Journeys

Excerpt from ... It's Friday, but Sunday's Coming

An inspirational story of a woman who travels through pain and sorrow to newfound happiness.

Ryan caught her arm as she turned away. "Leith—can I see you again? I mean, can we be friends? Mom's been talking about the things you like, books and videos and stuff, and I think we've got a lot in common."

"Your mother talks too much about me," she said, not knowing what else to say.

"Well, she likes you. She's been saying that I should meet you."

"She has?" Leith was confused. Why would Josie say that? She was distracted even further when Ryan put his arm around her and pointed upwards. "Look."

As Leith stood watching two eagles soaring above them, she felt a snag in her heart. Somehow, she knew she would remember this moment forever.
~*~
After walking for more than two hours, sharing thoughts and ideas, likes and dislikes, Leith and Ryan said farewell to each other and got into their respective vehicles. Ryan was heading off to Tofino to meet with some friends and he invited Leith, but she told him that she wanted to get back home. In truth, she felt a little breathless over their meeting. She also felt she'd done something really stupid.
Getting onto the subject of television shows, she'd told Ryan that she had a set of Black Adder tapes, which is a British sitcom, and he'd asked if he might watch them. Without thinking, she'd asked him over the following week.
Now, she was regretting it. Hadn't she vowed she'd never get mixed up with anyone else? What was wrong with her for goodness sake? And what would Josie say when she knew?

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Excerpt from ... No More Regrets

In this story, Lindsay's mother realizes the point of her journey,
and passes on some advice to her daughter.

Lindsay was upstairs when her father came home unexpectedly from work at lunch time, and she tiptoed out of her room to listen to what was going on.
"What's up?" she heard her mother say. "You haven't lost your job have you?"

"No, Shelley," Bob said. "It's not that."

They went into the living room and closed the door.

It sounded serious, Lindsay thought, hearing at first murmurs and then angry retorts. As the door flew open and her mother ran across the hall, Lindsay retreated to her room. She didn't want to make her presence known to her father; her mother wouldn't dare tell him why she hadn't gone to school that morning.

Later, Lindsay heard her father come upstairs. Quietly, she opened her bedroom door and looked across the landing. She saw him sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. She went to return to her room, but he sensed her presence.

"Oh, hello Lindsay. How long have you been home?"

"Not long." She hated to lie but it would be easier that way. "You're home early."

When her father didn't respond, Lindsay went downstairs to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table with an empty glass in front of her and a cigarette between her fingers.

Shelley stood up suddenly, and in doing so, knocked her glass onto the ceramic floor. It shattered to pieces. "Broken," she muttered. "Like my heart." Then she swung around and saw Lindsay, watching her. "I didn't see you there. When did you come in?"

"I've been in for a while," Lindsay said. Shelley had woken with a hangover and had looked so desperately sad, Lindsay had been afraid to leave her. However, she bit back a retort to remind Shelley of that; what good would it do?

"Did you see that your father's home?" Shelley asked. Lindsay nodded. "Did he tell you why?"

Lindsay shook her head.

"Well, I'll tell you why," Shelley said, stabbing her cigarette into an ashtray. "He wants a divorce, that's why."

For a moment the dreadful words didn't sink in. "Why?"

"He's got someone else," Shelley said. "Charlotte, of all people. He's got her pregnant."

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Excerpt from ... Ophelia's Love

An unusual love teaches a lesson when a woman
journeys from having no esteem to realizing that she has worth.

Ophelia, reading poetry, burst into tears and she could read no further. "Oh, Ben," she said. "What am I going to do?" She was hopelessly in love again, with the wrong man.

Ben looked at her, and yawned.
~*~

That night, Ben appeared in Ophelia's dreams. He sat beside her and revealed everything he'd been thinking about her lately. "You should learn to love yourself a little more and others less," he said. "There are many people you can love, but only a few who are worthy of it."

At first Ophelia was hurt, stung that he thought her such a loser.

"I didn't say that," he said. "I didn't call you any names. You are desirable. You are beautiful. I adore you and always will."

"Then why don't others see me that way?" she asked. "Why do they keep breaking my heart?"

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Excerpt from ... Angels Along the Way

Fond memories of someone
who has journeyed on to another world.

It's the eve of the fair and time for the dance. She isn't quite old enough for boys, but she's always been old enough to dance. The village hall is filling up; Bovey dances are famous for miles around. The Women's Institute is setting up the refreshments in the back room, and Bob Cann is tuning up, because he's the band. He'll be playing an accordion and calling the changes to the square dancers: a blur of faces and flurry of skirts, revealing legs and layered petticoats, which at a glance look like chicken-bum feathers. Slippery hands, and sweat pouring down faces, staining underarms and the backs of men's shirts. And how the wooden floor bounces!
During the evening, she's sent for. Aunty Joan wants her to play for family who are visiting. The child is so proud to run across the village green, past the now empty stalls, to play for company. Oh, the thrill of being called; the excitement of having a real audience—because Aunty Joan and Uncle Fred are never considered audience proper. She imagines herself a concert pianist as she sits before them, and waits for silence before she begins to play.
They're quiet for a while, but not long enough. When they begin to chatter too soon, the child is crestfallen. They barely notice when she stops playing and slips back to the dance…
~*~

…I look around and see Joan is lost in her sea of thoughts, too. Is she back there, young, when I thought her old? Unhappy, when I wasn't even aware that adults could be?

She looks almost startled to return to the present. "Lovely," she says. "No one plays it quite like you."

I chuckle. "No, I don't imagine they do." I close the lid and sit beside her in front of the fire.

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Excerpt from ... Second Chance

Not only Susan is given a second chance; through her courage to be true to her feelings, which will take her on a different
journey to the one first planned, she gives her family another chance of happiness, too.

After supper, Susan went out and walked in the direction of the shopping centre. Everything would be closed now, but lately, on the evenings when she didn't see Bernie, she'd got into the habit of window shopping. She would pick out items she could buy if she kept her wages to herself instead of saving every penny for her wedding. She looked through the window of the new pine shop that had opened recently. Bernie didn't like pine. Besides, he'd said they'd have to make do with second-hand things for a while.
For a while, Susan thought grimly. If her life turned out anything like her mother's, those things never would be replaced with anything she really wanted.
She gazed longingly at the furniture, imagining what she would choose for her own apartment—if she had one—and then turned away. Daydreaming was futile. Her wedding day was so close. The church was booked; pink roses and gypsophilia, which would match the bridesmaids' dresses, were ordered. Her wedding dress had been chosen at one of the rental boutiques; cheaper her mother said than making one, although Susan would have to be careful not to spill anything on it.
That was one of the things Susan felt sad about, not having a dress that she could later touch. Maggie said she couldn't understand her. "You'll have the photographs," she'd said, more than once. "And a much better gown than you could ever afford."
Susan didn't say so, but she felt that photographs were only half memories; rather like flowers without a scent. And she didn't know why she hadn't stuck out for a gown of her own. She was too weak, she thought; from start to finish she'd given into everyone over everything.
That evening, she walked farther than usual and found herself standing in front of the church where she would be married. Neither she nor Bernie went to church regularly; the only time she heard Bernie mention God was when he swore. Susan never mentioned God's name, either, in case Bernie thought she was thinking of Robbie, the vicar's son. He'd made the connection before about her former love and shown some jealousy.

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Excerpt from ... Lucky Duck

After a tragedy, many people are kept going by their pets, if only because they have to take care of them.
This happens to Karly after her losses; but Lucky Duck's existence takes her even one step further
on her journey to find future happiness.

Lucky Duck escaped death when Winston, son of Karly, rescued him from a snarling dog. In the process, Winston was bitten and the dog was put down. This set up a lot of resentment in the neighbourhood for the newcomers. Karly, after losing her husband, had moved there to start again, and this is how their new life began. No one was very happy, except the duck.
And then came the tragedy of Winston's death.
One Year Later
Karly stood looking out of the window. Lucky Duck was on the pond, and beside him she saw the memory of Winston.
She caught her breath. She could, still, barely think about it. She closed her eyes again, hearing the scream. The thud. That awful, crashing, house-shaking thud.
Normally she paid no attention to the duck quacking; Lucky Duck often quacked when playing with Winston, they loved each other, but this time the duck kept making a din and she ran to the window to see Winston flapping his arms and shouting at the duck, "What? What?"

And then the tree fell.
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Excerpt from ... Endings are Just Beginnings

High up on the plateau, the air was chillier outside and the road was icy in places. Even though Ian was a careful driver, Sylvia could feel the car slide out of his control occasionally. It was an eerie, uncomfortable feeling and she watched the road anxiously.
"I'm sure I can see snowflakes," she said, peering out into the darkness.
"I thought so too," Ian said. "Hope it doesn't get worse."
On their nearside was a steep cliff, the rock face held in place with retaining wire that glinted occasionally in the headlights. Sylvia tried not to think about the other side of the road; it looked as if the edge dropped away to a bottomless pit. She'd grown up in a small European village where the roads were on steep hillsides like this. One of those hairpin bends was named the Devil's Elbow.
"Damn," Ian said. "Look at it."
Sylvia came out of her reverie and focused through the windscreen. Larger flakes were coming down now, swirling against the headlights. It was covering the road fast, and once or twice she couldn't see the centerline.
"I'm amazed they haven't put a barrier along here," she said. "Do you think anyone's ever gone over?" Ian didn't answer; he was too busy concentrating on the road. "Let's stop at the next opportunity," she suggested. "The children will be waking soon and they'll be hun—"
She never finished her sentence, but gripped the dashboard as the car glided across the road. "Oh, Ian, do something! Oh no!"
Then: "What's that light?"
"It'll be dawn breaking."
She was sure he said that, yet it made no sense. Going around and around in a circle like that, dawn surely would have twirled around with them?
They hit the edge. She could tell it was the edge of the road because she felt a surge of hope that it would stop the car. She screamed. She thought they all screamed, although she couldn't be sure. Did the children wake suddenly? Ask: what's going on, Mom? Did Ian say: oh no, oh no, Sylvia, my love, I'm so sorry?
As she thought about all the things they had never done, would never do now, everything went black.
Except there was that light. It was still there, above and to the right of them where it should be. In the east, with the breaking of dawn.

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