The Wind in the Willows

Lost in her thoughts, she sat all too long staring out of the bay window; her coffee turned cold, but she didn’t notice, nor did she care. Hours had gone by, staring, alone with the worst feeling she had ever known; was it grief? It hurt so deeply, she was certain there was not a word ever spoken or penned to describe it. Self-pity was a fairly foreign concept for her, yet somehow it felt acceptable and safe. Maybe she’d stay right here for a while, sad and confused; this was worse than grief, wasn’t it? Despair. No, not an effective descriptive, she was still sure, one did not exist. 

 There would be no funeral, no burial, no memorial, no closure, well not right away. How would her heart ever begin to mend? Bile collected in her throat. She contemplated vomiting right there into her cold coffee. Her legs were weak and somewhat numb, and her head was too heavy for her neck and shoulders to support. She accepted this feeling, this state of pre-catatonia; embraced its sway and gave in to effect. She heard the bell, ignored it, heard it again, this time accompanied by a loud, familiar voice bellowing her name. “Ellie!”

The bell, three sharp knocks, her name again and again, that damn bell! “It’s open” 

“Jesus Ellie, you had me scared out of my mind. Are you ok?” Jenna’s face was red and sweaty. She was breathing heavily as if she just completed a marathon at full sprint. “Are you ready to go?” she managed between wheezes. Jenna took a quick look around the living room and back to the foyer. “El, where are your bags?” 

Ellie continued to stare out the window, “I’m not going.” she stated quietly but with much conviction. 

“Oh, yes you are. Get up, go pack; we leave in thirty minutes.” Jenna’s face reddened a bit more. She stomped her foot and thrust her hands to her hips. Ellie swore she heard a distinct “humph” escape in frustration. 

“Jenna, I can’t. Not this year.” 

“There is no excuse in the world valid enough for me to agree to leave you behind.” 

“He’s gone, Jenna.”

“Who? Charles?” 

“Yes. he left in the middle of the night. No note, no explanation, just gone.” 

“Oh, thank God.” Jenna muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, I was just talking to myself. Now, although I hate to see you so upset, I cannot in all good faith allow you to wallow. We have a tradition to uphold, so you stay there, and I will go upstairs and pack a bag for you. Be ready to load up in a half hour. Dry your tears, El. We can talk about why this is the best thing that ever happened to you on our way to Aunt Ida’s.”

Ellie stayed silently facing the window; she could hear Jenna’s heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. She recognized the sound of the closet door sliding open and her largest suitcase rolling across the hardwood floor, finally bumping behind Jenna on the way back downstairs, catching her on the Achilles. Thunk, Thunk, Thunk. “Shit!” 

Jenna managed to secure the house, load the trunk and coax Ellie into the front seat of her SUV. Ellie leaned her head against the window and in protest, spoke not a word. Jenna gave her time to brood, but after an hour she turned down the radio and voiced her unsolicited opinion. After all, Ellie was indeed a captive audience. “El? I know you must be hurting but our trip to Aunt Ida’s is exactly what you need. You do realize that don’t you? You need to be with the people who know you best and love you most.”

Ellie straightened herself in the seat. “Why do we still refer to the house as Aunt Ida’s? It’s been, what, ten, eleven years since she left it to Steph?” 

“Only five, actually. I suppose it will always be Aunt Ida’s. Remember the first summer we spent there?” 

“I do. The municipal summer camp program lost funding and was canceled; we had nowhere to go. Steph’s mom made arrangements with Aunt Ida for her to spend the summer and the three of us were totally screwed.”

“Yeah, but Steph’s mom stepped up. She knew none of us could afford a fancy summer camp and she asked if we could all go together. We were so damn happy making that first wind chime with Aunt Ida. I wonder what Steph has collected for this year's artistic endeavor?"

“Yes, that first year really was the best summer of our lives. I wish it was still just the four of us though. Six seems so excessive. Why do things have to change?”

“Oh, I see nothing wrong with the addition of Steph’s girlfriend and Lissy’s cousin. I like Dana and what’s the cousin’s name again?” 

“Fluffy.”

“It is not! You’re being catty! That girl is not named Fluffy!” Jenna could barely get her words out through her laughter. “See? You’re still in there somewhere; my funny, quirky, clever Ellie.”

“Fuzzy?” Ellie offered.

“No, Oh for God’s sake, El, what the heck is her name?” 

“Francie.”

“I knew, you knew!” 

“She makes us eat avocado toast.” Ellie protested.

“Well, it is the only healthy option considering we live on nachos, peanut butter cups and wine all week. She tries, you know?” 

“I suppose.”

“Lissy invited her the past few years because she was really struggling. Her fiancé died two weeks before their wedding.”

“Seriously, how?”

“Car accident.”

“How do you know, and I don’t?”

Jenna shrugged, "You didn’t seem interested in her, so we never clued you in.”

Ellie checked the time. She knew by the familiar scenery rolling past her window like an old movie reel, they were less than an hour away from their destination. She felt guilty and embarrassed enough to avoid the subject of Lissy’s cousin all together. Was she really that disconnected? “I’m sure Steph and Dana are there already.”

“Yes, Steph messaged me this morning. They got in around midnight. I have a feeling they are planning to move to Aunt Ida’s permanently. It would depend on Dana’s ability to work from home. They’re waiting for her proposal to be accepted by her company. Steph thinks the odds are in her favor.” 

“Can you imagine living there, among the wisteria and the weeping willow? Sitting on the grand porch painted in weathered sage, adorned with hanging baskets filled with lipstick red petunias and strings of pearls. That old swing is the perfect place to relax, admire the lake, and draw inspiration from the sweet song of our handmade chimes concealed by the willow’s cascading, twisted reedy branches; there to remind us of our everlasting friendship. I can already smell the fresh, fragrant air.”

Jenna always enjoyed Ellie’s verbal portraiture, captivated by her natural flair for describing what was typically taken for granted as if it belonged in a fairy tale. She often wished she had a talent like Ellie had for writing and Steph had for art. But Jenna knew her role and filled it willingly and entirely. She was the heart of the group, the one who showed up, no matter what or for whom. “Would you live there, given the option?” 

“I want to live in my house, with Charles. That’s the only option I’ll entertain.” 

Jenna felt a wave of panic, “No,no,no honey, don’t go back there. We were doing so well. Go back to the lake, to the willows, to the windchimes. For the love of all that is good and holy, go back to the fluffy avocado toast if you have to, but please don’t go back to Charles.” 

“Figuratively, or literally?”

“Either. Both.” 

Ellie didn’t respond. The last thing she wanted was to have a conversation about how much her very best friends disapproved of her husband. There were subtle signs, since the day she introduced him to Jenna, Steph and Lissy. How could the same man make her feel so loved and her friends feel so uneasy? Oh God! What if he comes home to her and she isn’t there? What if he doesn’t remember this is the week she spends with her friends? What if Charles mistakes her absence for an intentional response to his abrupt departure? What if he’s sorry?

Jenna pulled down the dirt road leading to Aunt Ida’s. She could sense the apprehension from Ellie and instinctively knew what her best friend of twenty years was thinking. “El, stop “what if-ing". Let’s just enjoy being here, together, with our friends. You know that porch swing is calling your name.” 

The car wasn’t quite yet in park when Steph and Lissy nearly fell over one another running down the steps to the dirt drive to greet their friends. Lissy yanked open the passenger side door and tugged on Ellie’s sleeve. “Come on, hurry, we just made a pitcher of Sangria and an enormous tray of nachos.”

Ellie wanted to crawl back into the car and lock the doors. Instead, she feigned a smile and allowed Lissy to take her arm and lead her into the house. The windows were propped open creating a delightful cross breeze throughout. She could smell the lilacs that grow wild along the little white picket fence under the kitchen window, mingling with the distinct scent of toasted tortilla chips, customary and comforting. Ellie sat at the table and poured herself a generous glass of the freshly concocted Sangria. She knew she had to immediately clear the strangely aromatic air if there was any hope for a peaceful week. “Charles left me.” 

Lissy choked on her Sangria, spitting a bit back into her glass. She shot a curious look to Steph who stood against the sink, wide-eyed and waiting for someone to cut through the obvious tension; no one did. The awkward silence spoke volumes to Ellie who took pity on her friends and continued. “I'm acutely aware that you are not fans of my husband, but I was, I mean I am. So, please, do me and everyone here a favor and get your thoughts out now so we can move on with our week.” Her voice was peppered with anger, sadness and a considerable serving of bitterness. The three people who knew her best found themselves at a loss for words. Should they tell her the truth, knowing fair well it will cut deep and hurt like hell; or comfort her with platitudes and sympathies? 

Fueled by loyalty and responsibility, Lissy sat across from Ellie and began to explain through tear-filled eyes. “Honey, Charles was, um, is not the man you think he is. The reason we could never truly support your marriage is because, well, oh, God, this is so hard, um, he pursued me while you two were dating, and continued to do so even after you were married. I promise you; I never returned the attention, and I did try and tell you many times, but you wouldn’t listen. Ellie, I think you knew, deep down, you knew. He was your addiction, your rush, your validation and nothing we could say or do was convincing you to stop making the same mistake over and again. It was torture to see you in such a toxic situation for the past three years. He was a bad habit you couldn’t quit. Charles leaving is a Godsend, believe me. Ellie, I am so sorry.” 

Ellie knew Lissy wasn’t lying, or even embellishing in the slightest. She sat for a moment, still and silent, finally filling her glass nearly to the rim with Sangria and walking out onto the porch. She grabbed a faded and threadbare Pendleton from the back of the swing and carried it with her down to the willows near the lake. Ellie balanced her glass on the ground and spread the old blanket under the umbrella of dripping branches. Spring, what a beautiful season, she thought. The perfect season for new beginnings. Ellie finished her glass of Sangria in three long sips, then lay back on the scratchy Pendleton, gazing straight up into the blooming canopy. 

Years of growth concealed the majority of their collective creations. Every year, another one of Steph’s wild ideas was brought to life right there on Aunt Ida’s kitchen table. The first summer, they made their inaugural wind chime from empty glass soda bottles. Ten years later, they revisited the same idea using wine bottles instead. There was a chime made from random pieces of old silverware, and one from painted wooden spoons. Ellie remembered the one from scratched CD’s, and another crafted out of dried-up nail polish. Her favorite though, the buttons. Hundreds of mismatched buttons threaded together made for the most colorful art piece of all, even if the sound they cast was nothing more than an odd series of barely audible clicks. Ellie figured it provided a metronome-like backbeat for their eclectic wind-fueled orchestra.

She raised her hands and swept them to each side, as any good conductor would. The wind took her cue and as with every classically trained ensemble, each instrument sounded in perfect unison. The weeping willow reeds swayed like the grass skirt on a hula girl's hips while the chimes played in concert. They whispered, and Ellie listened. She wanted to stay, yes, she’d ask Steph if she could stay where her heart would heal, under the willows, listening to the wind. The next chapter of her life could very well be a wild ride.