Que Sera

My legs falter as I see you approaching in the distance, my cry of welcome dies in my throat as I see you look around determinedly at the florist, the chemist, the game store; anywhere but me. My head hangs and I sink to the floor as you stride into the distance, desperately pretending that you had never seen me, never met me, never knew me.

***
I can feel your eyes on me as I walk past. I look the other way, not wanting to se how I’ve hurt you again – I’m so sick of the guilt, of the recriminations, of your tears. What should I do? What do I say? What can I say? There are no words.

***

I can’t remember when I met you first, when you first walked into my life, all I can remember is finally noticing you were there, realising that I wanted you with the passion that belongs to the forbidden. You weren’t mine, could never be mine – but at times, oh how I wished you could be.

***

“No regrets – never any regrets.”
I take it back – one regret; that I ever told you I liked you. If I’d never spoken, never believed, oh how happy we would be now. None of this pretending, none of these games, where you look away and pretend like I never meant anything to you, like you never held me in your arms and told me how glad you were we were together, like you never whispered to me, hot and hard in the night, that you loved me. If I’d never said anything, if I’d never deluded myself into believing that maybe, just maybe, you could feel the same way about me, if I’d never decided to tell you maybe we could still be friends, not the cold, stilted strangers we’ve become.

***

“There’s someone else”
Something cracks. Is it me? Is it my heart? My life? My hope? Have I anything left to crack?
“I don’t know how I feel – I don’t know how I want to feel. I don’t even know what I felt – but I thought you should know.”
A slow steady noise. Is it my heart still beating on despite all expectations or just a clock’s tick somewhere in the distance? The beating of a drum, perhaps, echoing through the silence, the slow, painful silence; the tear I expected to streak down my cheek doesn’t, and I lift my hand to my face, surprised by its absence. Is this real? Is any of this real? Or just another one of those weird fanciful dreams? I look deep into your eyes as I try and work out if this is goodbye.

***

“It’s over isn’t it?”
“What?”
“You, me, this, us, it’s over.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry – don’t ever be sorry. No regrets.”

***

Your eyes say it all, your arms, your hands, there is no need for words as you hold me close and tell me you love me.

***

So this is what it is like to be loved.

***
You knock on my door and I open it. You’re standing there, oh so beautiful. My breath sticks in my throat, my mouth dries up and as I swallow, frantically, trying to find the words to tell you, you smile nervously. You laugh and threaten me, half jokingly, that I’d better tell you that you look good. Of course I think you do. I always have. I just can never make you believe it. I lean down and brush my lips against yours, wishing I can make it so you never doubt again. Wondering how you can’t see how much I love you every time I look into your eyes, every time I say your name, every time you make me laugh. I wonder what happened to make you feel this doubt, why you never noticed just how special you are.

***
“You made me feel special – like I could do anything, be anything. You made me feel like finally I was someone who mattered, someone important.”
“You are special – you’re amazing. Is there any way I can make you believe me?”
You look sadly into my eyes, tears glisten on your eyelashes and I know your answer even before you smile and shake your head slowly.
“No,” you say. “No.”

***

“There’s something you should know…”
“You’re pregnant.” A laugh.
“No”
“You’re leaving me?” the terror in your voice.
“No”.
You look impatient, worried, confused.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
“Oh.” A slow, dumb grin spreads over your face, and I see your eyes shine with joy. “Oh.”
***

“I still want to be friends.” My hand brushes your face, feeling the stubble newly growing on your cheek, rasping against my hand for the last time.
“I’d like that.” A soft smile as I turn and walk away.

***
“I thought it would be nice if we could try being friends. None of this awkward looking away and pretending like none of this ever happened, or worse, that neither of us exist.”
You pause, and then you don’t smile, but somehow you unfreeze, like something has clicked back into place, and finally you can be you again.
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“We don’t have to be what we were, but I’d like to stop being what we are.”
“I’d like that too.”
We smile and listen as the cheers being, and the loud bangs tell of fireworks somewhere nearby. We smile as people around us celebrate a new year, a new beginning.
“Que sera, sera…” I sing softly under my breath.
“What’s that?” you ask.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply.
Around us the celebrations continue.

***

I smile as the cheers begin. I catch your eye as you mutter something under your breath.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing,” you reply.
Around us the celebrations continue.
Whatever will be, will be.

***

Cheating Death

A shadowy figure brushed past the hospital curtain and appeared at the end of the bed. A dark hood masked the skeletal face, and a scythe clattered against his bony hands. ‘Death,’ thought the old man, ‘has come for me.’ He considered adding a ‘finally’, but decided that just because he had had numerous near death experiences, it did not mean he was ready to die.

Death looked startled. ‘Of course you are ready to die.’ He looked down at himself, ‘I’m here aren’t I?’ He waited for the old man to nod, somewhat less than enthusiastically. ‘Then you must be ready.’
‘But I’m not!’ the old man continued to protest. ‘I want to get married –‘
‘You have – three times.’
‘Have kids –‘
‘How many more do you want?!’
‘Take a trip around the world –‘
‘Again! Look, you’ve cheated me before. NO MORE!’ Death picked up the old man’s hospital chart and flicked a bony finger over the graphs and comments “…failing heart, low muscle tone, high blood pressure, beginning of cancerous cells in the liver…”
‘I’m afraid, my friend, that you can’t survive for much longer.’
‘I’ll make you a deal!’ the old man flailed wildly for an excuse, any excuse, to continue living.

Death sighed. ‘Every time we go through this, and every time you cheat me. I’m starting to be a laughing stock among the other “Reapers”’
‘This time,’ the old man continued his wild ravings. ‘I’ll let you choose the challenge.

Death looked interested, so interested in fact, he almost missed the fleeting thoughts through the old man’s mind. He looked up startled. ‘No! You will not find a way to stay on this earth longer. If,’ Death stressed the if. ‘If I set a challenge, you will not complete it successfully. It will be, and only be, a chance for me to gain face in the “Other World”.’
‘I am willing to take that chance,’ replied the old man.
‘Good,’ whispered Death, his hollow voice echoing around the room. ‘This, then, is your challenge…’

The old man watched the hour clock tip for the one hundred and twentieth time – not that he was counting mind you, but one did tend to notice when minutes were ticking off one’s life.

He continued his slow, rhythmic plucking of clovers, determined to find that all-important four leafed clover. The one which would save his life, and cheat Death.

“POOF!”
Death appeared beside the old man. He tapped a bony finger on the glass thoughtfully. Only minutes remained.

The sand hissed through the glass, when –
‘I’ve found it!’
‘Impossible!’
‘But I have!’ The old man waved the clover.
‘No!’ cried Death. ‘That’s not how it’s supposed to work!’ Death continued his rant ‘Time is supposed to run out. The glass shatters. You look up at me dejectedly. I laugh triumphantly’ Death practised his unnecessary laugh. ‘Then I cut your life’s breath. I return, a hero among the other “Reapers”. Now, let’s do it how it’s supposed to be done. You put down the clover, and pretend you haven’t seen it, and we’ll take it from there.’ Death crossed his arms expectantly.

The old man looked from the clover in his hand to Death. ‘But I found it.’
‘No, No, No, No, No!!’ Death waved a threatening, bony fist. ‘You can’t find it. You’re not supposed to find it!’
‘But…’ the old man proffered the clover.

Death threw down his scythe. ‘That’s it! – I QUIT!’ Death stormed off the hill, walking into the distance, through to the “Other World”.

The old man cackled, softly, triumphantly. His eyes twinkled, and he thanked his stars that Death had no eyes. He couldn’t see his clover, his lucky clover, the one with only three leaves.

Feelings

‘Tell me you love me.’
‘What?’
‘Tell me you love me.’
‘I love you.’ A startled voice

a resurfacing memory… ‘I dreamt of another girl last night.’

‘Make me feel it. Make me feel you love me.’

…a stolen night, on an empty shore.

‘What did you feel?’
‘I was in two parts….’
‘No! Tell me what you felt. No sugar coating. Don’t be afraid of hurting me…’ I am invincible.
‘I felt neglected.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ shouts, mad ravings.
‘How could I?’
‘How could you not?’
‘But –‘
‘You say, yes I do mind. No, I’d rather do something else. You tell me you feel alone, like an outsider looking in. Don’t patronise me. Don’t lie to me. I hate it when you lie to me.’

…strong, secure arms. Loving arms. The kind you could die it.

‘But you promised.’
‘I know, but –‘
‘You broke a promise.’

…Tears, splashing, on a page. A face. A teddy bears shoulder.

‘I’m so afraid of losing you.’
‘You won’t lose me.’
‘It’s so easy to say it. Words are so easy. So easy to lie by, to lie to. Hide things, from yourself, from others. So easy to believe. I know. I’ve done it.’

…a tidal wave of joy. Of anticipation. Of love.

‘I need to feel that you love me.’
‘I do.’
‘I know you do. But I need to feel it. I need to feel that I’m more important than your games, than your work. I need to feel your arms around me. Holding me. So tight. Holding on like you won’t ever let go. Like I’m life itself.’
‘I want to.’

…a soft, tender kiss. The brush of a dewy rose petal.

‘I need you right now.’
‘I need you too.’
‘Nothing feels like it used to.’
‘I would give anything to take back the past’
‘Ignore the past. Move onto the future.’
‘I do love you.’
‘I know. I love you too.’

…rain, swishing contentedly upon a window pane. Soft droplets of water. So close to tears. Yet so far.

The Aliens Return

“What was that?” A woman sat up suddenly in bed, a flash of light from the house next door lit up her frilly pink nightgown, and the foam curlers she had twisted awkwardly in her hair.

“What was what?” the man lying next to her grunted, rolling over to go back to sleep. The woman prodded him with a bony finger.

“Wake up,” she urged. “Something’s happening next door.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” came the man’s sleepy response.

“I, said, wake, up,” and each word was interspersed with a new jab of her finger.

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” he said, rolling onto his back. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re here!” the woman announced in a mysteriously hushed voice.

“Who’s that, dear?” the man was humouring her now, and she knew it.

“The aliens! I knew they’d come back.”

The man mentally rolled his eyes. He knew better than to do so where she could see him. “And why would they do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her eyes peering through the darkness to the house next door. “But they were here thirteen years ago, and they’re here again now. Let’s go,” she said, swinging her legs out of the bed.

For the first time that night, the man looked alarmed. “Go where?” he said.

“Why, over there,” she replied, astounded. “We need to see what’s happened. And I think we should call the police. They need to know what’s going on.”

The man was getting out of bed now, his legs tangling awkwardly in the covers as he rushed to his feet. “Now, now, dear,” he said, his voice placating. “How about we wait and see before we call them.”

The woman sniffed impatiently. “Fine!” she answered. “But hurry, before they leave.” And pulling a faded dressing gone on, she rushed from the room.

***

“And say you saw what, ma’am?” a bored official stood, pencil in hand hovering over a small note book, waiting for the woman’s story.

“There was a flash of light,” she said.

“A flash of light,” repeated the bored voice.

“And so I rushed next door, to see what had happened.”

“You rushed next door,” he was writing mechanically.

“Yes, and I knocked on the door, and that man,” she spat the word, “answered the door.”

“The man answered the door…”

“Yes, and so I asked him if everyone was ok. And he said that everyone was fine.”

“Everyone was fine…” repeated the policeman. He stopped, and re-read what he’d written. “He said everyone was fine, ma’am?”

“Yes,” the woman answered defiantly.

“And on this basis you decided to call the police.”

“Yes!” replied the woman.

“And why is that ma’am,”

“Because he didn’t know who Aoife was,” she replied.

“I beg your pardon?” said the official.

“He didn’t know who Aoife was,” she repeated.

"I see,” said the official. “And who is Aoife?”

“Why, his daughter, of course!” replied the woman astounded.

“I see. So that man,” he gestured towards Richard, “didn’t know who his daughter was?”

“Yes,” the woman answered with a firm nod.

“And from this you deduced that…” his voice trailed off encouragingly.

“That she had been abducted by aliens, and his memory had been modified.”

“I see,” said the police officer a third and final time. “Well, thank you very much for your help.” He closed his notebook with a snap. “We’ll be sure to be in contact with you when we know more.”

“No!” cried the woman. “You have to believe me.” A crowd of people had gathered around them by this time, awoken by the flashing lights, and the sounds of voices. “She’s been abducted, tell them!” she turned to her husband. “Tell them!” her voice was desperate, pleading, but her husband was shuffling away from her.

***

Around the corner, Hercules and Achilles looked at each other. There was nothing else that could be done, that much was clear. A wave of their hand, and a white van appeared. Another wave, and they were garbed in dark trousers and white scientists coats.

***

A white van pulled up to the side of the road, and two men wearing white coats, and carrying butterfly nets hurried forward. Held tight in one of their hands was a jacket, with long, trailing sleeves.

“All right, all right,” they called as they approached. “Everything’s under control, move along, now,” and the crowd began to disperse, pitying looks in their eyes. Her husband took a momentary step towards her, before the police officer rested a hand gently on his arm.

“Best not, sir,” he said. “It’s all for the best, really.” And the man nodded once, and moved back away from his wife, who was shrieking now, that there were aliens, and that they had come again, and that if they didn’t stop, and listen to her, they’d come again, and they’d all be taken, one by one! The man stood and watched as she was loaded into the car, her cries ringing in his ears, as it slowly drove away.

The Explanation

“Richard, darling,” Marigold knocked on the door to the garage. There was no answer. “Richard, sweetie, I need to talk to you.” There was a shuffling noise, a few bangs, as though items were being hurriedly put away. Light, quick footsteps, and then the door was eased back, showing a pale face.

“Yes?” Richard blinked at the visitor for a few moments, waiting for his thoughts to clear. Marigold waited patiently. Richard’s face cleared in recognition, before covering over in confusion again. “Marigold, dear, what is it you want?”

“I think it’s time we told her.”

“Who?”

“Aoife.”

“Who?”

Marigold smiled patiently. She was used to Richard and his ways, they made him unique, and loveable. “Our daughter, dear.”

“Our daughter…” Richard continued to sound flummoxed.

“Yes, dear. Small, brown hair, blue eyes, often present at the dinner table when you eat.”

“Oh. Aoife.”

“Yes, dear.”

“What about her?”

“I think it’s time we told her.”

“Told her what, dear.”

“About how she was born.”

“And how was that, dear?”

Marigold lifted her hand, running it across Richard’s cheek.

“You remember, dear. It was January 7^th, thirteen years ago. It was a warm night, almost unnaturally so. All those mosquitoes and flies, and barely a breeze to stir the air. Muffy, our cat, had just left us, run over in the street, poor dear, but she’s doing better now, I talk to her often, she has a number of other cat friends with whom she spends time…” Marigold noticed Richard shifting uneasily, as if he wanted to close the door, and drift back to his work. “But anyway, dear, that was the day that she came to us. I so longed for a child, especially with the pain if losing Muffy, and so I opened my arms to Mother Earth, and she came to us. The most gorgeous little girl, just lying there on the door step. All pink and wriggly, with those big blue eyes that looked up at you like she could see your very soul. Not a peep out of her. Oh she was a beautiful baby, my baby.” Richard nodded, if he thought very carefully, he could remember being told this story before. But almost as if it had been acted out…as though, he’d actually seen it. “You were there dear, you saw her on the doorstep, how she looked at you, before she closed her eyes and slept.” Richard nodded again, he had a vague memory of something like that happening. That was the night he’d discovered Extranium, an exciting new by-product of the solar energy process. He’d despaired of ever finding it, and then his assistant, Jeremy, had come into his office with this jar of unknown fuel, seeking an answer. It was almost as if it was a gift from the gods.

“I think she should be told, Richard. Every child should know about their birth, where they come from. It is time.” Richard just nodded. Thinking about the Extranium had reminded him of some promising research he’d meant to pursue. “Whatever you think is best, dear,” he replied. Marigold smiled and nodded her head softly at him. “Tonight, then.” And running her finger tips along his cheek once more, she drifted back to her parlour, to prepare for the event.

A knock at the door startled Aoife out of her thoughts. She pushed the book off her lap, as her mother poked her head through the open door. “Dinner is almost ready, Aoife,” she said. Aoife nodded. “But come down with me now, darling, there is something I must tell you. Something you must know.” And with that announcement she disappeared again in a click of beads, footsteps pressing down the hall. Aoife stood uncertainly, not sure what her parents knew, or should have known, or what they were to tell her. She left the book lying on her bed, and headed downstairs.

Aoife started slightly as she entered the room and saw her father sitting at the table. Not only was he present, but he was looking at her, with a determined expression, as if he was ensuring that he didn’t forget who she was and why she was here. He was holding Marigold’s hand, loosely, but holding it nonetheless. Aoife must have looked surprised, because Richard blushed slightly and looked away.

“Come in, darling,” beckoned Marigold. “We wanted to talk to you.” She squeezed Richard’s hand, and stood up, floating towards Aoife, with her arms outstretched. She grasps her shoulders and looked down into her face. “My Aoife,” she said, and kissed her on the forehead. “Sit, sit.” And she guided Aoife to a chair.

“I think it’s time for us to tell you about where you came from,” Marigold began. Aoife began to blush. Now I know why Dad was so uncomfortable, she thought.

“Ummm, Mum, Dad, I really sorta know all this already. You don’t have to go through this with me. They explained at school, you know, about sex and that.” Aoife ducked her head, cheeks burning.

“Oh my darling, no,” said Marigold. No? thought Aoife. What does she mean, ‘no’?

“Sex is important, and you should know about that, but what we need to talk you about is where you came from.”

“Uh, Mum? I’m not sure I understand. I know where I came from, that’s what happens when…when two people have sex.” Aoife was so embarrassed all her words were blurring together, rushing out of her mouth in their haste to be said and done.

“Yes, darling, ordinarily that is where children come from. But you are not ordinary. Sit down, darling, it’s time for you to hear about your arrival into this world…”

Whereunto Aoife explains her Name

Aoife hated her name. She could always tell when a new teacher had reached her name in the roll: there was a pause, a frantic working of lips, mouth silently working over undetermined letters, the hesitant uttering of vowels before Aoife would give in “EVA!” she would yell. “It’s pronounced Eva!” She never had worked out why she had it; she wasn’t named after any relatives that she could think of. She’d asked her parents about it one time. Her father, Richard, had stared at her blankly, like he couldn’t even remember who she was, let alone what or why her name was. Her mother, Marigold, had smiled mystically, running her hands through her hair, and telling her that her name was given with love, and that it had come with her. Aoife never could quite work out what that had meant.

In the Beginning

“Psst! Aoife!” the voice boomed through Aoife, like a thunderstorm taking place in her veins. She was mildly surprised. She didn’t recognise the voice, but it obviously recognised her. And it could say her name correctly. She looked around. “Achem. Aoife. Over here.” Again, the booming that thundered through her, commanding her. Again Aoife looked around. “Up here!” the voice demanded, insisted. Aoife looked up. And saw, in the break between the clouds, a face. “Aoife, I…there’s something….” “No.” Aoife said. “You’re not real. It’s not possible that there’s a face in the clouds talking to me, therefore it’s not happening. Good day.” And she nodded politely to the non-existent face, and kept walking. In the clouds, God looked confused.

***

Floating on a nearby cloud, a bard sighed, and flipped back several pages of a large, leather bound book. Gripping several at a time, he yanked the pages from the book. He tucked them carelessly into an old urn he was using as a rubbish bin. He would dispose of it later. Muttering curses beneath his breath, he began this section again.

In the beginning, he wrote, there was a word and the word was Psst.