The Gift

A shrill brring from the telephone broke into the normal Saturday ambience as the woman was taking the washing through to the laundry room. It was her custom to do this on a Saturday morning and then change the sheets on the bed followed by the vacuuming. Then, checking the pantry and fridge, she would make the shopping list. She did these chores with an air of resignation, lately wondering if it would make a difference if they did not get done at all. The man was outside fiddling about with the lawnmower or was it the strimmer or did it matter. He tackled things differently, preferring to bury his head in mechanical issues, not pausing to think about the past.

           Brring Brring, the telephone was insistent. “Hello” said the woman,

” I see, of course, we’ll be right there”.

She forgets the washing, forgets the vacuuming, forgets everything that needs to be done. For a moment, nothing matters but that phone call. The man wanders in to the kitchen; a grease smeared arm out towards the refrigerator, looking to see what is left at the end of the shopping week. The manual labour had made him hungry. The woman is standing still; she hears him come in and turns towards him,

“the other place didn’t work out, they want to see us”, she cries. He hears the energy in her voice, the pitch is higher, and the words tumble out of her mouth like an advancing avalanche gathering momentum. He knows this is no time to joke around, he grabs the car keys and a jacket and they leave the house.

           The drive up there takes years, a millennia, eons, although only forty five minutes have registered on the clock. The woman’s hands wring. Her neck wrinkling as she folds her head around to inspect the rear of the car, already thinking about how they will manage. There is a new car coming but now the timetable has been moved forward. It starts to rain, large bulbous explosions were impending their vision but this had no effect on the single thought running through the woman’s head; it’s running through the man’s head too. He takes his eyes off the road for a minute and she catches the glance. Apprehension reflects back at him. They had been happy before, a real family. There had been a reason to hurry home from work and a purpose to the weekends until that one day it was all taken away from them.

           Suddenly it was there, the road marker they were looking for. A gleaming behemoth, neon stripping across the top, farm encrusted vehicles lined up at the front.

 “It is behind the service station”, she says and he turns the car in. They find a parking space right at the entrance. Just for a second, time freezes and they sit there in anticipation and trepidation, locked in place by the knowledge that the world, their world, could be about to realign itself, put to rights what had been missing. If they were the sort who worshipped on a Sunday , they might say the almighty had provided or if of a more celestial bent, that the stars had aligned, but they were neither of these and were simply appreciative of the opportunity life’s random nature had produced.

           The centre’s doors swooshed open and the man followed the woman in. Immediately their entry is noted and the woman starts to explain their presence to the observer. Again her words are bubbling out but stop mid stream, diverted by what she could see beyond the counter and what lay in wait. The man too, could see beyond, beyond the counter, beyond the confines of these walls and into the future. He could see a home instead of a house, a life instead of an existence.

           There is paperwork to be done, always bureaucracy, name, address, that sort of thing and then it is done. But they are not in the clear yet, the man and woman can go home but alone this day. The journey back is slower still, they have come so far, what have they done, will it be alright? They know now they could not continue on as it was, it was time to move forward.

           The days stretch out, each new phone call a possibility of hope until finally the call comes, followed by a visit. The man and woman are calmly confident, they have done the work, what could go wrong. More waiting, they are so close now, the woman goes to work. Although she wants time to be on hold, to wait cocooned in a cloud of expectation, she knows life must intercede. Reports, enquiries, phone calls try to take over her day but always, beating softly in the background is the thought, when, when, when. The man waits at home, no commercial rules for him to abide by, but instead the daily search for them to envelop him again, for he has been a victim of the times.

           Line one for you, her colleague shouts. It is the call, she silently hopes, it must be the call. It is. Suddenly the sun is shinning brighter, the glare no longer bothers but enhances, conversations are light and airy, kindness and understanding poured into them as how could they be as happy as she. Reports run off at speed, and the woman races home. The man is ready, he has checked the petrol, the car is prepared, home chores dispensed with and together they leave. As the car zooms along the highway, the wind seems to push them on; the trees bend away from the road, the bushes wave at them as they go. Before long the car makes the now familiar turn. The building opens its electronic arms to them, and their peripheral sight is gone, all focus on one spot beyond.

It is empty.

A hundred emotions race through their very being but deep down the man and woman know it is okay and it is. She is brought out, looking excited but also a little unsure, she has been through a tumultuous time, been moved from place to place, her very survival threatened and had many experiences not usual or commonplace for one so young.

The man and woman approach and her demeanor lifts, as if to say this time it will be for keeps .Dropping to their knees, they both show the start of their devotion and service to her which will last her lifetime and remain as a memory of theirs.

“Come on then girl”, says the man, as he lifts their precious new black Labrador into the car, “lets go home”.