TheBanyanTree: A WIP. or not.

[Janice Money]

That's beautifully written, Monique.  And intriguing.

Janice

-----Original Message-----
From: thebanyantree-bounces at lists.remsset.com [mailto:thebanyantree-bounces at lists.remsset.com] On Behalf Of Monique Colver
Sent: Monday, 21 April 2014 8:44 AM
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.