The Beast

I woke with the sunshine streaming through the window. I loved this time of year, late summer. All the flowers in my garden were in bloom. Butterflies and birds flitting about before their final journey to warmer climates. I stretched, threw on a robe and headed out to the back patio stopping only long enough to grab a cup of coffee and the coffee pot. I had put the automatic brewer on so the rich dark aroma could wake me each morning.

As I took a seat, I was startled by the shadow that crossed behind me. I turned around to find Fred standing there, holding his dark stained mug, thrusting it towards me.

“Coffee,” he said.

“Oh, Fred. You startled me. You know. Grocery stores do deliver. You don’t have to drink mine.”

He reached into a bag, producing a newly, unopened can. I smiled. It wasn’t the coffee he wanted. He wanted the company. I stared at his broad shoulders, his narrow waist, his dark long silky coat, his clawed feet and thought, what a beast. He was well over six foot tall, towering over my own five feet, hundred-pound stature. And when he spread his wings…his wonderful, beautiful, purple-colored wings, I knew my world would become all my mind could ever conjure up. He turned up one day, shortly after Wilber passed away. 

Ahh, Wilber. Wilber’s family was from old money. They were richer than all the people in town put together. I was a farmer’s daughter. I delivered a few things like fresh eggs and milk to the back kitchen. One day Wilber happened to be there grabbing an early breakfast. Our eyes met and it was all over. Of course, his matriarch mother discouraged it. But Wilber found ways around to ensure my love for him forever. One night behind the barn was enough to know, money could never buy what he had to offer. His mother, who, herself had been in her forties when Wilber was born, looked me over to see if she thought I could produce the next heir to their large estate. Not wanting a scandal that was sure to follow as I was already pregnant with my daughter Margaret, she agreed. We had a quiet ceremony in the back garden, the very garden I was now sitting in.

At my 83 years old, I reflected on what was, not what is. Wilber was never able to go against his mother. Our daughter, Margaret was named after the old goat and my son, born just shy of a year later had the unfortunate name of Wilber Andrew the Fourth. I called them Maggie and Andrew. SHE called them Margaret and Wilber. Margaret’s personality didn’t fall far from the apple tree, and I’m not talking about mine. How her grandmother was able to create a clone of herself, one which I had often wondered if she shared any real DNA was a mystery to me. Thank God, people don’t live forever. My dear mother-in-law made it into her 90’s when she had an unfortunate accident, falling down the stairs. I was not there so, no, I didn’t push her. But my husband was.

Wilber and I had two glorious years together, before he too, took ill. It was during Wilber’s illness I became close friends with the gardener. He often held my hand as I cried at the injustice of it all. It was after Wilber’s death, that Fred showed his real self. I should have been scared, but I thought I had conjured him up in my grief. It didn’t take long for me to find out that there are ways to take the edge off loneliness. If he was my imagination, I wanted to stay there for eternity.

I heard car doors slam towards the front of the house. My face must have registered panic because Fred stood and headed to a large magnolia tree. He disappeared into flowered branches above. I marveled at his ability to make himself a part of the background. I knew he was there, but he appeared nearly invisible. I could still see his dark eyes, peering through the branches.

“Mother,” my daughter said as both children appeared. I don’t know why I call them children. They were, after all, in their late 60’s. Yes, I did say 60’s. You do the math. I was barely 16 when I gave birth to my first. That may have been one reason Wilber was allowed to marry me. On our marriage certificate, I was older. To this day, my children have no idea my age. Family money can make up all kinds of things.

“Maggie, Andrew,“ I said as I nodded my head towards the now vacant chairs in front of me.

“Margaret,” my daughter corrected. She hated to be called Maggie. I must admit, I did it to annoy her, my last bit of independence dripping through. My son smiled. He was his father’s son with a touch of me in there, enjoying goading his overbearing sister.

“We must talk. Andrew and I have concluded, we conclude, that you should no longer live here by yourself. I have investigated several small apartment complexes that have wonderful service, the service that you are accustomed to.” My son was shaking his head no when she couldn’t see his face. I smiled at him.

Knowing he was making faces, Maggie turned to glare at him. She said under her breath, “We had agreed! Stay with me.” He nodded his head obediently.

“I’m perfectly fine here,” I said, glancing at the magnolia tree behind her.

“I’m sorry to say, that due to your hallucinations, you are needing extra care.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.

I heard a flapping of wings. My son glanced towards the tree.

My daughter continued. “You seem to have conjured up imaginary friends. Big hairy friends that don’t exist.” She laid her hand on my arm as if trying to console an idiot that she was sure I was. I knew what she wanted. She wanted the big house, the pool, the guest house, the magnolia trees spread out through the grounds. I didn’t want her to have the gardener.

“It's just one friend,” I corrected her. “Just one big hairy beast.” I smiled. One beautiful, magnificent, incredible beast. The wings flapped again. I wondered if Fred could read my mind. My son glanced at the tree again.

“Mother,” he said hesitantly. “I think there’s a large bird of some sort in that tree.” I smiled.

My daughter took what I call a cleansing breath to prepare for the final attack. “Wilber,” she said in that voice I had heard so often in my younger years, “Pay attention, dear.” My mother-in-law lives! I felt a giggle escape. I needed to maintain control. If I continued in this unfortunate pattern, I would be locked up before nightfall.

The branches shook. Petals fell to the ground. A low growl came from the tree. I saw my son’s eyes grow large, his tan paled, his hands shook as he stared at the beast. He reached a hand to mine. My daughter was oblivious. She shook her head at poor old, demented me, needing help to the door of my home. My son stood, knocking over his chair, backing away from the table. Finally, Margaret turned to find…nothing. Nothing at all. She couldn’t see Fred. I wondered if it was because she had no imagination or was it because she had no warmth. Maybe it was because Fred didn’t want her to see him. Whatever the reason, Fred flew to the ground behind her, grabbing the back of her chair, then tossing her and chair threw the air. Andrew stood stock still, both horrified and amazed at the same time. There was just a hint of “wow” in that look. My daughter rolled, flew to her feet, spitted blades of grass through her teeth. “What sort of trick was that!” she said, demanding immediate obedience. Fred was not done. This time he picked her up, threw her across his back and took off towards the sky.

She called me from Florida later that day saying she was staying there for a while. She needed a long vacation. No further explanations. 

My son visited through the afternoon, drinking heavily. We all drank heavily. My son Andrew, my gardener Fred and myself. It was a lovely day.