hand so badly that the cup nearly fell from my
grasp. With startling speed, I envisioned my husbands hands enfold my
own, lending strength to those brittle bones, and I was lost once again
to histories grasp?

'Are you alright, luv?' my husband enquired, his voice betraying the
worry both of us feared to voice aloud.
I allowed myself a brief smile, as my back was turned to him, and I
knew he would not be able to see my face. He would only belittle my
feelings of indifference to what my body was experiencing, as he was a
worrier of the highest order. 'I'm fine,' I told him, playing the part
I was taken upon myself this past year. It soothed both our minds if I
allowed him to be the nursemaid and me the invalid. For me, it was a
role that needed little preparation, as my body knew all the cues that
were required to portray the role with conviction. 'It's just more of
the same.'
'I still think you should see the doctor,' I heard him say as he
stirred his tea. Rather than say something that would prolong the
discussion, I decided to say nothing in the hope that the conversation
would fizzle out, and blocked my husbands anguished plea from my mind.
I felt his hand brush my neck as he wandered into the sitting room, and
I knew no more would be said of the incident until the next, and
inevitable, incident. Whether he had read my mind, or just knew better
than to complain, I thanked the Lord with a quick prayer, and followed
my husband into the room.
'There's some football on tonight, luv,' he told me in what he thought
was a surprised tone.
I looked up to the heavens with false despair, knowing well he would
have known this tidbit of information a few days ago. It was endearing
of him to pretend his ignorance, but both of us knew that it was just
part of the game of Life we had decided to play. 'That's interesting,
dear,' I lied. 'What time is it on?'
He pretended to search the listings, trying hard to ignore the listing
of eight o'clock on Network 2 that I knew contained the answer. After a
minute, his gasp of success told me he had found the information he had
so obviously been trying to avoid finding. 'It's on at eight,' he
eventually told me, his eyes peering at me over the newspapers
rim.
'Isn't Coronation Street on at the same time?' I asked him, a hard
tone to my voice.
He went through the motions of checking the listings again, even though
the answer was ingrained into both our minds through years of
habit.
'I think it is,' he answered meekly.
My expression hardened as I pretended to be angry at his request,
prolonging his agony for just long enough to cause him some mild
discomfort, but not too long as not to give me cause to feel too much
guilt. 'Oh, alright then. Watch your bloody match,' I told him
eventually, injecting false anger into my voice. The look of joy that
spread across his face filled my heart, and truth be told I was not
adverse to watching twenty, or whatever number there was, fit looking
men running about in tight shorts. I didn't want him to know this
though, as he would treat me like a Queen for the rest of the night if
he thought I was doing him a favour, and that was too much fun to miss
out on.
'Thanks, luv,' he told me from across the room, blowing a kiss
imparted on his hand toward me?

I came back to the present to find my hand held in front of me, my
fist tightly clenched together as if it contained something precious.
My heart began to slow as the memory faded into reality, and I
reluctantly let my hand fall to my side, free from its imagined burden.
I touched the side of the kettle, making sure it had not gone off the
boil, before pouring the contents into the cup, making sure the teabag
was totally engulfed. Once I had stirred the cup the usually ten times,
I added just a hint of milk, grunting in satisfaction as I sampled the
results of my endeavors. Grabbing two chocolate biccies from the tin, a
small treat, I went back to my chair and flicked through the channels
in the vain hope that something interesting was on.
'This looks interesting,' I said aloud, a habit that I had picked up a
few months after my husbands death. It was too disconcerting to wander
about the house in silence, so I had taken it upon myself to say things
aloud to fill the void.
I settled comfortable into the chair, letting my mind get caught up in
the drama enfolding in front of me, as a glamorous mother of two
embarked on a steamy affair with one of her husbands work-mates. 'You
little bitch!' I commented, feeling the anger build inside at the
callous disregard the woman held her husband. 'Till death do you part!'
I shouted as the mother of two, having sent her kids off to a ball game
with their father, brought her conspirator up to her bedroom, slowly
disrobing him as they drew closer to the bed. It never ceased to amaze
me the callous disregard people these days held their vows, especially
if the tiniest thing went wrong. 'You should stand by your man,' I said
softly, as memories flooded back once more to claim my thoughts?

'I'm sorry,' my husband said, his words sounding hollow.
I sat on the ground, my head having fallen towards the floor as his
words flowed past me, only now and then actually hearing what was being
said. Something about a woman called Susan, something about a night
over a year ago when he was supposed to be at a conference with work.
'Please stop,' I whispered. 'Please stop.'
My husband stood there, mouth agape, his hands limp by his side. After
what seemed a lifetime, he regained a semblance of composure. 'You have
to listen to me!' he shouted, unable to comprehend my reaction. 'Why
aren't you saying anything?'
I rose to my feet, waiting a few moments before looking directly into
his eyes. 'I can't?I?I don't know what to say,' I told him in a tone
that might well have been reading a shopping list, or asking him what
he wanted for his tea. 'I don't know how to?' I began before remaining
silent, my mind a whirlwind of emotion.
'Please,' he begged. 'Please understand it was a mistake,' he
muttered. 'I was drunk,' he said after a moments hesitation. 'It was
the drink, nothing else!' he confessed, as if it would make all the
difference in the world. 'It was?'
'Just shut up!', I screamed, my hands entangled in my hair. 'Just shut
up about it!'
He stood back a step, horrified at my reaction.
I thought about apologising for a second before a sort of calm came
upon me. I brushed clear my eyes, letting the moisture soak up in the
sleeve of my cardigan. 'Do you want a cup of tea,' I blurted. It was
the first thing that came into my mind.
'A cup of tea?' he asked in amazement.
'Do you want a cup of tea or not!' I asked angrily, unaware if I was
shouting or asking.
'You want to make me a cup of fucking tea after I admitted sleeping
with another woman?' he shouted. 'What in Gods name are you on,
woman?'
Before I knew it, the cup in my hand had smashed against the wall
behind him. 'Don't you dare take that tome with me!' I berated him,
letting the anger welling inside of me come to the fore. 'If you ever
talk to me like that again, I will not be responsible for my actions,'
I told him in a voice I did not recognise as my own. 'Do you understand
me?' I shouted again, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes. I saw him
mouth some words I did not hear as I was seeing the eyes of a stranger
as I looked at his face. Everything else was the same. Everything else
was that belonging to the man I had loved for so many years. Everything
but the eyes.
'Are you alright?' I heard him ask as if a thousand miles away.
I realised I had been staring at him for an age, and hurriedly went to
the cupboard, desperate for something to take my mind of what I had
just recognised. I grabbed a brush and scurried to where the cup had
smashed against the wall, gathering the pieces that had
scattered.
I felt him rest his hands on my shoulder. 'Luv? Are you alright?' he
asked, a tenderness to his voice I had not heard for a long time.
I let his hand rest there for a second, wondering when I would feel
his touch upon my body again, before pushing it away. A deep pain
rocked my body as the enormity of what the traitor had done hit home
for the first time, He was no more that a metre away from me, yet I had
never felt so alone?

'Until now,' I heard myself say softly. I turned my attention back to
the telly to find some ad about trapped wind and bloated bodies. 'Have
a bloody curry,' I commented sarcastically. As I thought about what I
had just said, I felt a laugh well upwards from deep within me, until I
could hold it no longer and let it burst free. I let myself go with the
moment, enjoying the euphoric feeling that overtook my body, until I
gasped for air to fill my deprived lungs. I have not laughed like that
in a long time, I thought to myself.
I also realised that my sarcastic remark was something that my husband
might have said. He had little time for ads on the telly.
'Ads are the seeds of the Devil,' he used to say, a wry smile on his
face.
I did not normally allow Satan's name uttered in our Godly home, but I
could not begrudge him this gripe, true that it was. As for bodily
fluids, there was a time and a place for such things, but he wouldn't
listen.
I grabbed the cup of tea from the table beside me, and gladly welcomed
its warmth as the liquid nectar made its way into my body. Deciding the
time was right, I picked one of my chocolate biccies and shoved it
whole into my mouth, letting it melt sumptuously on my tongue. As the
biscuit worked it's magic, I flicked through the channels, cursing
inwardly at the apparent nonsense that was flashing before me.
My eyes wandered to the video beneath the telly. That dark, mysterious
object I had let some sneaky salesman trick me into buying. I
remembered his charming manner, the way words flittered from his forked
tongue to work their evil magic on my innocent mind.
'It's as easy to use as boiling the kettle,' he had told me.
Thinking about his callous lie always brought my blood to the boil.
The way he used my weakness for a cuppa to take advantage of me spoke
volumes for how the world has turned for the worse.
'Bastard,' I heard myself say. I quickly crossed myself, making a
mental note to say a prayer before I went to sleep to atone for my bad
language, even though it was worth it. For the thousandth time, I
thought about trying to get the video to work, and for the thousandth
time I shook my head, fearful I would burn the house down if I
tried.
I have to get my son to get it working, I thought, knowing he would
have no problem in getting the fecker to work. I crossed myself again
at my transgression, wondering whether the first prayer would cover
this additional transgression.
My eyes drifted toward the phone as I thought about my son. I imagined
myself pressing the buttons, and hearing the dialing tone as it tried
to connect to the phone in his house across the other side of the
world, but I did not want to bother him. He was probably off enjoying
himself anyway, doing what any normal person would be doing.
He'd better not be up to anything, I thought before quickly putting it
from my mind. If I let my imagination run riot, I wouldn't get a wink
of sleep worrying about him. 'He'll ring soon anyway,' I told myself,
in the vain hope that saying it aloud would ease my mind. I tried to
block the unwanted memory of our last conversation over two weeks ago,
when he had promised to ring me that weekend to let me know how he got
on in the interview for the new job he had applied for, but it was too
late.
Suddenly realising I hadn't turned on my electric blanket, I quickly
left the warm solace of the sitting room and rushed up stairs, plugging
in the blanket that was my sole source of warmth these nights. 'He'll
ring,' I heard myself say as I rushed toward the warmth of the sitting
room, wanting nothing else but to believe the words. My son was a good
boy, and whenever I needed him, he was there?

'Oh Jesus John, he's gone!' I screamed, feeling safe for the first
time in days. He hadn't even walked through the door before I rushed
into his arms, breathing in his odor. 'He's gone,' I sobbed, letting
the tears run freely down my face.
'I know, Mum. I know,' my son comforted me. 'I'm here now. Come on
back into the room and sit your arse down.'
I looked up into his eyes, seeing the pain shine through the mask of
strength he had tried to put on. Ignorant of the other faces that I
glimpsed, I held his gaze, hoping that the pain would go away if I
didn't break it. I heard his voice through my sobs, polite yet cold
towards the people who had come to pay their respects in good faith,
but now intruding in our private grief. I hoped he would tell them to
go away, for grateful that I was when I had been alone, I had all I
wished for now. My son was home, and I wasn't alone anymore.
I felt him take my weight, and gently place me on the couch, before I
was enveloped in his embrace. Tears rolled free down both our faces,
mine for him being here, and his now he was home. I had no idea how
long we remained there, incarcerated amongst our private memories, but
I felt better once we parted, and I hoped he did too.
'What happened?' he asked eventually.
A pang of guilt overcame me, as I recalled my desire not to give him
the details over the phone. It was information that needed to be told
to his face, not to a piece of plastic. 'It?it was his heart,' I
blurted. 'He collapsed?' I began before the tears burst free again,
rendering me silent once more. After a while, I felt his warmth leave
my side, followed by the sound of voices talking outside the room. I
couldn't make out what was being said through the sounds of my grief,
but I guessed he was asking relatives what had happened. 'Son?' I
croaked through the sobs. 'Son?' I shouted a bit more loudly, forcing
the words out of my throat.
He rushed to my side, God bless him, and took his hands in mine. 'I'm
here, Mom,' he promised me. 'I'm here now.'
I raised my hands to his face, brushing the tears gently rolling down
his cheeks. I slowly looked upon his face, drinking in every detail as
if for the last time?

I took his picture down from the mantelpiece, holding it against my
breast. 'Be safe, my son,' I prayed, hoping that God would listen to
this one request. My faith in Him was stronger now that some time had
passed since my husbands death but it had taken a long time for me to
forgive Him for what he had inflicted on me, on my son and the rest of
our family. I didn't take kindly to anyone messing with my family, Him
included, and I was an unforgiving bitch at the best of times.
'We're alright with each other now though, aren't we?' I said with a
laugh. 'You and me, we've said and done some bad things, but I've
forgiven You, and You me.'
The phone burst into life, scaring the life out of me. Pausing a
moment to let my heart go back down my throat, I picked it up, hoping
that it was John that had heard my thoughts. 'Hello?'
It was Mary, one of my friends from work.
'Hiya Mary. I can't believe it. I was just about to ring you just this
minute?'
I listened in disbelief as she told me that someone living across the
road from her was just taken away in an ambulance.
'Well I was listening to the Deaths on the radio earlier and I didn't
recognise anyone's name. The poor soul?did ye know who it was?'
My mouth opened with shock at her reply.
'Oh sweet Jesus! You mean Mrs. O'Neill, who goes to mass at the same
time as us every week? I didn't realise she had been ill?'
Apparently, according to Mary's neighbour Sheila, Mrs. O'Neill had been
feeling unwell for the past week or so, and it had gotten worse this
past few hours.
'That's terrible, Mary. I'll say a prayer for her tonight?'
Mary interrupted, asking whether I was still going to call over for
dinner Saturday night.
'I'll give you a ring?'
Mary interrupted, again, telling me that someone was at the door,
probably Sheila with more news about what was happening.
'Okay then, Mary. I'll speak to you tomorrow then.'
Mary apologised for hanging up so abruptly, but she had to find out
the latest gossip regarding Mrs. O'Neill.
'Bye?' I spoke into the phone, listening to the dialing tone as Mary
had already hung up. 'The cheek of the woman,' I exclaimed, indignant
at having been cut off before finding out what was happening. 'I'll
have to phone her tomorrow now, and she'll talk for bloody ages and
I'll have to foot the bill,' I complained.
My thoughts turned to that of Mrs. O'Neill, a kind woman about the
same age as myself, although her hair was Grayer than mine. I think she
had three kids, two girls and a boy if I remembered correctly. Two of
them were close by which would be a great help to her in her time of
need.
'Ah Jesus! There's always something bad going on,' I complained to
Himself above. 'Any chance of a bit of good news sometime?' I spoke
aloud before realising what I had just said. 'God forgive me, I didn't
mean to take your name in vain again.'
I decided to shut up before I got myself into more trouble, and
suddenly remembered that I hadn't checked the Lotto numbers for tonight
yet. 'Please God, let me win so I can take care of my son,' I prayed
fervently as I rummaged in my bag for the blasted numbers. Fumbling
down the side of the couch for the remote control, I pressed the Text
button, pressing in the number one followed by five and finally zero.
My son had shown me how to work it, bless his soul, and it was a
Godsend. I didn't have to wait for the news now to see what was
happening in the world.
'Thirty seven, thirty eight and thirty nine,' I shouted. 'How am I
supposed to guess those numbers?'
Crumpling the Lotto numbers into a ball, I shoved them deep into my
dressing-gown pocket, condemning them to eternal darkness for failing
me in my hour of need. I smiled at my melodramatic tantrum, knowing
well that I would still be handing over my three Euros in a few days,
safe in the knowledge that the one time I don't do it will be the one
time that my numbers come up.
I glanced over at the clock on the wall, and saw it was nearing eleven
o'clock. Seeing the time set my bodies routines into overdrive,
resulting in several yawns followed immediately by a loud fart that was
soon proceeded by an immediate desire to go to the toilet. 'Bedtime,' I
announced, raising myself from one throne to journey to another.
Giving the room a quick clean, I made sure everything was plugged out,
as I didn't want the house to burn down while I was asleep, as happened
some pour woman up the country a few days ago. Apparently, her electric
blanket had caught fire while she was watching telly and she hadn't a
chance. Crossing myself quickly as the unwanted thought flittered
through my mind, I made sure the back door was locked and ran up the
stairs, stopping off in the toilet to relieve myself before jumping
into bed, remembering to unplug the blanket before settling in.
Snuggled tightly under the duvet, I quickly picked up the latest
thriller from Jackie Collins that I was reading avidly, enjoying the
journey into realms outside my understanding. Champagne dinners,
limousines and unbridled passion might as well have been that Science
Fiction stuff for all I cared, for I was more likely to see aliens in
my back garden as experience that kind of life. I devoured the pages as
the heroine, having fought off the attentions of her unscrupulous boss,
finally met with the new love of her life. After enjoying a sumptuous
dinner, she was outside her apartment door, having been walked home by
her well-mannered date, when she found herself wrapped in his embrace,
kissing him tenderly as if she was a fragile flower.
I sighed with jealousy, knowing all I had to look forward to were
memories of the past, an irony that did not bring any comfort
whatsoever?

I walked down the street hand in hand with the most beautiful man I
had ever seen, not to mind spent time with. It was our fourth date in
the past two weeks, something that I had never expected, and it was the
most romantic time of my tender years. After spending the past two
hours watching a film I could not even remember, finally I was free.
Free to listen to him speak in that shy tone he always adopted when he
was around me. Free to touch his hand surreptitiously as if by chance.
Free to bump up against him as if by accident.
'Did you like the film,' he asked, his voice shy yet eager.
I loved the way he pronounced the word 'film', the way it rolled off
his tongue to burst free. 'Oh yes,' I replied, hoping he would not ask
any questions that would prove me wrong.
'I'm glad,' he replied, his voice tinged with relief. 'I really
enjoyed myself tonight.'
Be cool, I thought to myself. I mustn't seem too eager. 'So did I,' I
replied in an even tone, even through my heart was bursting with joy. I
prayed fervently that he would ask me out again, to where I did not
care. I just wanted to be with him, to spend time with him.
'Can I ask you a question?' he blurted out of the blue, grabbing me by
both arms.
Oh God, I thought to myself. He's going to tell me he doesn't want to
see me anymore. I nodded my head, biting my lower lip with worry as I
lost myself in his deep, blue eyes.
As we gazed silently into each others eyes, I felt myself draw closer
to him, a burning desire to feel his lips upon my own. With maddening
slowness, I watched as we drew close, eager to kiss but hesitant at the
same time. As my eyes closed, I felt his hands brush my face, slowly
tracing the outline of my temples and then my jaw. A shudder of
pleasure ran up my spine as I tried to silence my beating heart that
was threatening to burst through my stomach. I felt his lips touch mine
an instant, then pull away suddenly. Caught between frustration and
desire, I forced myself to be calm, and moved my body closer to
his.
With a suddenness that was a total surprise, I felt his lips upon
mine, his warmth against my face, his taste upon my lips. I did not
know how long we stood there, and I did not care. It as the most
amazing experience I had ever had the pleasure to enjoy in my twenty
years of life, and it was better than I had ever imagined it would
be.
My eyes remained closed as we pulled apart, savouring his taste upon
my lips for as long as I could. A tear of joy rolled gently down my
face, thankfully out of his view as he looked about with a confused
expression.
I am going to marry this man, I said to myself, sure in the knowledge
that there was truth to my thoughts. I grabbed his hand in mine with
joy in my heart, and a confidence to face the future where doubt had
been before?

I realised that I could not remember what had occurred previously to
the passage I was currently browsing though, and knew I would have to
return to the beginning of the chapter. This had been occurring more
and more often these days, reading the words on the page while lost in
thought. Closing the book gently, I turned over and turned to the
picture of my husband on the bedside table, once again thinking back to
that first kiss that passed between us. I was right, I thought to
myself, pleased that I did marry that man where such electricity flowed
between us that first time our lips touched. I brushed my hands down
the face of the picture, wishing him happiness wherever he rested, and
switched off the lamp, plumping the pillows in the darkness before
resting my head gratefully upon them.
Willing my thoughts to rest, I felt the drowsiness rush upon me, and
turned to my side, luxuriating in the feeling of relaxation flowing
through my body. As I felt sleep come upon me, I let loose a sigh of
contentment, as once more I imagined my husband there beside me once
more, watching over me.