Hello. I can't remember if I uploaded this last time or not before going scorched earth. Anyway, what I do remember is I was trying something a little different with this one. Whether it worked or not, I'll leave it up to you to decide. Otherwise, hope you enjoy the story.
Just a warning that this have a small scene mentioning an attempted suicide. Just in case people don't like stories that deal with such things.
*****
There's a couple of lines in the movie 'Lethal Weapon' that rings true regarding my life on this very day. Murtaugh tells Riggs, "God hates me. That's what it is." Riggs just looks back at him, breathing smoke out his nose, and replies "Hate him back; it works for me." I don't know if there is a God. I've never been particularly religious, finding those sort of classes at school rather dull. But if he does exist, as I like to think there is something out there far beyond our understanding, then the big guy can go fuck himself regarding what he planned for me.
The sky above matched my mood. My heart and mind were a swirl of emotions. Mostly grief mixed with a whole load of anger. The clouds were low and dark grey. The rain was incessant and there was a rumble of thunder in the distance, almost drowning out the voice of the celebrant. I barely listened anyway, my eyes only focused on the coffin in front of me. The only thing that mattered was that she was gone. Taken from me in an instant.
I met Jessica while spending two years travelling around Europe. We met in Berlin, not a particularly strange place for an Australian man and English girl to meet, considering it was popular on the backpacker trail. I still have no idea what drew her towards me. We met in one of the thousands of bars in the city, somewhere in the old East Berlin, once behind that famous old wall, only a small section still standing. I was on a pub crawl with a group of people I'd met in one of the city's numerous hostels. She was in town with a couple of girlfriends, escaping university for a weekend. All I know is that we hit if off immediately after I'd bought her a drink and introduced myself. The friends I'd made were quickly abandoned, while her friends disappeared off to some dance club. She let them go, wanting to stay with me.
We drank and talked until early the next morning, staying in the same bar until it closed before we walked the streets of Berlin hand in hand, eventually wandering through the Tiergarten as the sun started to rise. I think I knew her entire life story by the time we arrived at her hotel. She was definitely smart. Witty. And had a rather dark if crude sense of humour, which had me roaring with laughter at times. Add to that she was a brunette bombshell, milk chocolate brown eyes, with a bust that couldn't be ignored and curves that would drive any man insane, I was instantly smitten. Scratch that. It was love at first sight. When she invited me upstairs, I didn't say no. We fell asleep straight away, though made love as soon as we woke up.
I wondered if it was only a one-time thing, though after a very late breakfast, she asked what my plans were. I said I was in town for another couple of days before moving on. She wondered if I'd like to spend the day with her. I tried not to appear too eager when I said yes. By the end of the day, I was definitely falling in love with her. And I spent the night with her again. Our second night together, we made love all night.
She had to return home the next day. She gave me her phone number and email address. This was before the colossal rise of social media, so there was no Facebook yet. I think MySpace was around, but I didn't use it. She asked me to keep in contact, and that she'd like to see me again soon. I said I only had a couple of other places I'd like to visit, then I would be heading to the UK anyway.
We messaged and emailed constantly over the next month. She was attending university in Bristol, and asked where I would be heading once I was in the UK. I said I didn't know, the obvious choice being London as that's where all Antipodeans ended up. She wondered if I wanted to head to Bristol instead. She went even further than that, asking if I would want to move in with her.
I thought it was rather quick, but she knew I would need a place to stay. I had plenty of money that I'd saved back home before my trip, but a lot of that had disappeared, though I had a visa that would allow me to work. So I took up her offer, moved in with her, a sharehouse with three other people, and quickly found a job behind the bar in one of the many pubs that made up the city centre.
We lived frugally, both of us living the university life, but our life together was a lot of fun, though she also worked bloody hard to get her degree at the same time. She graduated at the end of that year and we married no more than six months later, at the age of only 21. That allowed me to obtain a spousal visa and we immediately started to look for full-time jobs and a place to live.
We owned our own place by the age of 25, though a lot of thanks had to go to her parents. But we had full time jobs, both reasonably well paid, and at least one new-ish car in the driveway. We often spoke about starting a family, but wanted to be smart, and at least financially secure enough so that we could afford her time off for maternity leave. But we were desperate to try, and certainly had a lot of practice. To say our sex life was mutually fulfilling would be a vast understatement.
Jessica announced she was pregnant when we were both 27, me being only a couple of months older. I was living the dream. A wonderful home. A beautiful wife. A job I actually enjoyed. We had money to spare. And now she was having my child.
My wife worked as a nurse. Long, gruelling days and nights on her feet. She loved her job too, though she was often left tired and stressed, the NHS straining at the seams, but she never complained, at least not to me, leaving all her worries about work at the door. I learned and became relatively adept at giving foot massages, knowing they often led to massaging other things. Jessica always knew, and was always happy to carry on in the bedroom, if she wasn't too tired. We would lie back afterwards, and discuss our plans for the future, a name for the baby, names for other potential babies afterwards, what colour we'd paint the walls of the nursery.
Jessica was seven months pregnant at the time a drunk driver ended the dream. He was speeding and hit my wife's driver's side door at undiminished speed, having run a red light. Paramedics arrived within minutes, but she was already dead by the time I received the knock at our front door.
I have no problem admitting I fell apart immediately.
Friends and her family rallied around, helping me organise the funeral and everything else. I barely remember much of those days. I was pretty much a zombie. I know my family back in Australia couldn't make it over. Dad was far too busy with the farm to make it, and I understood why. My sister was in the middle of marriage difficulties, and though I think she would have liked to come over, she called and we spoke for a couple of hours. Despite my own heartbreak, loss and sorrow, I couldn't stop my heart going out to her in return, her own life falling apart though in a slightly different way. My sister was two years older than me, and we'd been close growing up. We spoke as often as possible, despite living on opposite sides of the world, and I knew all about her own problems. So I told her not to worry about me.
The celebrant finally stopped speaking. I was tempted to perform the eulogy, but to be honest, I just couldn't. Call me a coward if you want. I had the words. I had far too many words. But there was no way I could stand in front of everyone and say them. Not without keeling over myself. Her brother, a good man I'd always got along with, offered to say those words for me. I could never thank him enough.
Once the funeral was complete, the coffin placed in the ground, and the wake was finally over, I was left to wallow in my own pity and despair again. I drifted through life for weeks. I eventually stopped going into work, picking up a drinking habit instead. I fell into a spiral of depression. I just stopped caring about anything. As far as I was concerned, my life ended when Jessica and my unborn child were taken from me.
My memories of that time are confusing. And then everything turned dark for a little while.
*****
*****
I pulled the BMW into the driveway of our house, waiting for the song on the radio to finish before switching off the engine. Grabbing my briefcase, I walked briskly down the path towards our front door, watching it open and my daughter appearing immediately.
"Daddy!" she yelled, running towards me with arms outstretched. I dropped my briefcase and crouched down, scooping her up in my arms and twirling her around, hearing her shriek with laughter before laying a big wet kiss on her cheek.
"Hello, Annabelle. Did you miss Daddy?"
She stretched out her arms again, and I know she wanted a hug, holding her towards me, feeling her little arms wrap around my neck as I bent down to pick up my briefcase. Carrying daughter and briefcase inside, I kicked the door shut behind me before yelling, "Honey, I'm home!"
My wife appeared in the doorway between living room and kitchen, waddling slightly considering she was six months pregnant. Still carrying my daughter, I walked towards her and leaned down to kiss her once close enough. "Good day, Steve?"
