Present
I
sit, unmoving, in my chair. My eyes stare into space, not crying, not betraying
any emotion. My heart feels as though it has stopped. Wishful thinking, maybe.
I am numb.
Two
hours ago, I received a phone call from my daughter-in-law. Not an unusual
occurrence in itself. The words I heard, however, were words I had never
directly heard before, and ones I wish never to hear again.
So
this is what it feels like to lose your best friend.
November/December, 1951
My family was migrating from England to
Australia. My father wanted to leave when the war started twelve years ago, but
my mother fell pregnant with me and did not want to travel. I spent the first
five years of my life in the midst of World War Two. Eleven years on, my father
finally managed to scrape together enough money to secure a passage to
Australia, working two jobs for the last five years.
I was running along one of the decks on the New
Australia, playing chasey with a number
of other children my age who I had befriended four days ago after setting sail.
The taunts of “catch me if you can!” hit my ears from all directions as we
teased the boy who was ‘it’. It was unbecoming for a young woman and I knew I
would be in trouble if my parents caught me, but I was having too much fun to
care. I looked back and squealed when I saw the boy who was ‘it’ pursuing me,
gaining ground with every step. I wasn’t the fastest runner.
I saw his eyes widen and he called “watch
out!” I looked back ahead of me, just in time to dodge a girl with long brown
hair, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the deck, reading a book.
“Hey!” She glared at me as I passed her, a
hair’s breadth away from tripping over her. I shrugged it off and kept running.
I didn’t see her again for a while.
Four weeks later, we were almost to
Australia. I was wandering around by myself, trying to find someone to play
with, when I came across a familiar looking girl who was crying.
“Are you all right?” I asked, putting my arm
around her.
She sniffled, before answering, “My younger
sister is missing. We can’t find her anywhere, my parents are scared she might
have fallen overboard!”
“Oh dear,” I replied as my heart ached for
the girl who looked about my age. “I’ll help you look for her if you want.”
“I’d like that, thank you.” She looked at me
closely, scrutinizing me. “Hey, you’re the girl who nearly tripped over me a
few weeks ago, aren’t you?”
I suddenly felt very embarrassed. “Oh, yes,
I am. Sorry about that. My name is Joyce.”
“I’m Laura and I’m eleven years old. My
sister is eight, her name is Sylvia. Please help me find her!”
I took Laura’s hand and we began to search
every inch of the ship in earnest. We searched for four hours together, and
were beginning to give up hope when we returned to her cabin, finding her
parents scolding a very upset little girl.
“Sylvia! Where were you?” cried Laura,
hugging her little sister.
Their mother answered in lieu of Sylvia.
“She was found by a member of the crew in a male bathroom, in the shower with a
young boy.”
Laura looked scandalised and berated her
younger sister. I quietly left the cabin, sensing she did not need me anymore.
That was the last time I saw her on the
ship. We disembarked a week later and I did not see her again for many, many
years.
Present
Still,
I sat in my chair, reminiscing about times spent with Laura, starting with the
biggest coincidence of my life.
June, 1988
My eldest son, Daryl, came home with his
girlfriend of eight years, Julie, in tow.
“Mum,” he began. “I asked Julie to marry me,
and she said yes!” He smiled at his new fiancée and put his arm around her
waist.
“Well, congratulations kids. I’m happy for
you!” I replied sincerely, pulling them both to me for a hug.
“We told my parents just before we came
here, and they invited you and Eric to dinner on Saturday night, so you can all
meet for the first time,” added Julie.
“Wonderful, tell them we accept.”
Having never met, I was a bit nervous about
this dinner with my future daughter-in-law’s parents.
Little did I know that we
would not be talking much about our children, but rather, our own childhoods.
My husband, Eric, knocked on the door at
precisely seven o’clock on Saturday night. It was opened by Geoffrey, Julie’s
father, who greeted us and showed us in. His wife greeted us next and when we
shook hands, we looked into each other’s eyes, sensing familiarity. It was not
until later that we fully realised who the other was, and we were both
delighted to meet again and hopefully have a chance to rekindle our brief
friendship.
Present
Since
that day, twenty four years ago, we have been each other’s best friends and
confidants, thanks to the union of our eldest children. We share two beautiful
grandchildren.
Laura
had been sick for the last sixteen years, with a rare type of cancer. Recently,
all her organs began to fail and we all knew her time was near. I just never
expected it to be so soon. She was
seventy two years old, seven months older than me.
She
was always the type that preferred books to running around. While I played
tennis since my teenage years, she would often be seen with her nose in a book.
The memory of when we first met is imprinted in my mind, that moment provides
so many insights into both our characters. Funny, how such polar opposites can
become best friends.
And
now she’s gone.
I
miss her already.
No comments:
Post a Comment