Tuesday, March 13, 2012

To an Unseen Enemy on the Battlefields of War

Don’t let me hear your voice
Telling me of loves’ sweet follies
The cherished memories that leave you wistful even now
And the burden of your daily labors 
Or how you meant to tell him sorry
But now it’s much too late
I mustn’t hear how much you miss your son or need your wife
Or know that you are frightened just like me
Please, don’t let me hear your voice.
Don’t let me see your face
To know your smiles frowns and tears
To see in you a part of me and melt the hardness in my soul
Don’t let me see your face.
Don’t let me watch you dance
I need to turn my head so I don’t feel the joy in you
So much like mine when music calls me
And I feel the need to dance
You cannot be like me
I need you faceless, voiceless, void of soul
Or how can I shoot you in the field
And walk away untouched       
Don’t reveal your joy or pain
Don’t let me hear your voice!     

Friday, March 2, 2012

Lifelines


The morning Mary realized her periods had stopped forever she slipped into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and stayed there until noon.  Sunlight filtered through the windows of her bedroom promising a brilliant spring day, but under the pile of quilted blankets, darkened gloom presided.  Carl had already left for work, or perhaps he slept in the den again last night.  What difference did it make?  Ginger, the golden retriever tried nuzzling her way into Mary’s refuge.  An extended arm pushed the dog away.  Ginger persisted for a few minutes before leaving to shred trash in the bathroom. 
About the time the cuckoo clock struck twelve, Mary pulled the TV remote from her night stand without lifting her head.  She heard something fall to the floor with a thud but didn’t bother to find out what.   Reruns of old sitcoms blasted from the TV for the next three hours.  Mary stared at the silly husband and wife antics which didn’t really strike her as very funny. 
Finally she dragged herself out of bed and ransacked the cupboards for anything with sugar.  She polished off assorted candies and a very old cookie then proceeded to cover all the mirrors with black tissue paper.  “I ought to,” she whined, “part of me just died.” 
At last, animated by a sense of purpose, Mary wondered, “What sort of a funeral would be fitting for my lost womanhood?”   She lined an old cardboard box with red velvet and glued sprays of plastic roses to the sides.  “This looks like a proper coffin for my departed youth. “ 
Mary rummaged through boxes of wedding pictures, prom photos and snapshots of her during pregnancy.  These she dumped onto the living room floor.  Then she searched through the house for anything else relevant.
“What’s this?  I can’t believe I still have the corsage from my high school prom. She removed it from the protective wrap.  In the coffin it goes.”   Plop, the dried flowers and yellowed ribbon landed on the bottom of the box.  Some of the withered petals fell off and lay in crumbled disarray.  Mary snorted, “Just like me; dried up and useless.” Next, Mary found a dusty old diary on a shelf in her closet.  She opened to a page written in shocking pink ink. “…Why won’t Mom let me buy the blue hot pants?” With a quick glance at the protruding varicose veins on her legs Mary forcefully tossed the diary into the box further crushing the petals of her aged prom relic!”
“This and this and that,” growled Mary as she selectively trashed her life story in photos.  Everything relevant from childhood to her (forced) retirement party lay scattered within the tomb of cardboard.  Then she sealed the box with tape and took it outside.  “Goodbye.  Thanks for the betrayal.” She buried the box beneath a peach tree, then ate a frozen cheesecake and went back to bed.
Mary’s husband, Carl, wasn’t taking this new development very well.  Now, when he came home from work, he poured two drinks and locked himself in the den.  He allowed Ginger to join him. There, with his canine companion, he watched TV and sometimes spent nights on the sofa.  He had been supportive of his wife’s pre-menopausal mood swings for a whole decade.   That, he decided, was enough.
He didn’t understand why she couldn’t handle aging as well as he did.   He explained to Ginger while stroking her head, “Getting old is not a picnic for me either, but who has a choice in the matter?  Didn’t I deal with balding and high blood pressure?   You didn’t see me going crazy.  She better snap out of this soon!”  Ginger licked him.  Carl poured himself another drink.  “She doesn’t want any more babies, so what’s the problem?  I don’t get it.”  Ginger nudged him for more scratches behind the ears which she received.  Carl contemplated installing a small refrigerator and hotplate inside the den.
Three days later, Mary threw back her covers, took a shower and got dressed.  She had selected an outfit of jeans and a shell with a red blazer jacket.  It was smart and said, “This person has youthful taste.  Then with a grimace, Mary glanced at the mirror reflection of her sagging neck and deepening laugh lines.   She surveyed the rest of her body with equal disdain.  When had her breasts grown larger and lower?   “Whose sadistic joke is this anyway?”
“Humph”, she grunted, “youthful taste and a withering body.  “I can’t stand it!” Mary called Jennifer, an acquaintance from her former job.  “Jen, Mary.    Oh I’m fine she lied.  How are you?  Yeah, I know it’s been a while.  We’ll have to do lunch soon.  Oh, I realize it’s hard for you with work and all.  I guess since I was laid off I have too much time on my hands.  What’s new at the old workplace anyway?  Oh, you’re kidding, I knew there was something going on between those two.  What did his wife say?  Ha, that’s delicious.  I never really liked Alice anyway.  She wiggled her big behind in tight skirts all around the office.  That woman was always on the make!  She deserves to have been fired.  They forced me into early retirement to save money.  I didn’t deserve that.  It’s nice to think that sometimes justice is served!  Listen, I wanted to ask you for a favor.   Can you give me the name and number of the plastic surgeon who did Ella’s lipo?  No, I’m not planning anything.  I just want a consultation.  Thanks.  We must do lunch soon.”
She fingered the paper on which she had written the plastic surgeon’s number, but she didn’t pick up the phone.  She put the paper down, picked it up, and then she put it down again.  “Well Mary, what are you waiting for?”  Finally she dialed the number.
The twenty-something receptionist whose skimpy camisole revealed deep cleavage, scrutinized Mary carefully before handing her a questionnaire.   “Don’t judge me; this will be you in another thirty years.”
  Mary tried to tell the young chippie that she only wanted a consult.  There was no need to fill out all the paperwork.  She just wanted to ask a few questions.  
“Look Ma’am.   If you want to see the doctor you’re going to have to fill this form in advance.  Do you want the appointment or not?  We are very busy here!”
Mary glanced about the room.  Most of the people seated in the waiting room were women.  Some were Mary’s age, but many had no obvious flaws.  “What could they be doing here?” she wondered. 
“Ma’am,” boomed the irritated voice of the receptionist, “please, are you going to fill out the required forms or not?” 
“I’m not deaf, you little floozy.”  Some of the patients looked up with shocked expressions while others looked away pretending they hadn’t heard Mary’s outburst.  The receptionist stiffened and closed her sliding window with a slam.  Mary mumbled something about having made a terrible mistake.   Then she bolted out of the office.
“Well, that was a disaster!”  Our post-menopausal heroine headed for the nearest fast food joint.  She ordered a chocolate shake and a jumbo bag of fries which she carried to an available booth.  After giving a menacing look to the crying child across from her, she told herself that she needed a plan.  “What will I do with myself?” 
Mary took a notebook and pen out of her large floppy purse.   In the process she pricked her finger on something sharp and blurted out a curse.  A small boy in the booth behind her asked his mother why that lady said a bad word.  The mother picked up the food and escorted her son to a booth on the other side of the restaurant.  
Mary intended to make a list of things she could with her life.  She couldn’t think of anything.  “Not too promising,” she sighed.   After fifteen minutes she had slurped up the last drops of chocolate shake but still had no useful ideas.  “That’s it!”  She screeched out loud suddenly, “I give up!  She blushed when several people stared at her.  “Oh sorry,” she stammered, “I didn’t realize I spoke out loud.”  She hurried out of the eatery while hiding her face with the greasy notebook paper.
Mary shuffled her feet as she walked through her town shrouded in her personal black cloud of despair.  She passed by a community bulletin board and only looked at it because a bright pink flyer caught her eye.  “Attention retired women:  come join us for talk and coffee.  Check out our web page; www.lifelines.com.”
Six gray-haired women sat around a large table in the back of the coffee shop.  Mary almost left, but as she looked in, one of the ladies smiled warmly at her and beckoned her to join them.   At first Mary sat in awkward silence and listened to the others talking and laughing around her.  No one pressured her to speak.   Finally, she summoned her courage.  “Last week I had a funeral for my lost youth.”  Everyone laughed.  They raised their cups in salute, and the chatter continued.  
Mary still has no particular plan for how she will spend the rest of her life, but once a week she meets with other women who all welcome her; even when she feels disagreeable.  And there’s more good news.  Carl has come out of the den.