Cage of Bone

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Cage of Bone Page 10

by Leanne Beattie


  “Are you and Meg going to get married?”

  “Yes, after the baby is born. Meg doesn’t want to go down the aisle all out to there.” He took one hand off the steering wheel and gestured, mimicking a pregnant belly. “We’ve been talking about having the ceremony in the backyard next summer.”

  “Maybe I’ll come. No promises though.”

  “No promises. I understand.”

  I had been thinking a lot about what Danielle had said about the award being for me, not Katherine. I knew she was right but the poem was so personal I just didn’t think I could get up in front of a crowd and read it aloud without crying.

  Mr. Tanner was sitting at his desk when I knocked on the door to the English room. He welcomed me in with a wave of his hand.

  “Veronica, what a nice surprise. Have you made a decision about the awards ceremony?”

  “Sort of. I’ll go if I don’t have to read the poem to the group. I don’t think I can do that”.

  Mr. Tanner nodded. “That’s a fair compromise. I’m glad you’ve agreed to go at all.”

  Every week more junk mail arrived, advertising things we didn’t need or couldn’t afford. Pizza deals. Department store flyers filled with Halloween costumes. I tossed everything in the garbage can without a second thought except for the one from Canadian Tire. Bathtubs were on sale this week. I clipped out the picture, underlined the low, low price with black marker and stuck the advertisement to the fridge door with a magnet from Niagara Falls.

  Less than a week later, two guys from Ken Acton Plumbing & Heating showed up at the door. They ripped out the old tub and installed a new shiny fiberglass one with a sliding glass shower door.

  Parents and grandparents milled around with plastic glasses of cheap wine in one hand, slices of orange cheddar on crackers in the other.

  I was dressed all in black but had opted to wear a pair of Katherine’s high heels instead of my usual combat boots. The ones she had never taken back to Sears.

  “There she is,” I heard a familiar voice say. I turned around to see my father approach with Griffin and Danielle at his side.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked my father.

  “I told him about it,” Danielle said.

  “Your Mom wanted to come too but she had to work,” Dad said.

  Griffin smiled at me shyly and kissed me quickly on the cheek. “Hey, Shakespeare”.

  “I can’t believe you’re all here. I feel special.”

  “Oh look,” Danielle said. “There’s Mr. Tanner! It’s cool he came too.” Turning to my dad, she continued. “Do you have any idea how talented Ronnie is? You should be proud!”

  First prize went to a girl from Hanover for her essay about learning to swim. The second prize went to a boy from Owen Sound for a science fiction short story. Each winner stood on a small stage with a microphone and podium and read their piece to the crowd.

  Then it was my turn.

  “Go on, Ronnie,” Danielle urged.

  I hadn’t planned to get up to read but I walked up to the podium at the last moment and took my copy of the glossy publication. Clearing my throat, I leaned into the microphone and began to speak.

  Cage of Bone

  I scream your name to this emptiness

  But anguish consumes my voice

  Alone, wasting I am

  A blackened soul chafed raw with pain

  Until all that remains

  Is a tight scar of anger stretched across

  A brittle cage of bone

  Katherine’s simple black granite marker had a soft sheen in the late afternoon sun. I dropped my duffel bag and placed my hands upon the rock. Warm, even in November. Grass had sprouted on the grave. Time had passed. Roots had taken hold. I had hoped that Katherine would be here so I could talk to her one last time but the cemetery was empty. She was gone. The only thing that could hear me was the wind.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to her stone. “I’m sorry for being so angry at you and I’m sorry for hating you. But most of all I’m sorry you had to go through your pain by yourself. That you couldn’t open up to me.” I let the tears come and didn’t try to stop them.

  “I don’t know why you kept everything a secret but I forgive you for dying. Because if I didn’t, I’d be crying for the rest of my life.”

  “It’s been so hard though. I thought if you loved me you would have gotten help, but you couldn’t. I’ll never understand why but I can move on. I am moving on now, Katherine.”

  The wind picked up some fallen leaves and scattered them across the grave. I sat down facing the headstone, the pale sun at my back. Sparrows fluttered in the air above the trees. I opened my duffel bag and pulled out the journal. I took a deep breath. And began to write.

 

  THE END

  Connect with me online:

  Blog: www.leanneardellebeattie.wordpress.com

  Twitter @JoyMagnet

  Facebook Profile: Leanne Beattie, Author

 


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