Jesus

Found her armsling hanging on the mirror above her dresser and put it on to see how it felt. The faint scent of her perfume still lingered in the fabric as I stood front of her mirror and let the weight of my arm cutting into my neck; the same as she must of felt months on end. I stood there and remembered the time she made this sling out of a scarf and used a handle from her flight bag to soften the pressure on her neck. She was always good at making useful things out of nothing.

I stood there for a long time with my eyes closed; remembering.

The hour was late and I felt a presence. Her dresser is the same as she left it five months ago with all the nick-nacs, earrings and photos of us. I have a better understanding of Norman Bates clinging to memories forever.

Tears streaking down my face brought me back to reality recalling the promise I made to her long long time ago...

She was worried about Greg coping with her illness and the inevitable that we never talked about. She must of have known. She was loosing ground every day. Her physical world became smaller and smaller daily until she could barely take more than a few steps away from her bed. How my heart went out to her. It has taken everything out of me not to show my fear and to give her hope that there will be a tomorrow. And she believed me to the end as I believed it myself.

The ambulance came and she left our house. Then I knew that she will never be back. The next sixteen days in the hospital was like a slowmotion picture gradually running slower and slower until it came to a standstill.

Six months later

Protected by the privacy of my car, driving down the highway screaming, WHY, WHY, WHY ?

The drone of the engine reminds me of a trip many many years ago. I was so desperately in love. Marjorie Guy, a georgeous co-ed from Penn State. The most beatiful summer in Toronto. A summer of love,romance and hope. Dreams of dreams all fulfilled. Then the fateful day, in Altoona,Pennsylvania; it was over. Life was not worth living any more.

Clutching my broken dreams and a bottle of brandy I swung my Jag North. The scream of the twelwe cylinders on the toll road is what I remembered just now. Dismal rain suited my mood as I worked my way up between the trucks and cars until the road opened up and I was alone. Darkness fell quickly and the light rain turned to a storm. The toll road ended and the narrow winding highway started to climb through the mountains toward Canada and home. Passing the tractor trailers with ease as they were climbing the hills with their cargo heading toward the big city. The oncoming trucks make an inviting swoosh as they pass me going the other way. I start to go closer and closer to the center line, playing chicken, to see if the swoosh get louder, until an angry trucker blasts his airhorn and scares me back on my side of the road. By now I'm well into my brandy and start to wonder what would it be like to pull wheel over when the next big truck comes this way. There must be an other way, without hurting an innocent stranger.

On the way down we stopped at a gravesite along the curve in the road, in memory of someone that went over the cliff. A large cross with a little picket fence around it. Fresh wildflowers left by some passerby, propably someone that suffered a similar loss. We picked a few flowers too, I wondered if they were still there ? It's only been a few days. Flowers that she touched and picked with her own hands. Good place to die.

The triple wipers were throwing a stream of water over the roof of the car and between my tears and the heavy rain I could barely see the yellow line in the center of the road. The Jag started to hydroplane and the adrenalin rush of loosing control for a moment brough me back to reality. The landmarks started to get familiar, I recognized a motel and restaurant and an old chuckwagon parked out front. The headlights reflecting off the rain placed a silver curtain travelling ahead of me matching my speed as I kept on accelerating but forever eluding me from crossing. I was redlining the Jag and the strain started to show, the inside was steaming up making visibility even more difficult. Then I recognized the big rock and I knew that my corner was coming up. Around the next bend was the end of my road,my sorrow, my pain, my final leap into eternity.

I floored the throttle and engaged the overdrive. The tortured engine screamed and lunged ahead like wild game I shot hunting in the Rockies. The rain turned to mist and I flicked on my highbeam as I was rounding the corner still gathering speed. In the distance I've seen the outline of the cross glowing in the darkness, bathed in the lights of oncoming traffic.

Under the cross standing on the edge of the road, directly in my path toward self destruction, I stared in disbelief at a figure of a tall man with long hair and a beard; one arm outstreched pointing toward the heavens, his long white robe like raincoat flopping in the wind, hitchhiking ? The earie glow of this vision filled my windshield as I was approaching at breathtaking speed not allowing me time to think as I geared down and hit the brakes. I fishtailed around the corner and it was some miles before I regained control and stopped on the roadside. I was sober and out of breath. I was going to turn around and pick up the hitchhiker but I did not. I was scared. I stopped at all the gas bars and I asked if they have seen a tall bearded men in a white robe thumbing a ride south ?