TheBanyanTree: A WIP. or not.

[Gail Richards]

I'd love to read the REST of the story!!!  But as it stands, I have to fill 
in the blanks in my head and maybe that's a good thing.  Have I told you 
lately that I love you?

-----Original Message----- 
From: Monique Colver
Sent: Sunday, April 20, 2014 4:13 PM
To: Banyan Tree
Subject: TheBanyanTree: A WIP. or not.

Our children were playing together on the sand, yours already turning pink
in the sun, their coloring from their mother, mine laughing as they scooped
sand into buckets. It was all I’d ever wanted, our families together, after
all those years apart, but you wouldn’t look at me, you wouldn’t talk to
me, except for the occasional grunt, the occasional nod, still so careful
not to say the wrong thing, as if by saying what you really thought you
might open something dark and old, and then then where would we be?

“Your children, they’re beautiful,” I said, because they were, and because
I wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence.

You nodded, agreeing with me, as of course you would.

You sat on the flimsy patio chair as if on edge, unable to relax even when
relaxation was the point, or maybe that was why. You always fought against
doing things because you were supposed to, or feeling things you thought
you should feel. Instead, you grappled with life as if it were the enemy,
as if what came naturally must be wrong, as if wrestling with each minute
decision had to be the right thing to do, if only because it were harder
that way.

Not me. I went with the flow, did things as they presented themselves, and
never gave them another thought. It’s how I ended up with children, because
while it hadn’t been my intent, they had shown up anyway, because I hadn’t
thought ahead, nor considered what would happen next.

Melinda came out on the porch then, slight but sturdy, all bubbles and
light. I often wondered how she came to be your wife, she was so contrary
to you, but maybe that was why. Maybe you needed that contrast to keep the
darkness bearable.

“Caleb! Miranda!” She called to your children, and they both looked up,
sunny surprise on their faces, as if they’d forgotten we were there at all.
“Come get more sunscreen!” Melinda held a can of spray in one hand, and
your children came running to us, and then my children followed, and it
became a race, and then four children exploded onto the porch in a spray of
sand.

Some of the sand got in my eye, and I wiped at it, but that only made it
worse, and my eye started to water, and when you looked at me, just a
glance, really, all you could spare for me, you thought I was crying.

“What’s wrong now?” you asked, but there wasn’t anything wrong, nothing new
anyway.

“I’m fine,” I said, and while Melinda sprayed the kids with sunblock you
looked as me as if I were lying, and for a minute I thought maybe I was.

You always had that effect on me, of making me think I were wrong, that I
didn’t even know my own truth, and I wasn’t sure how much of that was true.

The kids went running back to the sand, back to their buckets and shovels.

“You two all right out here?” Melinda asked, pausing for just a second to
see us nod, you first, then me, following your lead, before she headed back
inside, where she was doing something useful. Melinda survived life by
being useful, by getting things done, by being the person everyone else
counted on.

And I, I was the one no one counted on.

“What do you want?” you asked then, certain I had some ulterior motive.

“I don’t want anything,” I said, “I just wanted us all to be here together.”

You shook your head then, not believing me, thinking I was up to something.

Caleb ran out into the surf then, his arms wide out, and as he plowed out
into the cold water he shrieked with the cold of it.

You went after him then, the good father, to make sure he didn’t go out any
farther, to keep him and Miranda and even my children safe, your long
strides making shadows on the beach longer than any of us, attenuated and
thin, and I watched your shadow walk away from me, and I wondered where it
had all gone wrong.