Back When We Had Nothing

WHEN WE ALL HAD NOTHING

It began with a phone call, as usual.

A childhood friend was going to be in town for the weekend and she wanted to get together.

You know how it goes.

This was someone I skinned knees with, climbed trees with, shared deep secrets with, and even became blood sisters with.

She was the sister I never had, and we couldn’t have been closer.

That was then and this was now.

A number of years and broken marriages later, we had some catching up to do.

What is it about childhood friends that makes the years slip by in ways we never imagined, but the bond remains the same. Maybe it’s because we met at a time when we had nothing, and nothing to lose. We were under the control of our parents, they had the power and we had the means to escape if we were lucky.

Looking back, my childhood was all about escaping. I was always plotting my next adventure, looking just past the next obstacle that might get in the way. That’s how I looked at adults in those days. They were in the way.

I closed the book I was reading and put it aside. A pool of sunlight sparkled off the cover, illuminating the golden hues of the title and surrounding scenery. That kept me totally mesmerized for about 10 seconds.

I padded across the planked floor in my reading socks, looking for the cat.

Some bribery was going to be needed.

I headed for the kitchen and opened the cupboard where the cat treats were kept. I immediately found the cat, Mouser, contained within. He looked smug and a bit disappointed at having been found.

I live above a garage in an ancient house on a street with trees as old as my great-grand parents. It’s a cozy one-bedroom, lots of space, shady maples keeping me safe and cool on this hottest of summer days and a gorgeous view of the woods beyond. I have lived here for about five years, give or take a few months and had no plans to move, at least for awhile.

My landlord resides in the main house, a sweet elderly lady, Esther, who I had once waved to on the way to school every day, back when she wasn’t so elderly, but still looked old to my childish eyes. Funny how that works.

At a certain age, everyone looks so much older. The beginning of the first shift when everything is new and parents are totally clueless about all things concerning kids and how they spend their days. They were never young once, and if they said they were, they had to be lying.

Recently divorced, no kids, just that darn cat, which had once again disappeared into thin air. I wondered how many lives Mouser had used up, at least five, I thought.

The phone rang again.

I have a landline, and a backup cell phone, but the landline has so far proved to be so much more reliable.

No one on the other end, just silence.

My cell phone rang. Caller unknown. I didn’t answer it. Anyone I wanted to talk to was in my address book, everyone else could take a hike.

I poured myself a glass of water and lazily traced my finger around the rim while I thought about the calls. Probably the same person. Probably no one I wanted to talk to. Probably...

That was a lot of possibilities right there.

None sounded good.

Breathy phone calls had a way of unnerving people, me included.

I don’t do that to other people, so why would someone think it was okay to do that to me?

No one answered.

Not even the cat.

BACK THEN...

There was a new man in town, and I was about to meet him.

I was seven.

He was seventy.

On that blistering hot day in July, I was cruising on my bike, the one with the blue banana seat and sparkly tassels and I hit a bump in the road. Down I went.

The only witness was Mr. Sanderson, a new neighbour.

Blood, skinned knees, tears of shock and dismay were the new order.

He came running over, as fast as a seventy year old could move and helped me to my feet.

I stood spitting dust and blood and wiping my forehead.

He helped me pick up my bike.

Come inside child, I have a band-aid you can borrow for that knee of yours.

Adults were a pain for the most part, but this one seemed helpful. I agreed.

I had fallen right in front of his house, about two doors down from mine. My parents weren’t home. They never were. My choice was simple.

In I went.

THE CAT DIDN’T COME BACK

Time has a way of marching forward, with or without my consent.

Suddenly, I find myself in my mid-thirties, feeling ancient, wondering what happened to all those dreams I had when I was younger and more in tune with the way the world worked. At least I thought I was. That is the most amazing thing about getting older, the rose-coloured glasses are a bit darker, I have some experience to fall back on, but I still have many unanswered questions.

My parents are dead.

They died in a horrific car crash ten years ago, when I was still married to Mr. Right and was on top of the world, or so I thought.

I think that was the beginning of the end of my innocence.

After the funeral, I never quite viewed life the same way. It affected my shaky marriage. It made me want to step out of myself, walk away and never look back.

For weeks after they were buried, I longed to make that phone call, so I could talk to them one last time. I waited for the dream, hoping they would visit me some bleak winter night and tell me it was all a big mistake and they wanted me to come to Sunday dinner.

As patient as I am, the dream hasn’t come yet and my parents are still dead.

I am an only child.

I am childless.

I view life in black and white. No shades of grey to distort my perception. It is what it is, and then sometimes it isn’t. It’s really that simple.

Aw, my marriage, so sweet and engulfing the first few years, and then, we started to drift apart. The arguing started, we couldn’t seem to agree on anything anymore and not only did we drift apart, we became perfect strangers.

We argued about kids, and having them, and not having them, and how many, and what their names would be. We spent so much time fretting over the details we forgot to discuss whether we really wanted kids or not. It wasn’t long before we weren’t sleeping in the same bed anymore, and then he moved in with someone else. The love of my life had found another. Just like that. I was shocked at how fast the terms of life can change, the tide can turn and rock-solid foundations can crumble.

I won’t bore you with the details of how we met, or the gorgeous wedding, or even what my married name was. None of that matters anymore. It only matters that it happened, it ended and I have since moved on and learned from it.

My parents adored him, of course.

He was the ‘cat’s meow’ and there was nothing that would change their mind. I sometimes had the feeling he was their son and I was the daughter-in-law. I often felt that I wasn’t grateful enough in my marriage that somehow and it led to my parent’s sudden demise and ultimately caused our final breakup.

It takes two, or so the song goes, I can’t shoulder all the blame here, but I can share half.

Guilt is an all-consuming thing. It is exhausting and hard to understand. It can last forever if not properly dealt with and it can drain every single emotional resource you might think you have to fall back on. In the end, it all gets swept away with the incoming tide of emotions and ‘whatifs’.

When did life get so complicated, so unpredictable, so challenging...

Just then, a soft tone brought me back to reality.

It was the computer calling my name. A message that needed attending.

I scooted over to my desktop, and checked my email.

My friend, Marsha, was giving me marching orders for her upcoming visit:

‘Darling can’t wait to see you again. It’s been so long, much too long, and I’ve missed you terribly.

I’m driving up your way in a couple of days and I’ve got a whole bunch of fun things planned.

See you soon,

Xo Marsha...’

Her email made me smile, she had a way of coming across like we are star-crossed lovers, it’s an inside joke, really and nothing could be further from the truth. Close friends who knew every secret and then some, but lovers?

She would breeze in at a time most convenient for her with little regard to what I was doing, or had to put aside to accommodate her. That was just the way she was, and always had been, since we were kids. Her boundless energy and enthusiasm had never changed over the years, just became more focused.

She was my constant, the one thing that never wavered all these years and I relished the time we had together because it was so rare. She was busy traveling most of the year for work, she would even send me post cards sometimes, but we hadn’t had a face-to-face in a very long time.

I was the introvert, the one reading in the corner, twirling a strand of hair around my middle finger if the book was especially intriguing, the one always picked last, if at all for childhood games.

‘Okay Marsh’, I replied, see you soon.’

I switched off my computer.

Now, where was the cat?

I was hungry but always took the time to make sure the cat was inside for the night.

The light was waning; orange hues were slowly turning purple as the sun began to get ready for bed.

I didn’t like to leave Mouser outside all night; too many things could happen to a wayward kitty in my sleepy little town.

I stepped out into the backyard, which I had full use of. It was a good size, well tended, a perfect green, like a velvet carpet. I scanned the back area, but could see no sign of him.

A night bird was calling.

Mouser had a bell on his collar, just in case he got the idea that birds taste better than regular old cat food. As if.

There was a chill in the air, as there usually was this time of year.

October. I loved it. My favourite month. There was something refreshing and sinister about it. Maybe because Halloween came on the 31st. It had that unpredictable feeling of something just beyond the corner of your eye and at the same time, it held the promise of something better just around the next corner.

I felt invigorated by the changing season; the whimsical palette of Mother Nature never stopped amazing me. I am an avid photographer, it’s how I make my living, and all photography is an art form if it is to really capture the viewer. This was one of the best times of the year to get some great shots. Frost on leaves, babbling streams, trees shedding their many coloured coats, a solitary dribble of raindrops on clouded glass, drowsy insects slowed by the chill.

Not a creature was stirring on this wind-swept October night. Not even a cat.

After calling him for about ten minutes, I began to realize that cats do pretty much what they want and only come when feel like it. I decided to go back inside and start dinner.

Maybe the cat had left me a message on my answering machine.

Stranger things had happened in this sleepy little town.

BACK THEN...

Mr. Sanderson’s place was a mess.

I followed him, careful not to trip over waded-up clothes, slippers, old newspapers and junk that littered the doorway.

Sit down girl, take a load off, I’ll get you something in a jiffy.

I pondered the ‘take a load off’ part, not sure whether to be insulted or delighted by the odd phrase.

Adults sure had a weird way of talking. But this one seemed to like kids, so I sat. And waited.

The missus is long gone. His voice startled me and I jumped.

She just up and left one day, never been back, been alone all these years now.

I scanned the room to see if any pictures of ‘the Missus’ were around. I could see nothing.

No pictures at all. Just some dead animals on the wall and a stuffed squirrel in a glass case. I wondered if it was one of the many I talked to on the way to school. I sure hope not.

There was an odd smell, and I wondered if something was buried in the basement. Better to leave that one alone, for now...

This place was looking more like a museum for the absurd than a home that someone lived in. There were jars and bottles everywhere, some had dead insects, butterflies, crickets, who knows what, others had things floating in a mysterious fluid. I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into, but at the moment, wasn’t too worried about it.

Mr. Sanderson, his footsteps like soft rain on shingles re-entered my peripheral vision.

He was carrying a tray with lemonade, ointment, and some band-aids with a cartoon on it. I couldn’t tell which cartoon, the details were too fine and the band-aids were too small.

Drink up, and I’ll clean your skinned knees.

He gently washed my legs with some very warm water, applied some ointment and carefully placed the band-aids right where they needed to be.

He was like a kindly grandfather, unlike my gruff one who was always shouting at the top his lungs and swirling a strong smelling liquid in a crystal glass. His ‘medicine’ he called it.

Sit tight, I’ll get you some cookies. He was gone before I could exhale.

And he was back before I took my next breath. Geez, he could move pretty fast for an old guy.

My mom says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.

You’re mom is right, but I’m your neighbour, so I don’t count.

I thought about this for a minute, and decided he had a valid point.

Fortified with lemonade, and sporting new band-aids, I was beginning to relax some in the presence of this very odd but kindly adult.

So, Mr. How come you got so much stuff around in jars, do you like killing things or something?

My question seemed to bring tears to his eyes, but he brushed them away, and looked embarrassed.

Nope, not my doings. Just some stuff I’ve collected at garage sales and such over the years.

But Mr. everything is dead. My voice trailed off then, afraid I had gone too far with that one.

It’s my way of ‘saving’ them I guess, so no more harm can come to the critters that are dead. I’m protecting their souls, giving them a place to rest.

Oh.

Good an explanation as any, I figured and I wouldn’t get another one from this old man, or anyone else.

I don’t know a lot about the ‘God Guy’, wasn’t raised as a church-goer but I did have a concept of something bigger than me and I guess this was as close as I could get.

My first true spiritual experience.

I started to get fidgety in the way only seven year olds know how, gulped down the rest of my lemonade and make short work of my cookies.

Do you think animals have souls? I asked, and he looked at me, a faint smile crossed his face and he said "I think animals are more worthy