A World of Possibility

When I came to the Four Seasons Chapel, I slowed the car and peered out my side window. Two people shuffled outside the large, carved doors of the funeral home. I looked at my watch and drove on. It was early. I decided to drive through my old neighborhood, and aimlessly turned corners until I rolled by what we, as children, called “the little store.” I stopped the car, stepped out, and, trying to muffle the click of my high heels, walked toward the store.

  The building was empty, deserted. Splintery wooden sash framed a broken window, its web of cracked glass stretching to all four corners. Weeds and yellow dandelions grew in the cracks of the cement walkway, and half hidden in the tall seedy grass was a metal sign. Rust bled through the white background and blue letters that I knew spelled out Sal’s Corner Market. Death whispered around the building; its soul had moved on. But I remembered when the store pulsed with life around its yard, up and down its stairs, and through its door.

  The store was a favorite Saturday afternoon destination for me and my friend David. He would push my doorbell over and over until I answered. And I always beat anyone else to the door because when I heard the incessant ringing I knew it was David.

  “Wanna go to the little store?” he’d ask.

  We set off with a feeling of adventure and independence, but there was also a feeling of comfort that drew us to the little store, an expectation of knowing what and who we would find there.

  On summer days, we joined other kids on the cement steps. Racing the sun, we licked our orange and yellow popsicles before they melted under the hot rays. Or, David and I poked through our bags of penny candy, forming our own secret club right in the midst of the other kids, our touching foreheads, whispers, and giggles the only walls and Keep Out sign we needed. In the fall, walking into the little store, a blast of warm air, the musty smell of root vegetables and aged dark wood, and the sharp, sweet-and-sour scent of ripe apples greeted us. We ran directly to a glass case arranged with fluted paper cups holding fudge, peanut clusters, and peppermint creams. Jars of colorful penny candy stood on top of the case. Fingering the coins in our pockets, we fogged the glass case with our decision-making. One day, David bought me a jawbreaker, and I sucked on it for hours, or so it seemed, occasionally popping it from my mouth to his, both of us trying not to laugh as we passed the slippery ball between us, daring each other not to use our hands.

  Sal and his wife lived in the rear of the building. Unusual and sometimes delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. Mrs. Sal, as we called her, brought her husband steaming plates of food with foreign, spicy scents and bright yellow sauces that he ate next to the cash register. Once, wandering the dark wooden floors, David and I peeked into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Sal baking cookies. David gave her his charming smile that always made mothers melt, and she handed us each a cookie filled with apricots and nuts, warm from the oven.

  A breeze blew, and a ripped screen scratched against the faded gray siding, snapping me back to the present. I wandered around the back, through a gate hanging by one rusty hinge, and stared at the large oak tree shading the dry overgrown grass. I smiled. My first kiss was under that tree. David and I had discovered confusion and pleasure as we moved together from childhood into adolescence. Then my eyes burned with tears as I thought of the telephone call I’d received last week, and the reason I was back in this town.

  “It’s David,” Karen, an old high school friend, had said. “…an accident…nothing they could do.”

  I walked up the chapel steps toward Richard and Karen, both whom I’d remained friendly with since high school. Their faces were white masks of sadness and shock. We hugged. Richard said David’s mother had called them with the news of his death.

  “It’s still hard to believe,” Karen said.

  More people arrived, and I saw others from high school. Most I recognized, but I couldn’t catch some of the names that flitted through my memory. Unlike me, David had stayed involved in their lives even though twenty years had passed since we graduated. From him I learned about Gary’s high-level job in D.C., Kathy’s divorce, and Diane and Tom’s new baby. Just as, most likely, they heard highlights of my life as well.

  I turned to follow Richard and Karen into the chapel and was saddened further by the building’s cement-block façade with its cold, uninviting presence. But when I passed through the wooden double doors, a lush soothing garden welcomed me. The clear, leaded-glass ceiling lit the chapel with white natural light. The green of hundreds of ferns softened the brightness. Pink impatiens and red begonias dotted the chapel with color. Shadowed patterns from the leaves of tall twisted ficus trees flickered on the pews and walls.

  We sat on a warm wooden bench near the front. I saw Carolyn, David’s wife, with their two children. I was surprised to see her face was calm and free of tears. But she was like that, stoic and strong.

  A table in front of the altar was arranged with photographs and flowers. A little shrine. A shrine of remembrance to David. There was a formal portrait of David, Carolyn, and the children, and one large photograph of David by himself—perhaps from his wedding. He was grinning, looking at someone or something to his left. He wore a black tuxedo and on top of his head sat a little girl’s straw hat, the ribbons dangling in his face. That picture embodied David’s spirit. He loved to laugh, and even more, he loved to make people laugh.

  I bent my head and smiled. Yes, he had made me laugh; that was why I fell in love with him. Tears filled my eyes. My first love, I thought. My only…How could I sit there, fighting a body that just wanted to collapse into its sorrow? Carolyn, everyone, seemed to be in such control. The tears I held back filled my nose, and I dug into my purse for a Kleenex. I looked again at the straw-hat picture of David. A scene came to mind, and I drifted, a cocoon of memory wrapping itself around my senses. I was sixteen and I was with David and…

  …we were racing down a hill on a Sears single-speed bike, laughing, shrieking, yelling. I was perched on the handlebars, my legs straight and spread in a V on either side of the front wheel. David was on the seat behind me. His cheek pressed against my upper arm as he leaned around me, trying to steer and stay on the sidewalk.

  “David,” I screeched, out of breath from laughter and fear. “Slow down! Oh my God, you have to stop!”

  “Okay! I will! I am!” he yelled, probably trying to reassure us both that he was in control.

  Suddenly we were at the bottom of the hill. David braked hard and turned the handlebars. I spilled off and tumbled onto a patch of grass. David jumped from the bike as it skidded across the ground. He landed near me, and then on his hands and knees, quickly crawled to my side.

  He grabbed my arms. “Are you okay? Oh, God, Lizzie, are you hurt?”

  I pulled him down on top of me. “I’m fine. I’m fine!”

  We hugged and rolled together on the grass, laughing, recalling the details of our wild ride. We kissed. Sweet little kisses, then harder, our lips pressed together, then opening, exploring, savoring each other’s taste, for minutes or hours, until we fell on our backs, panting. Later that night in bed, thinking about David, I slid my tongue along the inside of my lower lip, the skin still puffy and raw from our kissing…

  “Hi, Eddy!” I was jarred back to the chapel by David’s five-year old son.

  I looked up and saw Eddy, David’s closest friend, standing at the podium. Carolyn leaned over her little boy, whispered in his ear, and hugged him. Then she smoothed his hair while staring up at Eddy. Eddy’s eyes were red and slightly swollen. The corners of his mouth turned downward and trembled. He, too, struggled for control while looking down at the podium. Then he cleared his throat and scanned the faces in the crowded chapel. His eyes locked briefly on mine. “All of you have your own story of how David touched your life. Me, I met David in high school. We were in tenth grade. I’d just moved to this town, a tough age for a kid to start over. But David—” Eddy nodded and smiled slightly. “—of course it was David who made me feel welcome, who brought me into his group of friends. And that was
the beginning of sharing time with one of the best guys, the best friend a person could have.” His voice faltered. “He—he was always there for me. I’ll never forget the times we had. I—I remember once, well, we had cut class--”

  Soft laughter rippled through the chapel.

  Eddy continued, seeming to relax some. “We were hiking in the hills behind the school...”

  I glanced over my shoulder, saw Brenda, and we nodded at each other. I turned back around. David and I, Eddy and Brenda. We were an inseparable foursome all through high school. After Brenda went away to college, Eddy didn’t have another steady girlfriend for years. So, with Brenda gone, our foursome became a group of three, even to the point of Eddy becoming our roommate when David and I decided to move in together. I was excited about getting our own place, but not about Eddy sharing it with us. We planned to tell our parents as soon as we turned eighteen. We knew they’d be stunned, and in fact, my father didn’t speak to me for at least a year after I moved out. At that time, unmarried couples living together was a shocking event, and I still couldn’t believe we’d had the nerve to do it. But the fights with my father had become almost constant—I was desperate to get out. And, besides, David and I were tired of sneaking around, tired of trying to find places to be alone.

  After our first exciting, awkward attempts at lovemaking, we only became more fevered, as if with an addiction we couldn’t, and didn’t want to, give up. Our favorite hideaway was a basement room at David’s house—his brother’s bedroom before he left for college. His parents both worked, so we could easily sneak down there after school. It was especially cozy on rainy winter afternoons when the windows fogged, and we burrowed under the covers, touching, giggling, whispering.

  “Skin on skin,” David murmured in my ear, his body stretched out on top of mine. “Such a great feeling. And your skin, it’s so smooth.” He slid down, kissing my breasts, my stomach…

  Later, lying next to him, my arm slung over his chest, our legs entwined, we took turns describing our new apartment. Me—the throw pillows, the color of the rug, the curtains I would sew. Him—the stereo equipment, the speakers that would be placed just so for maximum sound. All dreams, because of course we would barely have enough money to cover food and rent, the basics. But it wouldn’t matter, would it?

  Our love nest, I thought, and even though it sounded silly, I said it out loud. “That’s what our apartment will be, our little love nest.”

  “And a room for Eddy, too.”

  I stiffened. “David, come on. You aren’t really serious, are you?”

  He leaned up on his elbow. “We’ve talked about this how many times? You know he has to get out of that house. His parents are driving him nuts, and he can’t find anyone else who’s ready to move out. It’ll just be for a while.” He tickled me and smiled his irresistible smile. “Come on. Don’t be a grouch.” He kissed me, and whispered, “Come on, Lizzie, come on.” And I couldn’t resist him, my drug, my love, my life…

  Eddy was walking back to his seat, his head bowed, wiping his eyes. Daniel, David’s older brother, took his place at the podium. Unlike Eddy, Daniel seemed to be in control--no swollen eyes, no trembling lips. I hadn’t seen him for at least fifteen years, and he had changed little, just a few wrinkles around the eyes, his hair still thick though beginning to gray, no middle-aged fat around his face or waist. I never really got to know him, only seeing him occasionally during the holidays and other special events. By the time he moved back to town, I was gone.

  Daniel put his fist to his mouth and coughed quietly, then he, too, looked over the crowd who had come to honor his brother. “I had no idea. I had no idea how many friends David had, how many people were so important to him. We all loved him, didn’t we?” He closed his eyes briefly, and then continued. “When I moved back to the old house after my parents died, it was a pretty strange feeling. Mom and Dad gone, settling my own family into that house I’d lived in my entire childhood, seeing my old basement bedroom—that was a trip.” David smiled and shook his head, making people chuckle.

  Maybe Daniel created his own special memories in that room, I thought. Before he went off to college. Before David and I took it over.

  “But,” Daniel continued, “David and Carolyn made me and Joanne and the kids feel immediately welcome. We knew we had come home. I’ll never forget that, and I’ll never forget that we’re family, Carolyn. You and Josh and Wendy.” He smiled down at them. “I remember when Josh was born, and David called us. Man, was he excited. I wanted to tell him ‘Slow down,’ but of course I didn’t have the chance, I could only wave to Joanne to grab the extension while David rushed on, telling us every detail…”

  Carolyn bowed her head and put her arms around her children, their soft dark curls the same as their father’s. Yes, David got his two children just as he had always wished for, a boy and a girl with the names he had told me so many years ago.

  “Lizzie,” David said. “What should we name our kids? We don’t want more than two, right? A boy and a girl?”

  We were parked in a turnout overlooking the beach. I’d talked David into going for a ride. I needed some time away from Eddy, and some time with David, alone. Eddy had been fired from his job at the Sport Chalet, hadn’t signed up for any classes, and was hanging out at the apartment day and night. “Give him time,” David said. “He’s sort of depressed right now. Brenda’s gone; he lost his job. Give the guy a break.”

  We’d started our first semester of college, and besides sharing our apartment with Eddy, it had also turned into a party haven for all our friends. Almost every night someone was over, smoking pot, blasting music. David and I skipped more classes than we should. But, both being art majors, we rarely missed painting, drawing, or art history. Our kitchen table was permanently covered with our latest projects, whether it was oils, charcoal, or collages that made our friends eye us questioningly. But David and I knew exactly what meaning lay behind each other’s work.

  “Baby names, David?” I watched the waves roll up on the beach. “I have no idea. Why are we talking about this now?”

  “Come on, Lizzie. Just think about it for a minute. Me? I’d name the boy Josh, and the girl Wendy. Now, what would you name them?”

  “Oh, all right. Joni and Mick. How’s that?”

  David laughed. “Joni, okay. But Mick? I refuse to have a son named Mick. Besides, I’m jealous of him you know, this infatuation you have with Mick Jagger.”

  I made him slide across the seat of the old station wagon, and I hopped onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. “It’s not infatuation. It’s love. L-O-V-E love.”

  He tickled my waist, and I squealed. We wrestled into the backseat, laughing, panting, kissing, and then hurriedly, heatedly, making love while I watched over David’s shoulder in case a stranger, or a cop, should suddenly appear.

  Later that night in bed, I thought about the baby names and a small knot formed in my stomach. I had a secret. Something, in some strange way, I was ashamed of, afraid to tell anyone, even David. I didn’t think, no I was pretty damn sure, that I didn’t ever want to have children. And if I did tell David, what would he say?

  The minister stood behind the podium. “I did not have the pleasure of knowing David as intimately as you all did—his family and friends, his students. Carolyn told me they came to this chapel once for a wedding, and David had marveled at its beauty. His love of nature was strong, an important part of his life and his art. I think we can all feel his presence here today. There is a saying by John Muir that speaks of David and his immortal spirit. Muir wrote: This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere. When we think of David, let us remember…”

  I silently repeated Muir’s quote. It was beautiful, and appropriate for David. I could see those early paintings so clearly in my mind, the ones from class where he was still learning technique, finding his own style.

  We started taking school more seriously when our friends got their own apartments and quit
coming to our place so often. Around the same time, Eddy and I had a big blowout fight, and he finally moved out. I was relieved, but David was down for weeks. I think it pained him that his best friend and girlfriend couldn’t get along. But we loved David; we had no need for each other. School, though, our art, became the most important thing for David and me. I was taking graphics classes and becoming interested in commercial art. Once, I visited my teacher’s studio, a graphics business he ran with some other artists. The bustling atmosphere and electricity in the air excited me. What a contrast to the quiet and isolation of the fine arts. But David thrived on that, and more and more, he focused on nature paintings, taking his sketchpad and pastels with him on our hikes and camping trips. I did, too, and we would settle on the ground, side by side, sketching, my drawings stylized, almost abstract, his soft and so enveloping, that later, when I studied them at home, they immediately drew me back to that place--the woods, a stream, the beach.

  I remembered one camping trip. It was after Labor Day, so we were able to find a quiet uncrowded campground. We had just gotten a puppy, an adorable fluffy Australian Shepherd, and this was her first camping trip. After dinner and cleanup, we sat next to the fire, nothing visible beyond the ring of firelight, and when we threw a stick for the puppy, she would stop at the edge of light as if it were a wall.

  David laughed. “Oh, man. What a wuss we have for a dog.”

  I punched his arm and scooped the puppy into my lap. “She is not. How mean.”

  “That’s what we’ll name her. Wussie the Aussie.” We still hadn’t agreed on a name. He poked a stick into the fire, sparks flew up, and the puppy jumped then burrowed her nose under my arm. David crowed. “See? What did I tell you? Here, let me see her.”

  I handed the puppy to him. “Be nice.”

  “Wussie! Here Wussie!” He snuggled the puppy against his cheek. “Are you my little Wussie?”

  “We are not naming her that,” I said, laughing.

  “Okay. How about Fussie? Gussie? Pussie?” I glared at him, and he held the puppy in front of his face. “What’s your name, huh? What?” He leaned his ear close to the dog’s snout. “What’s that? Ah!” He looked at me triumphantly. “She said her name is Lucy!”

  “Lucy! I love it!” I looped my arm through his, and we both stared, smiling, at our Lucy.

  Later, when we crawled into the tent and squirmed inside our zipped-together sleeping bags, we let Lucy curl up between us as we fell asleep. Sometime in the night, I woke to Lucy’s stirring and whimpering.

  David murmured, “It’s your turn to take her out. I’ll get her next time.”

  I sighed, pulled on my sweatshirt, and carried Lucy outside. The wind had picked up, and it waved across the crest of the pine trees. The nylon tent rustled, and a metal clip clanked against a tent stake. A plastic cup clacked across the picnic table, then tap-tapped against some rocks on the ground, and Lucy scampered after it. I watched her. What a doll. I really loved her, and knew David did, too.

  When we broke up, one of the hardest decisions had been—who would take Lucy? But then, there really was never any question. I was leaving for New York University, and the chance to someday have my own graphics arts business in one of the most exciting cities in the world. David couldn’t conceive of living anywhere else but this town. His dream was simple: us, two kids, the dog, our art, and teaching. I couldn’t say goodbye, but I had to. Our dreams had taken different paths, and Lucy became part of his. He called me, years later, to tell me Lucy had died. I could hear the tears in his voice, and when I hung up, I cried, too.

  I waited my turn then walked forward to hug Carolyn. I touched her children’s curls as they each clung to one of her legs. Then I wrapped my arms around David’s mother, Shirley, biting the insides of my cheeks to keep back my sobs. Her shoulders shook beneath my embrace. Shirley and I had always liked each other. I knew she got along with Carolyn, but didn’t share the same closeness that she and I’d had. We murmured a few words. I squeezed her hands, then trailed away to allow the next person to offer his condolences.

  I walked down the chapel steps. My heel caught in a crack, and my ankle twisted slightly. “Damn it!” That anger, that emotion, finally released my tears, and they flowed down my cheeks into the corners of my mouth. I stumbled down the steps, fussing with my hair to hide my face from any passersby. As I headed back to the rental car, back to my advertising agency, back to my fifteenth-floor apartment with its million-dollar view, back to Elizabeth, not Lizzie, never again Lizzie, I looked once more, over my shoulder, at the scene in front of the chapel and choked on the pain constricting my chest. I could not believe I had to say goodbye to David, my love, my true love, a second—and final—time.

  THE END

  THE WAYWARD PARCEL

  by Mary Meddlemore

  https://marymeddlemore1.wordpress.com/