34
ALWAYS AND FOREVER
I SENT KIM AN EMAIL the week after the housewarming. I didn’t actually have anything to say, but I managed to pick a few random small-talk phrases out of the air and I guess it did the trick. It took a few days before she replied, long enough that I wondered if I’d somehow screwed it all up and she was done talking to me. But soon enough the reply came, chatty and ill-punctuated as always.
hi brian
good to hear from you. im going to be in town in a few weeks and it will be your birthday soon! we should have lunch or something. i liked that place we met before, why dont we go there?
ill let you know for sure when ill be in town but keep the first few weeks of april free!
kim
For some reason, it struck me as odd that Kim would know when my birthday was. Obviously, once I thought about it, it was entirely reasonable that she’d remember the date. But it had become evident to me that I thought of Kim and the others — Chuck, Rob and Jeannette — as people who belonged to my adult life. I didn’t know them when I was a kid, so it felt strange to have Kim refer to something that I know I’d never mentioned to her.
Regardless, I opened the calendar on my phone and booked off lunchtimes for the first three weeks of April and the last week of March. I didn’t make many lunch dates, but just in case, I didn’t want to have to cancel on anyone. I wanted to leave any date available for Kim. I felt like I’d been somehow delinquent after all the time we’d spent together in the summer that we hadn’t seen each other in over six months. Who’d have guessed that double the mothers means double the guilt?
WE MET AT ELEVEN THIRTY and I’d booked off the afternoon. I didn’t know how long she would have, but it seemed like I ought to give her some time. It felt strange to be meeting her without the rest of them. What if we had nothing to talk about? I was nearly as nervous as the last time I’d been at this table by the window, watching for a woman I wouldn’t recognize but who was my mother. I ordered too many cups of coffee from Françoise and fidgeted with my phone.
Kim arrived a couple of minutes late and breezed over to the table. I stood and she kissed me lightly on the cheek as if I were a socialite acquaintance. “Good to see you, Brian,” she said. “You’re looking well.”
“Thanks,” I said, sitting. “You, too.” And she was looking well, indeed. It was like now that the wedding stress was gone, five years of aging went with it. I was amazed at how youthful and energetic she was.
“I guess it’s good genes,” she said and laughed. I smiled. We ordered lunch and soon settled into a chatty routine. “So, what’s new and exciting?” she asked.
“A lot, I guess,” I said, frowning as I thought about it. “Remember that woman I was with at Charlotte’s wedding?”
“Sure,” she said, grinning. “The ‘coincidence’.” She made air quotes with her fingers when she said the last word.
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, we bought a condo last month.”
“Good for you,” Kim said, genuine excitement in her voice. “You did seem like she was something special last summer. What’s her name?”
“Oh, jeez,” I said, “I’m sorry. It’s Celia. Her name is Celia-Dee Pavane. I call her Seedy; it’s kind of a long story ... anyway.”
“You said you knew her from before,” she quizzed me as our sandwiches arrived. “From where?”
“She was my first real girlfriend,” I said. “We went out for about six months in university.”
Kim stopped chewing and put her sandwich down. “Young love,” she said, but the phrase didn’t have an iota of the patronizing tone most people endow it with. “It’s none of my business,” she said, “but why did it end, back then?”
“I don’t really know,” I said. “At the time there was a reason, but it never made sense, not then, not now.” I put down my own sandwich and wiped my fingers on my napkin as I thought. “I think it was just that we were too young and we knew it. We were pretty great together, but we were just kids. We weren’t ready to meet The One, you know? So we just pushed each other away, because we were scared that otherwise we’d be stuck together forever.” I caught her eye and was intimidated by the intensity of her gaze. “Well, that’s sort of how it seems now,” I backpedalled. “You know, now that we’re together again.”
“It’s hard when you meet the love of your life when you’re young,” she said with a certain air of knowledge. “You’re both very lucky that you managed to meet again. That’s uncommon for people like you two.”
“I know,” I said. “It sometimes feels like we’ve just missed a catastrophe, like we’ve been given a second chance. Sounds crazy, huh?”
“No,” she said, and I got the impression she was trying to hold back tears. “Not crazy at all.” She cleared her throat and looked out the window for a long time. I picked up my sandwich and took a bite. Then she said, not turning her gaze from the street outside, “When you’re young and you’ve actually found true love, when you’ve found the person who you should spend your life with, and then it’s over ...” She blinked a few times and took a breath.
“Nothing else ever lives up to that,” she said finally. “You’ve got this memory of the way things ought to be and, no matter what happens, no matter who you meet and what life brings, it just can’t compare to that memory. It’s sort of like a part of you stops back then. Like some fundamental aspect of you never gets any older than you were back when all roads led to a future where you were happy, where you were loved.”
She continued staring out the window, and as I followed her gaze I noticed that she didn’t seem to be seeing anything that was going on in the street. A man walked past with a clown wig on and her eyes didn’t even flutter in his direction. She was a million miles away — or maybe only thirty years away.
There wasn’t much to say to that, so I left her alone with her thoughts as I finished my sandwich. She came back to reality a few minutes later and, as if nothing had ever happened, said, “So, I don’t know if you’ve heard or not but Rob and Anna are finally getting married.”
“Not another wedding,” I said, grinning.
“No worries,” Kim replied. “They’re going to elope to Fiji. After Chuck and Terry, they decided to just skip all the hoopla.”
“Good for them,” I said, thinking about the madness avoidance, but I think Kim took my remark as an endorsement of their pending nuptials. No need to correct her on that, I figured.
We gossiped about the rest of the kids and I told her a little about Blair and Angela and their new baby. Before long, Françoise came out to let us know that she was going to close in a half hour and I looked at my phone in astonishment. It was after three o’clock in the afternoon. Kim grinned at me. “That’s what happens when you try to pack half a year into one lunch. Takes time.”
“I’ll try to be better,” I said, sheepishly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kim said. “You don’t owe me anything and I know that life gets in the way. All the time. Just don’t forget that I really am happy that you found me after all these years and it would be a shame to just let all this slip away.”
I nodded. We walked out of Café Mozart together, after leaving a generous tip for Françoise, and I walked with Kim to where her car was parked.
“This was really nice,” I said. “Maybe next time you could come over to our place. Seedy makes a great veggie lasagna.”
“That sounds great,” Kim said, touching my arm lightly. “Oh, before I forget, I have something for you. Call it a birthday present.” I frowned in surprise, as she opened the rear door of her car and took a large envelope out of the back seat. “I’ll want these back,” she said, “but I think it’s time you got to look at them.” She reached up and pecked me on the cheek again, then was in the car, belted and off down the road before I had a chance to ask what it was.
WHEN I GOT HOME, Seedy was already there. It had been her day off and she’d been out shopping. She’d filled the fridge and t
here was a set of takeout boxes on the counter waiting for me.
“So, how did it go?” she asked.
“Good,” I said and briefly filled her in on the conversation.
“Wow,” she said. “Fiji, eh? That’s a hell of a long flight just to avoid a huge family event.”
“What?” I said, still focussed on the envelope. It was a boring-looking manila envelope, with what I guessed were about ten or so folded sheets inside. It smelled old, not musty, but like the pages had been handled over and over again over many years. I still hadn’t opened it.
Seedy laughed at me. “Okay, go ahead already. Open your present. I’ll leave you alone until you’re done.” She kissed me, running her hand lightly over my hair in a gesture that I’d come to feel was as much a sense of home as a place to put my keys and find my toothbrush. I watched her walk into the second bedroom we used as a joint study, and she looked back at me.
“When you get back from your trip through history,” she said, “I’ll be here.”
THERE WERE EIGHT LETTERS, each one was no more than two pages long and written on old-fashioned, tissue-thin blue airmail paper. The writing was neat and orderly, but I got a sense from the workmanlike cursive that they were somehow challenging to write.
When I saw the date on the first, I knew what they were. I inhaled the scent of my father’s ink and felt a prickling behind my eyes.
October 22, 1980
Dear Kimmie,
I thought it would be hot here, but it’s not that bad.
I READ THEM THROUGH IN ONE SHOT, one after the other like I was unable to stop. It probably took less than half an hour, but I felt like I was living an entire lifetime through those thousand words. When I finished the last letter, I wiped the wetness from my cheeks, got up and walked over to the other room to take the woman I loved in my arms and never let her go.
January 9, 1981
Happy New Year!
Thanks for the Christmas card and the chocolate bar. It got mooshed a little in the mail, but it still tastes great. I’m limiting myself to one square a day, I don’t want it to end. Every time I taste it, I think of you.
You’ll like this: Mom has been sending me letters that she pretends are written by the birds. It’s pretty funny to get a letter from Suzie Q or Barbara Ann. The other guys all think they are my girlfriends. I don’t mind. I don’t really want to talk to them about you, it seems kind of gross, the way they are about girls. So I pretend I have five girlfriends and laugh when they ask about Rose (that’s what I call Roscoe).
Mom says you still come by to play with the birds. She says she wishes you could take them home with you, but I know your folks won’t let you. When I get back, I’ll have enough money to get a place of our own while I’m at veterinary school and we can take all the birds. I even want to take Roscoe, that biting, scratching bad-ass. Mom says he’s so much nicer when you’re around.
Less than four months until April. Then I can see all my ladies (ha ha), especially my number one lady.
I miss you, Kim.
Love, always and forever,
Jim
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THANKS FIRST AND FOREMOST to my editor, Leslie Vermeer. Her boundless enthusiasm for this project was a joy to behold, and her keen eye helped make this a much better book. The rest of the crew at NeWest have also been fantastic, especially Claire Kelly and Matt Bowes. It’s delightful to work with such competent and passionate people.
I owe a great debt to Amanda Witherell, whose tales of growing up in a veritable menagerie were the seeds that grew into this book. Her knowledge of bird-things and excellent critical reading were invaluable. All errors are mine.
Thanks to Brian Twitchell for letting me borrow his name and for the many beers and laughs.
My many writing friends online and off keep the weasels at bay and have made me a better writer. Thank you all.
Finally, thanks to Steven Ensslen for everything. Always and forever.
DARUSHA writes science fiction and speculative poetry as M. Darusha Wehm and mainstream poetry and fiction as Darusha Wehm. Science fiction books include Beautiful Red, Children of Arkadia and the Andersson Dexter cyberpunk detective series. Mainstream books include the Devi Jones’ Locker Young Adult series and The Home for Wayward Parrots.
Darusha’s short fiction and poetry have appeared in many venues, including Arsenika, Nature, Escape Pod and several anthologies.
Darusha is originally from Canada but currently lives in Wellington, New Zealand, after spending the past several years sailing the Pacific. For more information, visit http://darusha.ca.
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