“I want this to be more of a last testament than my last will. My last will for the time being is simply that you look at the paintings I have painted for each of you and remember some of the times and experiences we have shared together. As far as settling my estate, I have arranged with my lawyer for that to be settled on a different occasion. On this occasion I wanted you all to know how important you were to me. You were all very special people in my life. Always remember the beauty that is inside each of you. It is that same beauty which inspired me to paint these paintings in your honour.” The lawyers voice was authoratative and commanding. He continued, this time speaking for himself, and not reading from the will.
“At the request of Mr. Redivorp, I will leave you in privacy to unveil each of your paintings when you are ready.” He then dismissed himself. “I will be in the next room if you should need me.”
I felt the angst of my loss well up inside me. Through gasps of breath I tried to suppress my crying. I had to be strong for my son, at least, that was way my mother was and it was the way I wanted to be. Its strange the things you will cling to in your time of grief; things which help you pass time while your soul turns over events trying to console itself. I felt so alone, so isolated. A stream of tears betrayed my true emotions. I looked around the room, quickly wiping the tears away in shame, and saw the grief on the faces of my son and Rajneesh. I didn’t feel as alone anymore. We were all united in mourning for my husband.
I looked to the painting my husband had painted for me. It wasn’t the first time in our life together that he had done so. The easel lay infront of me with a red veil concealing the painting underneath it. I wondered when he had managed to find the time to paint it for me. He had always been a night owl. Some nights he would sneak into our bed a four a.m. I always wondered what he used to do into the wee hours of the morning. Obviously this painting had to be the fruit of one of those late night sessions.
Hesitantly I removed the veil. It slipped off slowly and smoothly and fell delicately to the floor. At first the painting struck me odd. It was a melange of seemingly unrelated object. In the foreground a nuclear mushroom cloud was painted with such soft colours, that it almost looked beautiful, instead of threatening. Surrounding the image of the blast was an elliptical border of jelly beans. My mind, trying to make sense of the painting looked deeply into the background of the painting. I peered deeply, straight through the bright foreground images and focused on the pastoral landscape, which seemed an eternity away. My breathing slowed and I felt comforted. My husband was there, in the painting, and so was I. We were united again in the swirls of colour and texture on the canvas. My mind began to travel through the ether of time and space.
Suddenly the pastoral landscape came to life and in a second of recognition I realized where this landscape existed in reality. It was the back yard of the home of my youth. My husband took many walks there back when he tried so desperately to court me. My back yard was not like the urban yards of today. I lived in a rural town with many miles between each house. My back yard had no fences, and no boundaries. A stream ran diagonally away from our house and great Weeping Willow trees brushed their long foliage into the stream. On one of the thick boughs of a Willow tree someone had affixed a swing attached by rope which was on the side of the tree opposite the stream. On the other side of the tree, a long rope was tied to another bough which found its terminus in the stream. The young boys of the town would swing on this rope and drop themselves into the river, most commonly in the hot days of August. The landscape continued from there with green rolling hills and the occasional thicker glade. I felt sixteen again: Sixteen, an age where hormones share equal billing with rationality and logic. It was an age of great confusion for me, and I suspect for great many people.
I was quite proud to be the recipient of many gentlemen, well, boy callers; they weren’t all quite such gentlemen. I found it quite flattering to have my pick of just about any boy in the town. But, the heart is most attracted to that which it can’t have. It was thus that I found myself attracted, not to my husband to be, but to Kevin Lanab. I knew of my husband at the time but he was much too quiet and kept to himself. We exchanged the occasional hello but that was it. But Kevin was the star quarter back of the high school football team and a full two years older than myself. Now, between the ages of sixteen to twenty, years become like dog years when considering maturity, where one actual year was equal to about seven dog years. Kevin being two full years older than I meant that we were separated by about fourteen years of maturity and ‘coolness’.
I attended all of his football games hoping against hope that he would notice me despite all of the other fans; many of them girls with similar intentions. Of course he didn’t, and in hindsight he couldn’t have noticed me. Nonetheless, I remained undiswayed from my cause. At lunch time in the cafeteria I would strategically position myself at a table proximal to his. I always ensured that he had a clear viewing of me, often by reserving seats such that they would remain empty, much to the chagrin of my friends who knew what I was up to. It was at one of these lunch time viewings that my husband Jesse first spoke to me. Our first meeting was much less that romantic, but out of no fault of his own.
He was an average height, but was spindly with long skinny legs and arms, much like a ‘Daddy Long-Legs’ spider. He approached me nervously, although I barely noticed with my utmost attention focused on Kevin. He asked me politely,
“Pardon Me, but is this seat taken”, his voice cracking slightly on taken.
He had made a big mistake. He was asking to sit in the seat which would directly obscure my view of Kevin and more importantly, Kevin’s view of me. I answered hurriedly, without averting my eyes from Kevin,
“Yes it is.”
He walked off silently. Something attracted my attention to him for a brief moment. I noticed a distinct look of disappointment as he walked off in embarrassment. I wish that I could say that I felt guilty, but truthfully, I didn’t. I just returned my eyes towards Kevin and resumed watching for a glimpse from him in my direction.
It seemed that all of my efforts with Kevin were in vain. The hours I spent putting on make-up in the morning, picking outfits just with him in mind, and my tireless effort to ensure that he saw my face daily. Logically, I should have realized that I simply needed to speak with him to discern if there was a glimmer of hope. But the teenage years are not years where logic prevails. My inhibitions prevented me from having my hopes shattered by him simply answering “No”, to the simple question “Would you like to go out sometime?”. At the time it was much easier to devise grandiose schemes to attract his attention than risk such a direct approach. Luckily, I never had to resort to such a direct method and fate brought us together.
Now fate is a large type of word. It seems so mystical and wondrous. Truth be known, what I termed fate was really just a chance meeting in line at the cafeteria. I believe the special that day was tuna surprise. The line was habitually long and slow moving, but on one day, I didn’t mind. I would have been happy had the line never moved again for on that day Kevin landed himself in line right behind me.
I froze barely able to move. I tried to control my breathing not willing to my excitement. He was six foot two and I only five foot six. He could see right over me without ever noticing, only, he did. When we reached the plates, trays and cutlery, I silently reached for some cutlery, and he reached right over me for two plates. Then he took two trays and placed them down before me, placing the plates on top of them. I followed suit quickly grabbing a second set of cutlery for him. I looked directly into his eyes. I tried to say “thank you” but my voice failed me. He smiled and extended his hand saying,
“Hi, the name’s Kevin.”
“Charlotte”, I replied, nervously extending my hand.
“Pleased to meet you”, his hand confidently shaking mine. He continued,
“I’ve seen you around, what grade are you in?”
I quickly thought to myself. Was it better to lie? Would he think I was too young for him? I couldn’t decide so I fell back on the truth.
“I’m in grade ten.” He replied,
“I’m in grade twelve.” I answered hastily,
“I know, and you are on the football team I have been to all of your …” I stopped horrified that I had said too much. He smoothly picked up where I had left off.
“So, you come out to the football games often?” I tried a simpler response to avoid making another mistake.
“Yes.”
“Well, you know the game on Friday?” His question met with the same simple response,
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you come on down to the field afterwards.” He paused composing his next sentence.
“A few friends and I are going to the roller rink. Would you like to join us?” I excitedly responded,
“Yes!” and that was it. Just that simple. A few “yes’s” and I had myself a date. It is amazing how far a few “yes’s” will get you with a guy. Just a few moments later we reached the end of the line where we paid for ourselves and parted ways smiling. I was elated. It was the most joy, my young life had ever seen. Could you believe it? The roller-rink.
Our small town featured very few attractions. The coolest and most popular was the roller-rink. It was always a scene. The girls dressed to the hilt parading on roller skates, with the boys skating by. The young boys, uninterested in girls skated quickly weaving in and out of the older skaters. The older boys, interested in what was on display, skated slowly often stopping to chat with those who interested them most. The boys had their chance to display themselves as well. There were special songs for ‘guys only’ where they all skated quickly performing all sorts of elaborate maneuvers seeking the attention of the watching girls. The roller-rink was the salvation of the less attractive males. The less attractive males spent all of their free time there learning to skate. I always thought it was due to the fact that they couldn’t get a date. The truth is that they learned how to skate and when the fast songs came on, they would be able to draw the most attention from the girls. In this way things sort of equaled out. The less attractive boys had more time on their hands to learn to skate and the more attractive boys didn’t need to. So at the roller-rink we sort of had a level playing field for the boys. One way or another they were able to get themselves girlfriends. In our town, I can’t really think of anyone who ever ended up alone in the end.
When that Friday arrived, I spent that evening in elaborate preparation. It involved my showering at least three times, several revisions of my planned wardrobe and a make-up session second to none. At the end of my preparations which seemed like a few nervous minutes, but were actually two hours, I made my way to our high school and the football game which awaited. I still remember the pink blouse with lace collar I wore.
I sat in the bleachers impatiently waiting for the football game to end. I don’t remember any details of the game save the fact that we won. The entire game seemed like a blur. Finally the game ended and while people were streaming out and away from the field, I fought traffic towards the field. Kevin was by the benches talking to several attractive girls. I approached him timidly. Would he remember me? How was I going to fit in with the popular girls? I was about to ask my self another self doubting question when much to my relief, he looked up and waved at me.
Now, much more confidently I walked towards him; I even dared to wave. He motioned towards me and suddenly everyone’s gaze adjusted towards me. I had the distinct impression that they were all sizing me up. With those seemingly innocent looks in my general direction, I was being assessed for acceptance into the popular clique; I was convinced of it. Still, his steel blue eyes, peering directly into mine, urged me on. When I arrived I was quickly introduced to Tammy and Clair who were perched on the bench nearby. They politely said “hello”, although I could tell they were still deciding if I was worthy of their friendship. I just hoped that my they didn’t notice my trembling hand as I shook theirs. Kevin excused himself to go off and shower, leaving me to talk with Tammy and Clair. At first they didn’t say much to me. They just went on and on about their boyfriends and all the boys that were interested in them. I hoped that they wouldn’t talk to me. I was afraid that they would ask me all sorts of questions about boys which I couldn’t answer. I had only dated boys my age and I just didn’t have the experience with boys that they had.
Finally, they ran out of things to talk about. It was only much later in life that I realized they didn’t have that much to talk about in the first place. But for now, they were masters of their popular clique, and my future, or at least, what I thought was my future, was in their hands. After a short silence while they regained energy to resume conversing, they spoke to me. Tammy spoke first.
“So what grade are you in?” Evidently, this was a very important question in these circles.
“Grade ten” I answered quietly. Clair suddenly perked up.
“Oh yah, do you have Mr. Ogilvie for Geography?”.
“Yes”, I had returned to my strategy of answering succinctly. She continued,
“Have you ever noticed that he looks down all of the girls shirts? He used to look down my shirt all the time. I think that is why I ended up with an “A”. Tammy and Clair laughed hysterically. Evidently Tammy had experienced the same thing. I laughed quietly trying to fit in, although I didn’t find the joke all that funny. I thought to myself that if Clair didn’t like men peering down her blouse, she should try wearing more concealing clothing. My hands still were trembling and the boring conversation of the two girls wasn’t sufficient to distract me. They were both very beautiful but they certainly weren’t avid conversationalists. I suppose that for most of the boys in the town in really didn’t matter. They must have fantasized over these girls the same way that I fantasized over Kevin. Having spoken with these girls I really didn’t see the big deal. Still, they were nice enough to me. We continued talking about similar banalities for another five minutes before Kevin finally returned. I was relieved that we could finally get this ‘date’ going.
