A week had gone by before the Coroner finally released her husband’s body to the local Funeral Home; a single gun shot to the head confirmed what she had seen for herself -- a suicide. Jillian would never forget finding George slumped over on the blood soaked couch with brain matter splattered against the wall. Nor would she be able to erase having to clean it up herself.
Next to a pile of bills and collection notices on the coffee table lay George’s final note; which simply read: “It all got out of hand and I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop.”
George’s gambling debts had drained their joint bank accounts, and now Jillian was left holding several unpaid Payday loans. She lost her land line, Cable, and her utilities were being threatened with getting shut off as well. Now, she had to wait for his Insurance policy to arrive from the Post Office just to pay for his cremation. Their eight months of marriage had not seen them do anything more than verbally plan for their future “old-aged” deaths. Hence the waiting.
Two days after they took George’s body away, Jillian still could not stomach staying at home by herself. She had yet to go through all his belongings or decide on what to do with his personal papers that were pilled up on the corner desk; so, she took another long walk instead. Spencer, her Brittney Spaniel was more than eager for his walk.
A stone’s throw from their Lake Cliff apartment complex was an undeveloped wooded area near a community park, and that’s where Jillian found herself heading. Spencer excitedly tugged at his leash wanting to be released, but Jillian smiled, “Hold up, boy.”
Upping her stride to keep pace with him, they continued along the curvatures of the winding sidewalk’s path. Three nanny’s with strollers watched their children at play on the ground’s equipment. At the other end of the park a group of men began the game of frieze bee golf, as a middle aged woman was being pulled along by her own pack of twelve dogs. Crazy dog-walkers, go figure, Jillian thought to herself as Spence sniffed for a place to do his own business.
Jillian came here every evening to walk Spencer after work. It was the very place where she first met George, and where he had later proposed marriage to her. The woodland trails had been their special place. But now that he was gone memories was all she had left, and a few of the gifts he had lavished on her in the last few months.
Suddenly something out the corner of her eye caught her attention in the woods. Glancing back, she could have sworn she saw George himself!
She had. He was quickly walking away from her along on a parallel pathway far in the thicket of the woods. Jillian found herself shouting out his name. Even more astounding was when he turned around in response. It was George!
With wide eyes, Jillian felt herself drained cold and yelling out, “Why the hell did you do it, George!?”
He was silent.
Whining; Spencer looked up at her cocking his head, questioning his owner’s tone of voice. Checking her dog for any validation that she wasn’t going crazy, Jillian found herself looking back into the now empty woods. Feeling like an idiot she began questioning her own sanity.
The dog-walker came up from behind Jillian and asked, “I’m sorry - what did you say?”
Blushing Jillian quickly replied, “Sorry. I -- Just thought I saw someone I knew.” Then abruptly turned away and headed home crying.
Jillian stood in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready for work. The gospel music coming from the living room’s Bose sound-system usually embraced Jillian’s soul with a sense of warmth and peace. But somehow the baritone-quartet vocal’s seemed to change into tiny distant-voices coming from a tin can. The spiritual message suddenly lost all meaning and offered nothing but annoyance. As Jillian slowly reached for her favorite hair barrette, a torques Dragonfly, the insect blurred to a frozen halt in mid-flight. Cocking her head slightly with widening eyes, Jillian’s swift thoughts were transported to the very moment when her husband had gifted it to her. It was the day before their seven month anniversary, and came as a total surprise like the news of his job promotion.
George came in tired, obviously preoccupied with thoughts of work, and abruptly double locked the front door behind him. He did not seem to take notice of his wife’s new hair color; and after a long while of fishing for a compliment, Jillian’s disappointment didn’t seem to matter. Then, George’s smiling mood suddenly changed on a dime, like an afterthought he produced a beautiful torques hair barrette from his pocket. As she inspected the details of the Dragonfly’s blue-glass wings, Jillian listened to her husband stilted tale of a job promotion.
Dropping the brush she almost ran to the living room and retrieved the journal. Trying to calm her quaking hands, thumbed through the warped pages scanning for February third, and read: “… the black girl was a perfect tone of creamed coffee, but her voice…”
When she slid into the passenger seat the cabin filled with the suddle scent of her sweet perfume. Not quiet overpowering but it masked well the muskiness of his Toyota’s need for detailing.
“You have no idea how much I’m sweating to death out there.” He almost melted at the angelic sound of her voice, the African America lilt with a touch of University learning. She placed her back pack on the floor between her feet, then added, “Oh that A/C feels great. I’m Brandi by the way.”
Never with a look in his direction as she retrieved a nail file from her bag immediately devoting attention to her finger tips, “Thanks for the ride; you know where the rail station is, right? You’re such a life saver.”
The dismissive tone in her voice lost him. From there on everything she said numbed into background noise; “life saver” - if she only knew, George thought to himself as the adrenaline pounded through his heart. His mind raced through scenarios with every intersection he passed of ‘what if at this turn we…’ Her inescapable need to ramble was beginning to grate on his nerves and that overly sweet fragrance was turning his stomach as he suddenly injected, “Let met check in on a friend of mine real quick, just want to see if his truck is in the drive - I’ll call him later - it’s on the way.” Without missing a beat George made a right hand turn going down a street he had never been down before. All the while Brandi played with her nails and continued with her rambling story that George gave no interest to.
Trying to wind his way back to the abandon baseball diamond he had seen three weeks earlier, George meandered down several side streets ignoring his passenger’s voice. As if he had recklessly slammed on the brakes she suddenly asked the question that changed the tempo of the adventure, “Where’s your friend live?”
Looking up from filing her nails and having rummaged through her bag since having enter his vehicle this was actually the first time she had even laid eyes on at George’s middle aged face. Whirling for an answer, he causally smiled as his eyes ignored her youthfully round face, darting over her shoulder to an empty driveway, “Well - guess he’s still out-of-town.” The exhale of pretended disappointment was excepted fully by the unsuspecting passenger.
Brandi politely turned her conversation to her host, “I’m sorry your friend’s not home.” Then with his attention fully back on the road re-adjusting the scenario in his head an electric jolt shot through him as the girl’s hand gently touched his right elbow, “Hope everything’s alright with him.”
[The story is a work in progress...]
