Gone With the Wind

Gone with the Wind

    “C’mon, boys, let’s go out for our walk,” Maggie called to her two large yellow labs as she grabbed the leashes hanging from hooks on the wall of the garage. Libby and Tucker came bounding at her eagerly, grunting and snorting, anticipating the freedom of exploring beyond the confines of their yard; glorious new smells, snow drifts to conquer, dead grass mounds and shrubbery on which to lift a leg or squat, thereby marking the territory as their own. The articulation of the simple four-letter word, “walk”, as well as the presentation of the leashes, immediately set both canines to quivering excitedly.

    As Maggie opened the door leading out of the massive shop, they were cruelly greeted by a fierce blast of Arctic air, to call it ‘cold’ was a severe understatement. After a few steps into the squall, both dogs squinted their eyes, shook their heads from side-to-side, and turned away, attempting to ward off the frigid assault. Maggie had dressed for the bone-chilling trek: several layers of clothing, snow pants, heavy winter coat, clunky boots, thick woolen mittens, toque, and scarf, wrapped around her head, leaving only a narrow peephole for her eyes to peak out. Despite her thorough covering, the aggressive northeaster caused her eyes to water within seconds of its powerful attack. The harsh wind had been blowing incessantly and relentlessly for the past three days, preventing the trio from completing their routine daily jaunt down the gravel road which passed by their home.

    “Sorry, guys, I know it’s brutal, but we all need a bit of fresh air and some exercise. We’re getting lazy sitting inside. We’ll make it a short one today, and make up for it when this nasty wind stops.”

    As they trudged through the deep snow leading out of their yard, a noisy old pick-up truck came driving slowly along the rural road in front of their property, which also led to the local landfill. Normally this byway was not traveled by many, but four days a week, when the rusty gate at the dump was unlatched and thrown open to allow admittance, all manners of vehicles passed by, loaded with items discarded by their owners. The ditches along the edge of the road were often scattered with odds and ends that escaped their transport, thus not successfully arriving at their intended destination.

    Maggie yanked on the leashes to halt the dogs and commanded them to ‘sit’, thus preventing them from attempting to chase the truck passing on the road. As the rusty green 70s-something pickup clunked slowly by, the gusty wind snatched a creased and folded yellow paper from the trash loaded in the back of the dinted truck box. Spiraling and fluttering on the wings of the glacial torrent, the leaf was carried alongside the vehicle for a few moments, then briefly deposited in the middle of the road. Maggie surged forward two steps, attempting to tromp on the sheaf with her clumsy boots.

    “Crap, just missed it!” The paper was lofted high into the air, then released just beyond Maggie’s reach. From her vantage point, she could detect a fully-filled written document, apparently ripped from a standard yellow legal pad.  She bent over to retrieve the paper, pondering what its contents could possibly reveal. A long lost love letter, full of romantic innuendoes and expressions of a secret love revealed and unrequited? The drafting of a last will and testament? A plea for help from a feeble and sickly old relative, trapped in the confines of a deep dark dungeon by a demented family caregiver? An aspiring author, Maggie’s imagination ran wild, sparked into action with the endless possibilities presented; she was perpetually on the hunt for plots and storylines to whet her literary appetite.

    As she bent to retrieve the paper, the wind once again successfully met its mark, reaching under a folded corner of the paper, lifting it up, and suspending it high over Maggie’s head. She jumped up wildly and snatched, as it swirled just out of reach, teasing and taunting her. Libby and Tucker were excited by her enthusiastic burst forward. The paper flew sideways, resting in the deep snowdrift in the ditch at the side of the road. Maggie released the dogs from their leashes to let them run free, as well as providing her more momentum to capture her prize. As she took a few steps forward, she sunk to her knees in the deep snow; once again the cruel windy goddess reared her ugly head, clutching at the paper and advancing its journey only a few steps forward.

     “Damn, missed it again, you bugger!” Maggie tried to free herself from the deep snow, losing one boot in the process. She sat in the snow and reached down to retrieve the boot, always keeping a close eye on the path of the elusive paper. The tormenting of the windy flurry served to fuel her determination to exponential heights.

    “Uggh, where did it go now?” After scanning the road ahead, she spotted the paper lodged in a stand of dead shrubbery. “Oh, thank you,” she tiredly declared to no one, in particular, clumsily navigating the drifted and icy snow in front of her. Finally the fierce tempestuous windy foe could not bar her way, nor renew her whisking theft of the ‘air mail’ communication. Maggie grabbed at the epistle, freeing it from the twisted branches. She decided she would wait to get back to the comfort and heat of her home to peruse the contents of her well-earned catch.

    “Okay, guys, time to turn back. I can’t feel my fingers and I think my eyeballs are frozen.” Maggie watched through her frost-encrusted lashes to ensure the dogs were following her, then quickly navigated the return pathway to their yard, clasping the paper tightly in her gloved, but frozen hands. Previously the howling wind had been at their backs; on the return journey they had to face the demonic force head-on, slowing their progress and causing them to plow forward, heads bent, slowly shuffling onward. Every few steps forward the lusty gusts dominated by slowing the travellers’ steps, at times throwing them backwards.

    At last they made it successfully back to the warm shop. A blur of yellow fur and wagging tails ran eagerly to a large wooden cupboard, “You definitely deserve a reward after that trip!” Libby, being the proper lady she was, opened her mouth daintily to accept the offered treat; Tucker, as was his manner, snapped his powerful jaws greedily, narrowly missing Maggie’s fingers. Maggie left the dogs comfortably lying on their blankets, content to be back in the warmth after the frigid walk.

    She ventured out the shop door, once again being met by the bitter burst of wind, snow swirling around wildly on the path from the garage to the house. Her face and fingers were still numb from the journey, but soon she knew she would be snuggled into a cozy blanket, hands soothingly wrapped around a chunky mug of hot cinnamon-spicy tea. Only then would she allow herself to peruse the contents of the papers the fierce wind had begrudgingly delivered to her.

                                                                      *****

           September 21, 1989

           My beloved Annie,

I can’t believe it has already been three months since you have been gone. Three long months since I have felt your sweet touch, heard your spontaneous laughter, and watched you tenderly caring for your abundance of cherished plants and flowers in our yard, as the gentle breeze wafted through your golden hair. The searing ache your absence has left in my heart refuses to subside in any way. Friends tell me it will become easier over time, the sorrow will fade, and perhaps this is true for some people, but at this point I just can’t accept that. You were my rock, my partner in every way, my best friend.

                                               I love you with all my heart, and miss you,

                                               Roy

           December 16, 1989

           My love,

Six months that I have been on my own without you. WHY, WHY, WHY??!! Why my sweet Annie? Was this a cruel joke the powers- that- be thought to play? We were always kind and thoughtful to others-volunteered in the community, helped out when we could, we led a meaningful life together-always together; is this the thanks we get? There are really wicked people in this world, never caring for others, leaving a wake of crime and suffering behind them. Why are they allowed to go on with their pathetic wasted lives when my queen was so tragically ripped from mine? It’s just not fair! WHY?

                                               Forever in my heart,

                                              Roy

           February 28, 1990

           My darling Annie,

Tonight the wind is howling through the trees. You were always so afraid when the wind roared so fiercely, tearing branches from the trees and littering the yard with ripped apart debris. I am so painfully lonely without your company. I go about my daily tasks like a robot, mechanical and mundane. When I return home I sit by myself and the emptiness consumes me, sorrow tearing me apart-a massive hole left in my heart. I eat because I have to, recalling the joyful times we spent together in the kitchen, working companionably to prepare delectable fare, each doing our share, then sitting down together to savor the meal. Now I just don’t care anymore-a methodical bite, chew, swallow, repeat. ‘They’ say time heals all wounds-this one is too deep- I call BULLSHIT!! (Forgive me, I know you didn’t like it when I swore, but there is no other way to describe this!)

                                   Your loving husband forever,

                                   Roy

June 16, 1990

Queen Annie,

You were…no, you ARE the Queen and my realm misses you. (How’s that for poetic reflection? You didn’t know I had it in me, did you?) Tonight I am feeling at peace. I threw open the windows to let in the cool breeze to ‘blow out the stink’, as you used to say. I have made an important, life-changing decision. I can no longer handle this solitary existence. I have no purpose, nothing brings me joy, and I have no desire whatsoever to be in the company of others. I would like to say I have tried to claw my way out of this heart-wrenching abyss, but honestly, I have no desire. All I want is to see you again, to be with you forever. Perhaps you will be disappointed and call me a coward for giving up, but I can no longer survive without my best friend. Right now outside the window, the robins are singing sweetly, white butterflies flitting across the lawn, and the sun is sinking in the west…are you sending me this sign of acceptance? Soon the gentle current will be cradling me in its sweet embrace, wafting me to float over them all to reunite with you, my love.

                                                           *****

    In the days following the blustery delivery of this heart-wrenching missive, Maggie sought to discover more details surrounding the tragic story of Roy and Annie. Who were they? What had happened to Annie? Where had they lived? Did they have family? How had the letters ended up blowing in the wind on that cold March afternoon?

    Unexpectedly, it had been a fairly simple quest, one that didn’t take her too far from home. Maggie resided in a small rural town, which boasted a local coffee shop, where the over-sixty crowd gathered for their morning coffee and daily dose of ‘news’, or more aptly put-gossip.

    “Good morning,” Maggie approached the crowd, tables had been pushed together to accommodate the large group, mostly because many of them were hard of hearing. “Do any of you know who drives an old green pick-up truck, probably from the 70s or so? We saw it go by our place on the edge of town going out to the dump.”

    “Oh sure, that is old Zeke Winter’s rig. Why are you asking?” Maggie recognized Kenny Dow immediately. Although she and her husband, Jake, did not frequent the café too often, all the residents of town were aware that he was the biggest loud-mouth know-it-all in town, and was probably drooling over the idea of being the first to acquire new material for the morning dialogue. Maggie had anticipated the inquiry, and was prepared with a response, “My husband Jake used to own a truck just like it and wanted to connect with him. Can you tell me where he lives?”

    This motley crew did not know the significance these days of ‘privacy’, nor respecting it, so the information was fired at her freely, each participant adding extra tidbits to the directions, “It’s on Campbell Street”, “Second house on the left”, “Light blue with white trim”, “Where Gene’s grandpa’s cousin used to live.”

    Maggie went home and picked up Jake to accompany her to Zeke Winter’s home, partly to have an accomplice, but also to validate the ‘ruse’ she had fabricated to appease the nosy “Nellies” in the coffee shop.

    After listening to Maggie’s story, and hearing all of her quandaries, Bea began her narrative, “We bought this house in ’92 from a guy out west. His brother, Roy, and his wife Annie had lived here. The brothers were estranged, so there was no personal connection, which was very sad. We were just starting out, so we were thrilled when we were offered the house fully furnished. A lot of other items were left behind, which we just kind of moved out to the shed, to deal with at a later date. We are habitual procrastinators, with a bit of a ‘hoarder’ tendency…”

    “A ‘bit’?? And it is NOT ‘we’, how about just ‘you’?” interjected Zeke, an impish grin spreading across his face, and an affectionate pat landing lightly on Bea’s arm.

    “Okay, dear, you know me too well. Anyway, we have finally gotten to it after twenty-some-odd years. We kept a few old photos and other treasures, in the unlikely chance someone may come looking for them, but a lot of boxes full of papers and other stuff went to the landfill. We honestly did not pay a lot of attention to what was in them.”

    “I don’t want to pry too much, but what exactly happened to them both? Do you know?” questioned Maggie.

    “So so sad,” continued Bea sullenly,  “Annie was only 52 years old. She died in her sleep, brain aneurysm. She was gone immediately, Roy did not even have the chance to say goodbye. From what we heard, they were so in love-inseparable, and Roy was never able to overcome his intense grief. Rumor has it he died of a broken heart, only a year after Annie’s passing. They found him reclining tranquilly in his chair, a peaceful smile on his face. Numerous tests were done on his body and they could never find medical proof of the cause of death. Gone at 56, two years younger than my Zeke. Another sad part of the story, aside from Roy’s indifferent brother, there was nobody remaining to mourn the loss; no children and Annie was an only child.”

    Thinking back, Maggie was confident that karma had accompanied her on that blustery March afternoon. Successfully achieving the quest to retrieve the evasive letter, heisting it from the mischievous gale. Discovering the poignant details of Roy and Annie’s grievous and untimely passing. Maggie and Jake had made a familial-like connection to Zeke and his wife Bea, spending countless hours visiting, sharing companionable evenings dining together and meeting amicably for some friendly competition over a deck of cards. 

…and Maggie, the writer, had an exciting new project on the go. She had acquired a veritable wealth of material on which to scribble away and produce a memorial to Roy and Annie’s love and devotion, a timeless tribute. When the memoir was complete, the dedication would naturally include Aurai, nymphs of the breeze.