Memory Lane

Memory Lane 

James gazed at the flames. His eyes wandered in and out of the fireplace, watching the logs giving off light and warmth before fading, turning into coal and ash. He knew it was melodramatic, but he couldn’t help thinking that, one day, he would be that pile of ash. 

The flames cast a warm light over the otherwise pitch-black room. The occasional crackling of the fire and the spark of warmth it sent off filled James with a sense of tranquillity he couldn’t get anywhere else these days. “Freaking winter,” he cursed under his breath while clutching his mug of tea tighter. Its heat was burning his palms, but his hands were so numb that James didn’t notice. Just the thought of getting back out of his armchair again to throw a couple more logs into the fire filled him with dread. He could already hear the crackling sound his back would make, and this made James shudder underneath his blanket so that he spilled some of his tea over his bare hands. He cursed again, this time without restraining himself, but he regretted it instantly and apologized. 

Luckily, there was no one there who would have to witness his attempt of getting out of his armchair, although thinking about it, this didn’t feel very comforting after all, so he let it go. In what felt like a monumental effort, James grabbed a pillow from the opposite armchair and placed it behind his lower back. A sigh of relief filled the room, as the pain in his lower back temporarily ceased to exist. He wiggled his toes to bring some life back into them and felt how they were caressed by the bear fur his slippers were made of. A bear that he indeed had chased down himself with a couple of friends on a hunting trip. That was a long time ago. He wasn’t in touch with any of them anymore and wondered what they were doing right now. Were they, like him, tucked in an armchair next to a fireplace? Some of them may even be dead by now, he thought. The thought made him feel uncomfortable and he was thankful when he heard the dog barking from the kitchen. “Bonnie, yuhu, come on in here, girl,” James said, trying to imitate the voice Mona had always put on when speaking to the dog, but after all those years, he still failed miserably. Bonnie trotted in, glancing at James suspiciously. He tried to not take it personal but couldn’t help feeling that the dog had never quite gotten used to him and now that she was all stuck with him, Bonnie seemed to like him even less. It would have been an overstatement to say that he was fond of the dog himself, but, these days, he didn’t mind a bit of company, especially when it got dark so early. There was nothing to do, besides sitting around and waiting, for what, James didn’t really know. At least, he still had work to look forward to, although that wasn’t quite the same anymore as 40 or even 20 years ago either. Many things have changed since then, his body included, and even though he has come to accept that change, he couldn’t help but feel a sharp sense of pain in his belly and up his throat every time he thought of the past, of how perfect it all seemed compared to where he was now. Granted, the winters had been just as cold as they were now, but he could deal with them better back then. Hell, he was even looking forward to getting up at 5AM every morning to get out in the cold and into the post office. James still liked going to work, that hadn’t changed, but now it was for different reasons. It was no longer so much about finding a sense of fulfilment than it was about having a plain routine that would prevent him from doing something stupid. Besides, there was the financial situation as well – he was still too young to retire and without any real education, James was stuck with this job to the bitter end. He had known that from the very beginning, back in his youth when he was still a strong and handsome guy, permeated by a sense of invincibility. That didn’t last too long though; in his third year working as a supplier at the local post office, he got reckless. He caught sight of Mona in the depot, filling out some lists, and, trying to get her attention, James acted all cool and casual. To catch her eye, he didn’t pay any attention to the loaded lifting carriage he was manoeuvring, which, as fate would have it, ended up going right over his foot. To this day, he still felt odd thinking about it all because he did get her attention after all. But he also got a limp that, to this day, never left him – and Mona eventually did. With a twitch, James regained consciousness – he must have dozed off, something that, lately, was happening more often. His hand felt all wet and sticky. Bonnie was lying next to the armchair, looking up as soon as she registered movement. “All right, doggie, let’s get you fed,” James said, and Bonnie looked at him with something that could have been affection. 

Back in the living room, James poured himself a whisky. His doctor had told him not to mix alcohol with his medication, but he felt that it took the edge off in a way that the pills on their own weren’t quite capable of anymore. With trembling hands, he lifted the curtain an inch to peek into the darkness. A thick layer of snow had gathered in front of his doorstep, and he prayed that, by some miracle, it wouldn’t be there anymore when he had to step out early the following morning. Deep inside, however, he knew that would never happen – he had stopped believing in miracles a long time ago. Not knowing what to do, James settled down in his armchair again, but not before taking a dusted box from the shelf with him. Back at his place, he took a deep swallow of the whisky and welcomed the stinging sensation in his throat. The fire hummed in the background, blurring the integrity between the logs and the ash. After a while, James pulled himself together and removed the lid from the box he had sworn he would never open again. He laughed at himself – he didn’t really know why he was doing what he was doing, but in his innermost, he realized that he would have always opened that box at some point. There were many more photographs in there than he remembered. Tears welled up in his eyes and he wiped them away, but it was no good. He hadn't cried in a long time, and, to his surprise, it felt good. There were pictures of him and Mona when they had just started going out, both of them glowing and full of life. He found his favourite picture, the one where he was goofing around with the camera – the technology was all new back then and he was still figuring out how to use it – when it accidentally went off. The image was so good because it wasn’t constructed at all, it was an actual depiction of how they felt in that moment, without any forced smiles or anything; James, questioningly looking at the camera, trying to figure out how to release the flashlight and Mona just laughing and glancing at him. To this day, James considered this to be the best photograph he had ever taken, even though, ironically, he didn’t know how to use a camera back then.  

A sense of pain intermingled with warmth arose within James when he got to the picture that showed him in hospital, his leg heavily bandaged, white as a sheet of parchment, but pretending to be O.K. for the camera. Next to the bed was Mona, holding his hand, not looking at the lens but at James instead. Even from the images alone, anybody could see how good-natured and caring she was. Eventually, James got to the pictures he dreaded the most, the ones that had made him want to burn the entire box at some point. It could have been a scene out of some cruel play, because all of a sudden, it wasn’t James anymore who was lying in a hospital bed. In the photos, he tried to look at ease or composed – he couldn’t remember what he was aiming for - but, considering her situation, he failed miserably. She just lay there, in her coma, and what triggered James the most was that there was nothing he could do to help her. The doctors told him that all he could do was pray and be there for her, even though no one could tell him for certain whether she could still sense what was happening around her. 

The day they told him they’d have to shut down the machine was the day he stopped believing in miracles. His cheeks were all wet and he wiped the photographs clean before taking out his favourite photo, laughing at its goofiness. James got off the armchair and, to his surprise, there was no pain. He laughed, a hearty laugh that he didn’t think he was still capable of, and, without hesitation, he displayed the photograph on the shelf and put the box away.