Goodbye To Tomorrow

by Theresa Hodge

  She smiled naughtily at me and I was amazed when she climbed up on the table and mounted me as I adjusted myself. She lowered herself onto me, bouncing up and down and moaning softly. That was the life we lived. We were adventurous. The games came later, and the sports and everything we grew to love together.

  *****

  Days crawled until our date. I was like someone sitting on a time bomb; I was so anxious I could not sit still. One minute I was in the kitchen with Rose, the next minute I was out again. I just couldn't stay in one place for long. Gracen. Gracen. Gracen.

  6:00 p.m.—time to get dressed. Why can’t I make a decision? Am I trying to impress her? Make her see that I am the same man she had fallen in love with? Deep down in my heart, I knew I still loved her and I really wanted to fight for a chance for us to get back again.

  The drive down to the Italian restaurant was uneventful. Lucky for me, the table we had sat at on our first date was free. I sat down, ordered a glass of wine, and waited. Earlier in the day, I had put a call through to remind her of our date, and Gracen had promised to be there.

  I believed her and so I waited. I sipped my glass of wine, ordered another, and tried to keep my anticipation in check. Still no sign of Gracen. My hopes of fixing what we had gently faded; as the day faded to night.

  I don’t know how I got home; I only know that I arrived on the property, soaked in sweat and tears. I must have been a sight; Rose was visibly shaken when she saw me. She led me to the kitchen and made me a cup of hot steaming coffee. And then she watched me cry.

  It was 8:49 p.m. when I heard the beep that indicated a text. It was from Gracen.

  “I am sorry.”

  That was all it said. Nothing more. Gracen was gone. She had left me, left me to die in misery!

  Chapter 8

  Jiraiya

  The pain of heartbreak

  They say a tree cannot make a forest, but a forest begins with just one tree. Little drops of water, makes the mighty ocean a breathtaking work of art starts with a touch of paint. These thoughts plague me like a fever. I never thought on these types of things until my disease struck.

  I wondered: What if I woke up one morning, only to discover that the good life I've been having, has all been a dream?

  What if I looked out the window and I was greeted by the busy streets and dirty surroundings of the ghetto, instead of the large fenced mansion in which I reside?

  Up until now, I had lived a life of privilege. Money...education...fast cars...great job. But sickness doesn’t care who it grabs and destroys. Now, I understand that life is a gift. I never thought how fast that my life could drastically change at a moment notice until now. I now know what is in the package of my existance. It’s the greatest joy to see the ones you love happy and know that you are a part of the reason for their happiness. Always! From now on, before I act, I must consider...What if...?

  Heartbreak makes one reflective; the mind begins to wander. I think my name should be added to the names of great philosophers: Socrates, Aristotle, Descartes, Mahatma Gandhi, and the Dalai Lama. Or maybe I should study for a degree in Philosophy, —as I am beginning to sound like one.

  Losing Gracen was like being shot in the chest...and surviving. Every morning I wake to pain, and I feel like I am going to die faster. It's some days to Christmas and, as I watch the snow fall, memories of a previous Christmas flood my mind. How I and Gracen would decorate the tree together, she would poke me playfully in my side and run. I would chase her around the house until we ended up in bed. We would cuddle while thick white snow fell outside.

  Today they are nothing but memories, making me wish I was dead. This was surely going to be my worst Christmas.

  *****

  Karine

  It was surely going to be a white Christmas this year. I made some food and ate with Mom at the kitchen table. She seemed to be in a lovely mood this morning, and didn’t seem depressed in the least. She smiled as she took bites from the cheesecake and gulped down nearly a full glass of cheap wine. I was glad to see her happy for a change.

  “You know, you make it just like I used to,” my mom said, taking another bite and chewing with relish. I don't like how she brought up the past again but at least it made her happy, so it made me happy too.

  “I know just how you like your cheesecake,” I answered, trying to take the attention away from her and focus it on me.

  “You sure do,” she giggled as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Oh my, how did I forget to tell you?" I hit my forehead with the palm of my right hand.

  "What's that?" she asked with unbelievable concern at the edge of her eyes.

  "You won’t believe who I saw some days ago," I said, trying to strike another conversation. Her eyes turned back to me. I had her attention. I had always been a daddy’s girl and Mom knew it. It was just so darn hard for the both of us without him here. My dad was the first person that I ever told about my fascination with my ex-boyfriend.

  “Who did you see, Karine?” my mom asked me with a smile across her face.

  “I am sure it wasn’t a woman; you wouldn’t be beaming as much as you are right now. Did you by chance run into Timothy?”

  Beaming; was I beaming? Oh my God, was it that obvious?

  “No, thank God I didn’t run into Tim. I saw Jiraiya Sampson,” I tried to say with a straight face. Her eyes went AWOL for a bit and then she smiled, recollecting who I was referring to.

  “Jiraiya? You mean the real estate multi-billionaire who dates the model that you used to gush over?” She looked at me with knowing eyes.

  “I wasn’t that bad, was I?” I asked. I knew that my blush would have been obvious if it wasn’t for my dark skin.

  "I remember the time you almost made me late because you could not take your eyes off the TV. That was when I was still myself and your dad was still here,” she had her gaze on the empty plate in front of her now. She always, somehow, had to bring Dad up in every conversation we had.

  “Doctor Smith is coming over later in the afternoon, right?” I tried to move the topic to safe grounds again, not wanting to talk about Jiraiya anymore if it brought her sad memories.

  “Oh, let’s not talk about Doctor Smith. Let’s talk about Jiraiya. How is he? Does he still have those dazzling white teeth and dimples when he smiles? He must have grown more handsome than I imagine now,” she said and, boy, how right she was. Jiraiya had always been my one true eternal crush.

  “He looked great, Mom and yes he still has the dimples when he smiles," I chuckled as I spoke.

  Since Dad died and Amber left; Mom and I had become closer. I talked to her about almost everything that happened in my life. She was always there for me. Not like she had a choice, given her condition, but she was there anyway. It does feel good to have someone to talk to about things that matter in life.

  “And?” she asked, knowing that I had not told her everything yet. Then she coughed, and I had to rush over to hand her a glass of water.

  "I’m Okay, I’m Okay," she said pushing the glass of water away. "Go on,” she continued, urging me to speak.

  “Although he looks a little pale, he is still very handsome, and it felt really good not seeing him with the model,” I admitted in a wry voice.

  I suddenly checked the time and realized that I would be late for work if I didn’t hurry. I didn’t mind working straight through the holiday; I could use the extra money.

  I let the shower cascade over my skin as I basked in the warmth of the spray. I rubbed the soap over my brown flesh and allowed my hands to graze over my skin. I imagined Jiraiya was somehow under the water with me. He stood there, smiling, and talking provocatively under the water. His hands rested on my shoulders, giving me a slow and subtle massage across the smoothness of my soft skin. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of his hands on my body.

  His hands started to glide down my shoulders and then, my arms, crossed over to my belly where both of his hands met as he dre
w me faintly towards him, merging our skins together. I moaned inwardly with my eyes still closed, my own hands already shuddering in anticipation. I was moist; even as the running water continued to wash my flesh.

  I let out a sigh and my eyes parted open. Jiraiya was probably never going to see me the same way that I saw him. I probably would never even see him again. After all, he would soon be married to that model. All I had were my own thoughts and my own hands and my own mouth for moaning to myself.

  I dried my body with the big towel that hung from the door and got dressed for work; I wasn’t going to miss work because of my salacious thoughts. I stared into the mirror while I combed my hair. I applied light make-up; just some powder and lipstick. Dangling green holly earrings completed the scene. It was time to go.

  *****

  I glared at Samantha while she checked the espresso machine; something she always did when there were no customers waiting. She had the coffee shop branded hat on and it looked ridiculous. I chuckled; making her throw a lethal frown at me. I was thinking of the right way to ask her the question that had been hanging on the webs of my mind since I resumed my shift.

  I swiftly looked back when I heard the chime of the bell and a customer entering. It was an older lady. She was a regular customer who seemed always to have fur on her clothing. She once said she had three dogs who she called her babies. I wouldn’t say that I hate dogs, but I would rather have a cat than a mangy old dog. I moved close to the counter, flashed a smile and asked what she wanted in the friendliest voice I could conjure.

  “What can I get you, Ma’am?”

  “Whatever coffee you have that doesn’t look or taste awful,” she said in her creaking voice. Her smile revealed age lines around her mouth. I didn’t need to be told that she wouldn’t want sugar; she however would like milk. I turned, pressed her coffee and added creamy milk to it. She tasted it and exposed a toothy grin. She then walked over to one of the tables and took a seat, making herself comfortable. She must not have any family visiting during the holidays. So sad.

  The peal of the bell rang through my ears once more and I turned my neck with an alacrity that almost gave me a sprain. It was a young couple; male and female. They looked so happy and so in love. And they looked good together. I probably would consider dating again if someone ever asked me out. I shook my head at the thought.

  I poured two latte and creamed coffees with sugars as ordered by the lady. We had small talk and the lady joked about Samantha’s hat, to which we all laughed. I liked this couple already. The three of us turned to face the door once again as the bell made a clang.

  It was a middle-aged man who seemed to be in a hurry. He wore a brown coat and a hat even more ridiculous than Samantha’s. I turned to Samantha when she was done with the customer, four slow strides; and I was already standing beside her.

  “Did you, by any chance, notice a tall sexy white male with wavy brown hair come in here any time this week?” I asked in the quietest voice I had used in months.

  “What? Who?” She was not even looking at me. I snatched the hat off her head and she abruptly swung into action, chasing me round the counter. We were soon standing on either side, giggling.

  “Give it back,” she said, trying to force a stern look on me.

  “Why do you like this thing anyway?” I asked.

  “Because it-- you know what? Never mind, just ask your question and I promise I’ll answer,” she said.

  “There’s this man that came in here about a week ago, you have probably seen him on TV before,” I tried to explain, but Samantha cut me off with her razor-sharp voice.

  “You mean the man that you spent your entire shift staring at last week?” She asked, giving me a serious face look.

  “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I fibbed.

  “I am just kidding, ha-ha,” she started to laugh.

  “You gave me a scare there. I was beginning to think I had been found out,” I threw her hat back at her.

  “Ah Hah! Finally, you admit the truth, Karine. About damn time,” she chuckled and nodded her head. “Yes, he was here earlier today before you got here. He sat at the corner table for a while and left. He looked so sad.”

  My heart plummeted at the news. “Okay, thanks. That hat looks ridiculous by the way,” I said again for good measure as she put it back on top her head.

  *****

  There was still some free time, so I decided to check the newspaper gossip column and see if there was anything new. I perused the pages and quickly skipped past the headlines that contained glints of politics or business, I did not care for those. Just as I was about to push it aside, something caught my attention; It was a vacancy.

  The position was for a private nurse. It had to be good, I thought. Not just anybody has the money to place an advert in a newspaper. I looked closer and saw that it was for somebody who was sick and would need a private nurse to attend to his basic health needs. She did not have to be certified, but she needed to have experience in taking care of people and must have worked in a hospital. It just felt like the advert was speaking directly to me. I had worked in a hospital and I had experience taking care of people; not just during my time at the hospital but also with my gravely ill dad and my now depressed mom. I planned to put that in my application; it surely would give me an advantage.

  I jotted the contact info down on a scrap of paper. I’d forward my resume later. Right now, I needed to concentrate on this paying job.

  Chapter 9

  Karine

  Getting a new job

  I sat in my car staring at the house and contemplating what my next step would be. The house was larger than I had expected. In fact, it wasn’t a house at all; it was a mansion with a security guard, gates, landscaping and everything. Once cleared for entry, I drove up the long winding drive before parking my old car in the driveway. My poor car looks so out of place parked there, I thought, as I walked up to the front door to knock.

  This interview would be unlike any other that I had attended. This was big money. I was shown in by a maid named Lucy. She had informed me that someone would be along shortly, offered me a drink and left the room.

  I had been called for an interview after I emailed my application a week ago and it was accepted. The firm which handled the application process had invited me for an interview and I just could not wait to see who the client would be. The firm sent me to this address, and now I was sitting in the large living room area, awaiting the arrival of my new boss. I hear the click-clack of footsteps entering the room. A perfectly healthy man and woman approached me. Who, then, would be in need of nurse care?

  “Thank you for coming. I’m Frank and this is my wife Martha Sampson,” he said with an outstretched hand. Sampson, my mind struggled to remember where I had heard the name.

  The interview was a quick one: They asked me questions and I answered them as truthfully as I could. I really wanted this job; the pay was fantastic, and I could not wait for the day I would start. They informed me that I was going to be taking care of their son and that he had leukemia. I felt bad for the person already, even without having met him. It must be awful for him, he had so much money, yet his health was failing him. And just then, I heard footsteps. They were slow and steady, and I knew that it was probably the footsteps of the person I would be nursing. Just as the person came into the large room, my heart froze, and my jaw dropped. It was Jiraiya Sampson!

  Two Months Later

  Two months had passed since I began working in this house. It felt like a dream come true but not in the way I had wanted. Jiraiya was not a happy person because of the recent events in his life. Leukemia couldn’t take away the spark his face created or the sweet sound that his voice made whenever it floated into my eardrums. I was very much attracted to him. I made my way to his room to administer his early morning medication.

  “Good morning Jiraiya, how are you feeling today?”

  “How does it look like I feel Karine?” h
e replied in an agitated voice.

  “Oh, look at that,” I made my voice sound light and pleasant. “There are only two pills more and then you’re done for the day.”

  Jiraiya’s words ran deeper inside me than I let on, causing me more agony than the horrible disease that was gently crippling this once virile tycoon’s body. Now, he’s considered ‘Terminal’ and likely to die at any time. Hospice Care was assigned to him before I came along to help take care of him. All Jiraiya wanted was to be made comfortable but, little by little, he had allowed me in to reveal the real man he really is and will always be in my eyes.

  “Karine, this shit is fucked up,” Jiraiya slammed his hand down on the tray where I had placed his breakfast earlier.

  Fixing Jiraiya’s meals wasn’t an official duty, but as the months went by, our relationship had changed and stretched beyond the boundaries of mere patient and boss. More and more, he keeps revealing the bitterness that eats away at his soul. With each revelation, my heart is torn asunder and I fall more in love with this man whom I have come to cherish.

  “I can’t go hiking or fucking jogging anymore without getting winded.”

  “Don’t worry Jiraiya; there will be many more runs in the park that your company built. And there will be many more visits to the recreation center you designed for underprivileged children. Not just that but there will be more occasions for you to celebrate,” I encouraged him because it tore me apart when he broke down like this. I’m that he allows me to see the real Jiraiya—with others he pretends that he is the same big-time business man who could take on the world without a moment pause to his illness.

  “All of that sounds like wishful thinking to me. Five months ago, I was engaged to be married to the most beautiful woman and now I am alone. Illness swooped in last year, ambushing my generally remarkable life, freezing my existence like a statue in a solid cocoon.” Jiraiya reached over to his bedside table to pick up the beautifully framed picture of his supermodel ex-fiancée Gracen Lafleur, a top French model who had stolen his heart and ruined it for all other women. Women like me didn’t stand a chance. I expelled a long breath at the thought.