Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection

by Persun, Terry

  He wanted to be alone for a moment. They had spent the last few days cooped up in the house because of the rain. “I need to change my shirt,” he said. “The collar’s bothering me.” He continued to talk until he entered the haven of the bedroom. He didn’t want to hear it, not any more. She had become more aggressive as he became more tired. It seemed to him that she was badgering, picking a little at a time, eating away at him. Even though she was willing to go on the trip with him, she picked. That was her scheme: look like you’re doing the right thing, like you’re going along, but undermine the whole operation by nit-picking, whining, and complaining. That way it’s ruined for both of them.

  Jim took off his shirt, but it took him a while to choose another one. After all, it didn’t matter what he wore, he was going nowhere but to the grave, and he didn’t need clothes for that one. He reached behind his back to scratch. His skin had become so dry and itchy lately. He had neck aches and headaches too. He tried to read while he was home, but his eyes had become light sensitive, burning if there was too much light or too little. His whole body had turned on him, had begun to rebel against him. Fifty-eight was not old enough to have such problems. Maybe an occasional backache or tight joint, but not all this. He scratched for a little while then pulled a shirt from the closet. When he turned, Becky was there standing quietly, watching him.

  “Let me put some lotion on your back.” Her voice sounded calm and loving.

  Jim couldn’t refuse, so he turned back around.

  Becky had brought lotion with her and began to cover his back and sides. “I love you,” she said. “I don’t mean to be so irritable. I guess I’m trying not to miss you when I know I will.”

  Jim heard her voice crack and turned in time for his shoulder to catch her lowering head and the tears that dripped from her eyes. He put his arms around her, placing his hands near the soft flesh of her neck. “Oh, Honey, don’t be afraid. It’ll all happen just as it’s supposed to.”

  “How can you say that?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

  He thought about her question. “There’s nothing else to say.”

  “You worry. I know you do. You can’t hide it all the time.”

  “I don’t worry. At least it doesn’t feel like worry. Maybe sadness, a slight depression, but worry? No. I know I have no choice in the matter. What’s happening is natural. The destructive aspect of nature. It’s stronger than I am. It’s stronger than all mankind. All these months I have tried to be one with it. That’s not always easy. Sometimes I just want to be alive longer, but I’m not there, not in the future, and I know it.” Jim laughed softly. “It’s funny, in a way, not seeing yourself in the future. But it’s all part of being, physical or not.”

  “Honey…”

  “No, Beck, I’m serious here. I feel strongly that I’ll always be part of the whole, forever and ever. I haven’t lost that. Remember? Deer. It’s both individual and multiple. Intimate and universal. That’s what I’ve come to believe. So, now I understand the word sheep, too, as in the Bible, maybe. We are His herd. I don’t claim to know, or to be that religious. It’s just what I’ve explored.”

  “You’re allowed, Jimmy. You don’t have to apologize.”

  “I don’t mean to talk so much.” He squeezed her close to him. “It might just be a reason to hold you longer.”

  “Oh, you.” She held him close, her bare hands, softened by the lotion, rubbed his equally softened back.

  “I love you, Rebecca. And I love the beautiful children we raised, and the life we lived. Most of it.”

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t throw part of your life away. I’ve forgiven you. I really have,” she promised.

  “But every time I try to . . .”

  “You’re asking a lot of an old woman. I’m embarrassed. In fact, some of the things you’ve suggested, I would have been embarrassed about when I was younger and more adventuresome.”

  They kissed comfortably.

  “We’ll make the trip,” Jim said. “Rain or no rain. We’ll leave tomorrow evening, sleep over and hike out Saturday morning.”

  “Good. I really want to see this place now.” She sounded like she meant it.

  “I’m glad I finally explored it. Even if it took the cancer to make it important,” Jim said.

  “Brad told me how important this is to you. We’ve talked about it a lot lately.”

  “What is he, a double agent?” Jim smiled.

  “No. But you two have spent a lot of time together since your trip there. Some of it’s bound to come out.”

  Jim didn’t mind. He had actually almost hoped that Brad and Becky would talk even more after he died. In a way, he wanted to be remembered. What he and Brad explored together, in his heart, was very spiritual, very enlightening. Jim was often amazed at the things he’d taught Brad without realizing it, like “Eat healthy, think healthy.” He’d forgotten he used to say that when Brad and Connie were kids. Now, Brad repeated it back to Jim.

  Jim kissed Becky again, on the forehead. “I’m glad you two talk.”

  “So am I. He’s so much like you. I never noticed until lately,” she said.

  “Since you’ve been talking?” Jim let go of Becky and put his shirt on. The tension of their earlier confrontation in the living room had dispersed into another kind of conversation, one of mutual understanding.

  “No,” she said, “since I’ve paid more attention to you. I’d lost track of just how intelligent and introspective you are, questioning everything. I remember times in our life together when I was irritated to no end that you questioned so heavily and deeply, not only me but yourself. You’d get into depressions for days. Then, you’d just snap out of it.” She snapped her fingers and raised her eyes to illustrate. “You wouldn’t have an answer though, not in words, but you’d have a solution. It drove me crazy sometimes.”

  She went over and helped him button his shirt and roll the sleeves evenly. “Hearing Brad ask all those questions about himself reminds me of you. I appreciate it much more now, how important it is to his well-being.” She again threw her arms around him. “He is so lucky to have found Susan to share his life with. She’s just like him. They have a wonderful relationship.”

  “They do, don’t they?”

  “I’m sorry you were saddled with me all those years, my misunderstanding your quietness and rejecting your way of living with yourself and the world.”

  “I wasn’t saddled.”

  “Sometimes?” she asked.

  “I was well taken care of.”

  They stood together for a long time. An understanding came between them, spawned by a closeness of spirit. The rest of the afternoon and evening their conversation consisted of memories of their life together. Without remorse, they spoke of Connie and of Jim’s condition. They connected on a deep level realized through calm, deeply felt emotions, and caring spirits. When the conversation turned to the deer, Jim felt an intimacy with them he had not felt for a long time. Becky did not try to translate their words or the incident, instead she asked probing questions of Jim, what he remembered, how he felt then, and now. Still, it had all become memory, sifted through the thin screen of time into a soft powder. It was the physicality of the deer themselves that was the message; the fact that they were there, not their words so much. And also, the fantasy they wrapped themselves in, or that he wrapped them in. So, they were a gift, one he had unwrapped slowly, all these months. And like every child must learn eventually, it is the act of the gift given, and the gift giver, that is most important, not what is inside the wrappings.

  By Friday evening, the two of them were excited and ready for the trip into the mountains. As soon as they loaded the car, they were off. Becky drove, all the while acting like a young bride going on her honeymoon. It made Jim giddy and nervous, but anxious too.

  “Look there,” Becky stretched her arm in front of him. Two deer grazed near a stand of pale-stemmed birches. “Mayb
e it’s an omen.”

  “An omen?”

  “That you’ll get to see your deer again.”

  “I doubt that, but you never know. I’d prefer we called it a sign though. Omen sounds evil or something,” Jim said.

  “Occult,” Becky added.

  “Maybe they’re just beautiful,” Jim said, as he squeezed her shoulder.

  Becky drove more slowly than Brad, so they were not making very good time. She apologized, but Jim told her they were on a pleasure trip so arrival time was much less important than together time. She agreed and suggested, in that case, they stop along the way for dinner instead of making something once they got to the cabin.

  “Great idea.” Jim remembered the area fairly well, having traveled it so often. “There’s a place I’ve been interested in trying, but never have. It’s about thirty minutes up the road here.”

  “Then, let’s do it,” Becky said.

  Jim reached over and patted Becky’s thigh and let his hand rest there for a moment. Slowly, he inched it up to her breast and jiggled it a little.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but if it doesn’t stop we’re going straight to the cabin and you’re getting no dinner,” she told him.

  “I didn’t want to stop anywhere anyway.”

  Becky gave him a peck on the cheek and got back to her driving. They talked about how beautiful the drive had been thus far.

  “I forget sometimes that you’ve never been here,” Jim said.

  “I’m sorry, now. It’s just that it’s your hunting retreat. I always thought you wanted your own place to go.”

  “I think I did in a way. But, you know, we could have come up here in the spring or summer sometimes, so you could have enjoyed it too,” he said.

  “Well, let’s make this our first time — it is — and a special time.” She smiled over at him.

  “The diner’s around the bend up here,” he pointed through the window.

  “I am a little hungry,” she said.

  “Me too, really. Do you think it matters how much fat and cholesterol I have now? I’d really like some fried food.”

  Becky reacted unpleasantly to his allusion by not answering. She glanced over at him, not smiling, not saying a word as she pulled into the parking lot. “You’ve always eaten any way you like,” she snapped. “Why stop now?” Her words had a familiar curtness about them, yet she took his arm and bumped his hip with hers in a most unfamiliar way as they walked through the parking lot. She held a tight smile on her face, playful and serious at once.

  The gravel scrunched beneath their feet. Crowder Mt. Café the sign over the door proclaimed. A waitress ushered them to a booth. Jim sat next to Becky and pushed her closer to the wall with his butt.

  “What in the world?” Becky asked.

  “I’m sitting with you for a change,” he winked. “You started it and I like feeling your legs against mine.”

  “I think you don’t want to look at me,” she teased.

  “Not so, it’s the vantage point from which I look. I’ve changed it.”

  “You certainly have.”

  They ordered, Jim finding fried catfish and French fries to his liking.

  “You’re going to feel awful later,” Becky warned.

  “But it’ll taste good now.”

  Becky ordered chicken stir-fry and a small dinner salad. “They probably fry the lettuce in a place like this anyway.”

  “Beck, have you ever wondered what my purpose in your life has been?” She looked away and Jim noticed a slight sniffle. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She looked back at him. He loved her smooth cheeks and the bone structure around her eyes. They hadn’t changed much in all that time, only aged, and slowly, elegantly. Had he ever expressed these thoughts clearly enough? After many years with Rebecca, he expected her to know how he felt about her and how he viewed her, physically. At that moment, he knew he must tell her more often. Similarly, he had always known there was a sort of mystery to life, to the world, but it took his actual encounter with the deer for him to make it a part of him. “I love the way you look, how smooth your cheeks feel when they brush against mine.”

  Ignoring his statement, she answered his question. “I’ve often wondered about us, in many ways, at every stage of life. I know I’m not as introspective as you are, but, in my own way, I evaluate our life together. You are always the mystery in life to me. I often don’t know what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling exactly. Your moods change and I’m on a bumpy country road beside you wondering just how you feel inside about me, about yourself, about the cancer.” She choked then coughed into her hand.

  “You don’t have to go on,” Jim said, patting her leg.

  “No, I want to.” She put the napkin to her face and dabbed her eyes.

  The waitress returned with their drinks. She obviously noticed Becky, but made no comment. After she left, Becky continued. “Your mind flits about like a dozen small birds in the bushes: you see their flight, their quick movements, but never quite get a clear look at them. But they’re beautiful, quick, and alive. You are, and always have been, very much alive to me. You always will be.”

  She placed her head on his shoulder and he could feel her will herself to stop crying. Had they been in a different setting, she’d have let herself break down completely, and he would have held her until she stopped. This was a conversation for later, when both of them could feel free to speak out or cry if they wanted.

  They made the meal their focus. They spoke very little, and only then to comment on the food. Jim felt his emotions rise and fall during dinner. Every time Becky and he touched, his heart raced. When she purposely pushed her leg against his, he almost burst into tearful joy. They acted like children, teenagers on a date. After eating, they held hands as they drank coffee. Again, they spoke very little, both afraid what might, or might not, be said. When the waitress brought the check, Jim asked her to wait, and paid the bill right away, so they could leave, quickly.

  Once back on the road, this time with Jim driving, Becky broke down. Jim reached over and she grasped his hand with both of hers and wept into it. He could feel her tears and her shivering. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

  “It won’t.” She held his hand to her cheek. “I know what’s happening. You’re making a last pilgrimage, and you’re taking me as a witness. You’ve given up.”

  “No. You’re wrong there. I haven’t given up. I’ve accepted. There’s a difference. For some reason, once I got to a certain point in all this, it dawned on me that my time here has always been limited. I always knew I was going to die. We all know it. I just didn’t know when. As I get closer, it gets easier to take. I feel lucky, really.”

  “Lucky?” Her face lifted to reveal incredulity.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think, to get to know my son, to get closer to you. That, I think is my greatest gift.” He noticed the confused expression on her face, so he went on. “If I had lived another ten or twenty years, without the cancer, I would not have changed a thing. Our relationship would have deteriorated, and Brad and I would still be separated by decades of parenting. These last months have been a gift. They’ve allowed me to repair things. If I had had a heart attack, it’d be all over. No time to think. Plenty of regrets on all sides.”

  “Then you’ve given us the greatest gift, too.” Her tears were gone. “You’ve allowed us to know you better, you have penetrated deeper into our lives. I will never forget you, how brave you are, how caring.” Becky removed a tissue from the glove box and wiped tears from the back of Jim’s hand, then from her own eyes.

  “Living takes brave people. We’re all heroes, gift givers,” Jim said.

  Becky reached out and touched his cheek.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE NEXT MORNING Jim got up early to make coffee and get ready for their trip. Becky rose more slowly. When she came out of the bedroom Jim was sitting on the couch watching the fire. “What ar
e you doing?” she asked.

  Jim held up his coffee cup. “Relaxing.” He turned to face her. Her robe was open and he could see the soft flesh of her cleavage, her slightly pudgy stomach and, where her pubic area should have been, she had one leg pushed forward. From head to foot he could see inviting flesh. The robe, like a door standing ajar, let out the light of her body.

  “What’s it like outside,” she asked him.

  “Drizzling. Overcast,” he said.

  “I was hoping it would have stopped.”

  “Me to. I hate to scrap this whole thing, but you won’t...“

  “Don’t tell me what I won’t do or won’t like. I’m going through with this. It’s too important not to,” she said.

  “It’s important to me,” he told her.

  “And therefore important to me.”

  Her confidence and sense of mission was attractive. He got up from the couch and walked over to her. He ran his hand down the front of her body.

  “But there’s no reason we have to go right away,” she said.

  Jim took her hand and led her back into the bedroom.

  Their love, for years, had become comfortable and familiar. The two of them knew what to expect, one from the other, and knew what to give. The pleasures of knowing one another well and caring about their feelings had led to a satisfying love life where warmth and understanding and acceptance were all given with honesty.

  Later, when they were both ready for the hike, Becky pulled Jim close and held him. “Thank you,” she said, but she didn’t have to.

  The rain added substance to the odor of the woods. A lingering of smoke in the air brushed by, making the outside familiar. Jim had smelled those smells a lot lately and welcomed them into his body. He would miss the land as much as he’d miss anything, he thought.

  Becky grabbed his hand and asked, “Which way?”

  “Was I lingering too long?” he said.

  “You were thinking. It’s okay.”