End of the Road (6 page)

I was much closer to my brothers. I had
three of them. In some ways my parents had two families. First came
the three boys, and then years later my sister arrived. Dad was
thrilled to finally get a girl, yet she didn’t turn out to be the
sweet little girl he imagined. Oh he adored her, but she was always
a tomboy with a volatile temper. I arrived two years later, a
mistake. However, I never felt like a mistake. I was the surprise
blessing, the little girl they had been waiting for.

All but my sister Margaret are now gone. I
was just a child when Daddy died. I think it was harder on Margaret
than on me. I was always a mama’s girl. Mama has been gone for over
thirty years now. No one has a clue how profoundly I still miss
her. The youngest of the brothers died when we were all young
adults. My eldest brother passed away not long after Mama. Days
after my husband Walt passed, I lost my last brother.

Of course, they were much older than Walt.
Walt was in his early sixties when he died, a lingering death that
took two years to complete. Ann was there, as was our son-in-law,
helping us get Walt to the hospital twice a week for medical
treatments and witnessing the drastic change in my husband’s
personality.

Once, when Ann expressed her frustration, I
gently reminded her it would be over soon enough. I think she
forgot her father wasn’t going to live forever, and he really was
reaching the end of his road. She preferred to revel in her
annoyance at the inconvenience as opposed to facing the harsh truth
of death’s finality. Don’t misunderstand me – Ann loved her daddy
dearly. But I suppose we all cope with death in our own way.

“
Mom, Uncle Ed called me
about Aunt Margaret,” Carol told me. By then, I was sitting in my
leather recliner in my small sitting room taking Carol’s
call.

“
What’s wrong?” I normally
spoke to Margaret on a daily basis. She and Ed had moved into the
Masonic home almost ten years earlier, a move Margaret resisted yet
one Ed had been looking forward to since he was a young man. It was
something I always found peculiar. With me living in Texas and
Margaret and Ed living in California, we were lucky if we saw each
other once a year.

“
They’ve moved Margaret
into her own room.” I knew immediately what that meant, and my
heart fell to the floor. A separate room meant assisted living.
They would eventually give Ed a smaller room, where he could go on
living independently at the home – free from the burdens of an
ailing wife. She would hate it there; I knew Margaret. I told
myself I needed to call my nephew, their only child, and make sure
he checked on his mother. I didn’t particularly trust Ed to act in
the best interest of my sister.

When I finally got off the phone, I went
into the living room to tell Ann the news. I found her sitting on
the couch, her laptop computer propped up on her knees.

“
Poor Auntie Margaret,” Ann
said sympathetically. Maybe Margaret and I were never close like
Ann and Carol, but she tried to be a good aunt to my daughters. I
always knew Margaret was jealous, never having daughters of her
own. During our regular phone conversations she would remind me of
how lucky I was to have two such wonderful girls, commenting how
they were always there for me.

Daughters, they are a blessing. I adore my
three grandsons, but I wish Carol had also been blessed with a
daughter, as was Ann.

Ann’s oldest is a boy – my first grandchild.
Oh, how I adored that boy. I was never one who longed for
grandchildren, and I was quite surprised how totally in love I was
with that child – so was Walt. Walt swore he only wanted girls, but
when his first grandson, Bobby, arrived, he was over the moon.

Bobby and I were close. He called me “Ma”
and I remember how he and his younger sister would race after our
car when we had to go home, both crying for us to return. Today he
is in his early thirties, and I am lucky if he calls me once a
year. I can’t really complain, he doesn’t call his mother much
either, and when he was little, he was even closer to her.

Carol’s two sons are good boys. Well
actually, all three of my grandsons are good boys. Although they
are now men. Her oldest is attending college in Colorado and I see
him as often as I do my eldest grandson. Of the three boys, Jeff,
Carol’s youngest, makes more of an effort to reach out to me.
Perhaps it is because he is the only one of the three with a child.
Family is important to Jeff. I like to think Jeff and I have a
special bond.

My only granddaughter, Beth is a constant
reminder of why I find daughters so special. Of the four, she lives
the farthest away – in Hawaii. Her husband is in the military. In
spite of that, she talks daily to her mother on the phone, and she
calls me at least once a week.

She’s given me two beautiful
great-grandchildren – a boy and a girl. I’ve yet to meet the
grandson, but she is coming for a visit in four months. One of the
sweetest things she ever shared with me came up when we were
discussing guardianship of her children, if the unthinkable ever
happened.

“
If something had happened
to my parents, I would have wanted to live with you, not Aunt
Carol,” she told me. I was shocked. Carol adores Beth, and the
feeling is mutual. Yet, Beth explained that for as much as she
loved her aunt, I would be the one she felt more at home with if
she lost her parents.

“
Mom, this has been a rough
few months for you, I’m really sorry,” Ann commented, as I sat down
on the loveseat across from her. She was right, it had been. Last
month I lost my last first-cousin, Virginia. Several weeks ago one
of my dear friends, George, died from cancer. While I hadn’t seen
either in years, I exchanged regular phone calls with both of
them.

“
I am also worried about
Kate,” I reminded Ann. Kate is another friend of mine, who I keep
in touch with by phone. The last time we spoke she was recuperating
from a car accident, and she didn’t sound good. When I tried
calling her yesterday, her phone was disconnected.

“
You don’t have her
daughter’s phone number?” Anna asked.

“
No, she lives somewhere in
Alaska. I don’t remember her last name.”

“
Do you want me to check
online?” I knew what Ann meant: the online obituaries. I told her
yes, and gave her Kate’s full name and the town she lived in. I sat
quietly as Ann’s fingers flew over the keyboard, making the
search.

“
I’m sorry, Mom.” Something
twisted inside of me. Instinctively I knew she wasn’t sorry because
she couldn’t find Kate, but because she had.

“
When?”

“
Last week. The funeral is
tomorrow.”

There was no way I could get to the funeral.
I didn’t know any of those people anyway. It seemed all my friends
had died already.

“
I might as well take my
phone out,” I said ruefully. “I can save myself twenty bucks a
month.”

Ann looked at me sympathetically. My husband
had been gone for over twenty years. My best friend had left me a
decade ago, yet was still alive. Alzheimer’s took her from me. Over
the last twenty years my good friends have been disappearing – one
by one – a steady procession, leaving me behind with my youthful
skin, straight white teeth and stylish hairdo.

I tried to be funny, but this wasn’t funny.
Soon, I would have no one left to talk to on the phone. I missed my
husband, my parents, my siblings and my friends. They all left
without me.

Ann set the computer on the coffee table,
stood up and gave me a hug. She told me she loved me and promised
me a special day for my birthday. She promised she’d spend the
entire day with me. I wondered if she meant it or was again
treating me like the child I wasn’t.

I had lost my appetite by the time dinner
hour rolled around. Forcing myself to eat, I nibbled on a small
portion of chicken, a few carrot sticks and drank a glass of milk.
Emotionally drained, I took an early shower and went to bed.

I’d been asleep for several hours when I
rolled over and bumped into Walt. Drowsily, I opened my eyes and
saw him sitting up in bed next to me, leaning against a pile of
pillows. I’d left the bathroom light on, which helped illuminate my
bedroom.

“
Are you watching me
sleep?” I asked, noting his intent expression.

“
You seemed a little
depressed tonight.”

“
Kate died,” I told
him.

“
Yes I know.”

“
Margaret isn’t doing
well.”

“
No, she isn’t. She’ll be
going soon. It’s her time.”

“
Walt, I hate this.
Everyone is leaving me. I don’t want to stay here
anymore.”

“
Sweetheart,” Walt said
gently, reaching out to brush my forehead.

“
You have Ann and Carol,
the grandkids, not to mention those beautiful great-grandbabies.
Plus, you have a world full of new friends
to meet.”

“
I’m too tired and too old
to meet new friends,” I said stubbornly. He only
laughed.

“
It was always difficult
for you to meet new people. But your family still needs you here.
The rest of us will be waiting when it’s your time. But, you’ve a
bit more road left to travel.”

“
Do they really need me? I
think I’m just in Ann’s way.”

“
Trust me, she needs you.
Remember how she was when it was my time? Angry at me for being
sick. She wasn’t annoyed because I was a nuisance, she was angry
because I was preparing to leave.”

“
She doesn’t act like she
needs me. And I try to be helpful around here. I help with the
housework, do the laundry.”

“
She doesn’t need you that
way. She needs you like you needed your Mama. Don’t you remember?”
I thought of my Mama and tears filled my eyes. I wanted to go to
her, but something held me back.

“
Maybe Ann doesn’t always
act like it,” he went on, “but she loves you dearly. She considers
you one of her best friends. I also know our other daughter – and
our grandchildren feel the same way. So remember, even if many of
your older friends have moved on, you’ve some precious ones who
continue to need you in their lives.”

I sleepily closed my eyes and rolled over. I
had a longer road to travel, and I was grateful Walt reminded me I
would have plenty of companionship along the way. I would
eventually get to the end of the road – just not as soon as many of
my old friends.

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Bobbi Ann Johnson Holmes
writes fiction under the nom de plume, Anna J. McIntyre and
non-fiction under her real name. For more information visit
http://robeth.com

Chapter 6

Nowheresville

By Donna B. McNicol

Stepping off the bus, Gary
slung the battered duffel bag over his shoulder and moved to the
sidewalk. A cloud of dust swirled around his feet as the bus
departed.
Another Nowheresville town. Looks
just like the last one, and the one before that, and the
one....
He laughed at himself and took a
moment to survey his surroundings. Dusty sidewalks ran down both
sides of the main street. Down one side he noted a hardware store,
a small pharmacy, a bank and a brightly decorated fabric shop.
Continuing to the other side he saw a combination beauty salon -
barber shop, a laundromat with several folding chairs set outside
and a diner. He swiped his ragged sleeve over his face and he
headed for the diner.

A bell tinkled overhead as
he paused in the doorway to savor the mixed aroma of fresh coffee,
fried foods and fresh baked goods. Cracked, peeling black and white
tiles covered the floor
with
booths
lin
ing
one wall
and
traditional counter seating along the other. The kitchen was
behind swinging doors that had seen better days; one half was
permanently open, the other needed a new coat of paint. The only
table was under the large display window at the front where two
elderly men barely glanced his way, both engrossed in their card
game.

A motion in the corner of his eye caught his
attention. A waitress juggling an arm full of dishes smiled over
her shoulder and shouted, "Grab a seat anywhere. Someone will
getcha' in a minute." The swinging door closed behind her as he
walked to the back. Tossing the duffel bag under the booth, he slid
in and opened the greasy menu. "Feels just like home," he mumbled
as he perused his choices.

He was interrupted by a younger and prettier
version of the first waitress. "Did ya' see the specials on the
board?" She inclined her head toward the chalkboard on the wall.
"We're outa' everything but the beef stew. We're never out of
that." She leaned closer and he could smell her unique aroma,
reminding him of days and women past. "That's cause it ain't no
good. Get the apple pie or if you've a real hunger, go for the
cheeseburger first." She straightened, patted a stray blond curl
and smiled. "Can I getcha some coffee while ya' decide?"

He nodded and as she walked
off, he let the
if onlys
roam briefly through his mind. If only he were ten
years younger; if only he had something to offer; if only he were
staying here longer. He quickly stopped the thoughts. He knew
the
if onlys
weren't worth the lint in his wallet but like always, he
managed to roam through them anyway.
Silly,
sad and pointless mind game. don't know why I always do
it.