Friday, June 15, 2012

Left Behind


The world isn't always a fun place.

Beth and I played at crowned jacks. Her skin was puffed around the ring finger to bulge over her wedding band as her finger played with the kingpiece, a wadded piece aluminum sparkling with an aura of potential movement. She let the flickers glimmer as they showed all possible positions where her piece could move and when she finally let go, it moved into a throwaway position.

I moved my counter in an attack, the aluminum collapsing to the table, the sparkle of the power joining my counterpiece, leaving her queenpiece weakened. Long ago she'd shared my hunger. That competitive drive to win. Everything had changed.

I took no thrill in the ease with which I marched towards victory. I glanced at her, seeing the same pain as she glanced away, neither of us willing to speak of the memory of our daughter.

The daughter who'd left two days ago. The daughter who every time I saw her I still remembered her baby flesh, mottled, red, just as I'd first seen her when the midwife brought her to me. It was hard to let go.

My aluminum tokens chased Beth's queenpiece across the board. Inevitable. I won.

Beth reset the pieces in the opening patterns. The game would continue, neither of us speaking of anything of importance, letting us ponder our memories.

I'd stood on the porch when our daughter left. The silver-green of the pine needles behind her. She pointed at them, telling me that strength was earned not given.

She hadn't listened to any of my words. She had believed that one could learn to live and receive support from others. Instead, she took the meaning of the tree that we had loved as it grew ramrod straight as a cattail stem. Unlike, most twisted pines. We'd planted it in a shielded location where it grew straight not twisted into geriatric postures. But when it grew above the height of our house, the wind had caught it's heavy boughs and knocked the top two thirds of it to the ground.

Beth coughed.

Maybe she was right. Instead of trying to win, I grabbed any old piece and moved it. The game wouldn't end. Our daughter wasn't coming home.

No. I tilted the game board onto its side. One must eventually learn when one is lost. Beth twitched. Searching out pieces of aluminum, moving them over the table.

I left her, without a final glance and traipsed into the yard. My hands pressed against the rotted flank of the twisted pine. The tree reminded me of my daughter. The memories weren't enough. I wished she would come home.

17 comments:

  1. The sense of loss is almost tangible. The last line is a heart breaker.

    Wonderful writing.

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  2. Replies
    1. I'm not sure I was looking for sad when I first explored this topic, but when I revised I knew that's what I needed to explore this week.

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  3. This is one brilliant and moving story Aidan.

    A silent game of chess to reflect a life...great story.

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  4. So true… they'll do anything to avoid talking about the one thing they really want to talk about. We have some friends whose daughter (Daughter Dearest's age) ran back to a guy who's older than me recently, and they're having a Category 5 freakout over it. At least they're getting it out of their system… it'll be healthier for them in the long run.

    I think this was done well… we get hints about why their daughter left, but not so much that we can't put our own stamp on it.

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    1. I agree. Talking is better; but it can be hard even amongst your partner to expose all of your fears. Glad your indelible stamp fit in nicely with this story.

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  5. Oh the pain of letting someone go even when you don't want to, is very evident in this piece Aidan. Very well written. Nice piece powerfully haunting....

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    1. I'm probably going to have to come back to this theme. While, letting go is painful, I think I'm only telling the first part of the story here.

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  6. Appreciated some raw sentimentality in your writing, Aidan. I don't typically expect it from you, but in doses and handled like this, it can be most stirring. Encapsulated well in the final lines.

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  7. Great parallel between winning in life and winning in the game. Felt very raw.

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  8. A change from your usual stories, with only a slight hint of a future technology. I haven't heard of crowned jacks before and Google isn't helping? I liked the emotions explored here. Well done.

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  9. Lot of loneliness in this one. And were they playing a game with quantuum mechanics?

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  10. Icy says "raw" - that's what came to me as well. Maybe by putting the game away they'll start to heal?

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  11. I liked the emptiness and lifelessness in this one. It's amazing what people will do to avoid talking about the painful things.

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  12. So raw and beautiful. I really loved this story.

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