I Am Glad I've Moved On

I don’t know how I got here and I don’t know how I’m getting back. Am I going back? It’s a strange predicament I seem to be in and I’m not sure quite what to do. I don’t really know where I am but things seem vaguely familiar in a way.

I see an overweight elderly lady, rather ‘well to do’ by the look of it. “Excuse me” I begin and she ignores me. “Hello” I repeat louder this time. But there’s no reply. Not even a look towards me. She must have heard me as I’m not very far away. I’m not used to being ignored. I’ll try this lad carrying his skateboard. He has one of those awful metal rings through his nose and a few tattoos on his arms. His earphones won’t hinder his hearing as they are draped around his neck – a semi-permanent adornment for many of the young. “Hi there” I say as I race to catch up with his long strides. “Can you kindly tell me the name of this place? I think I’m lost”. He totally ignores me too as he throws down his skateboard, jumps on and races off. “Well how rude” I call out after him “Typical youth of today”!

I’m not sure what to do. I feel disorientated and very confused. People are walking along the path in front of me, talking to each other but not even noticing me.

An old wooden bench looks inviting so I wander over and sit myself down. Rummaging through my bag I find a couple of squares of chocolate, obviously not completely wrapped up as with my first bite I crunch down on sand. ‘Oh well, better than nothing when you’re hungry’ I think.

It’s a lovely morning, with a bright sun high in the sky. ‘I wish I could enjoy it’ I say to myself out loud. I sit back against the seat and as I start looking in my bag for any other morsels of food I may have left in there, an old man plonks himself down beside me. He’s a bit close for my liking so I shift over so that our legs aren’t touching any more. ‘How could he have not known he was that close?’ I wonder, as I ask him what the name of the street that we are in. He doesn’t seem to hear me either. Now I am starting to feel really scared and overwhelmed with anxiety. I decide to poke him in his ribs just in case he is completely deaf. I jab him slightly at first but as this has no effect I give his side a really forceful poke. Nothing happens. He doesn’t even turn his head to look at me or more to the point, poke me back. I hit him on the back of his head with my bag and yell at the same time. “What is wrong with you? Look at me and say something. I’m here next to you so turn around”.

The gravity of the situation hits me suddenly and I have the same feeling that I used to have after waking from a nightmare – I was all alone even though my friends were next to me and my family were surrounding me but their faces looked angry and contorted. I would scream and shout in my sleep for them all to see me but they couldn’t, and I would wake up shaking and sweating. This is how I was feeling now, completely alone and scared.

Getting off the bench I start to walk away from the park and towards what seems to be the centre of town. There are quite a few people around and some children walking to school, the girls with newly plaited hair and the boys with shirts already hanging out, flicking the girls on their legs with school caps or anything that was likely to sting.

I feel dazed. I wonder if I died and this is heaven. But if it is heaven, why is no one talking to me?

Maybe nobody can see or hear me. That is the only explanation. But I don’t know why? What have I done to deserve this? But more importantly ‘where am I?’

I walk into a delicatessen and stand aside. There doesn’t seem much point in trying to get anyone’s attention. The realization has hit me that I am really invisible. I can feel myself shaking and my chest feels tight. ‘Deep breaths’ I tell myself.

Two school girls walk into the shop. I think I recognise the shorter one with the dark hair. Her round face and green eyes look familiar. I keep staring at her, to try and remember where I have seen her before.

“How is your grandma doing after her fall Teresa?’” the shop keeper enquires as the girl is choosing her lollies.

I then realise where I have seen the girl before. She is my granddaughter. She belongs to my own daughter. She is my kin; my flesh and blood is standing at the counter choosing those sugar laden sweets. I told when I last saw her that her skin looked terrible. She looks quite grown up, and much taller.

“Hello Teresa” I call as I rush over to her. But it’s no good. I can see and hear all but nobody can see or hear me.

“Oh she’s ok I think. I’m not too sure”. Mum says it would have been better if she’d have gone really. She never bothers with us anymore. “What died?” asked the man behind the counter, wide eyed at the thought of someone thinking that way about their mother. “Surely you would miss your Gran?” the man persisted. “Not really. Gran is so miserable. All she does is moan about everyone and criticise everything we do for her. I can’t remember her being any different.  But she’s still here, although from what the Doctors say, not for too much longer. Thanks for getting the sherbet lollies in again. See you Mr. Roberts”. And the two girls left the shop.

“Is she that bad Teresa? I know you don’t see her but she is after all your Grandma” asked her friend stuffing lollies into her mouth so they were finished before reaching the school gate. “She was never easy to get on with. Would you like a Gran who never thought you looked nice in whatever you wore? You wouldn’t Claire. I didn’t either. I used to wear one outfit when I visited her because I knew she couldn’t criticise it too much and then I took off the long skirt I was wearing on top of my jeans when I left her place to go elsewhere. She hated to see girls in jeans. But she was so rude about it.  I know it seems very sad that no one in the family looked forward to visiting her and it got to the stage where we didn’t even tell her about some of the family gatherings. The whole dynamics changed when Gran was with us. It went from relaxed and fun to tense. And then Mum and her had a big argument and Gran wanted Mum to apologise, but because she wouldn’t, she didn’t want to see us. Mum hasn’t really since her in years. Come on get off the seat or we’ll be late”.

Back in the Deli Fred the owner was still surprised at what he had been told by Mrs. Singer’s seventeen year old grand-daughter. “Did you hear what that young lady said about her Gran?” Mr. Roberts asked his portly wife as she came through the curtain from the back of the shop with a tray of ready-made rolls.

“It’s quite true Fred. Old Mrs Singer used to play bridge with us sometimes and I have never heard such a whinger. Nothing was good enough for her. I used to feel sorry for her children, and the partners. She made their lives miserable. When they did tell her what they thought, she would ignore them and never get in touch. That sounds good in theory but it was her children and grandchildren that she was spiting.  I think Mr Singer willed himself to pass away when he was diagnosed with cancer. All his wife did was carry on about taking care of him and losing her freedom. The poor old man was such a gentle soul.

Mrs Singer couldn’t believe what she had heard.

Surely that wasn’t me they were talking about? I was so good to Jack. I mean I did on occasion get fed up spending my whole day in the house and hearing that hand bell ring because he needed attention! I had a life too! That man didn’t realise just how good he had it! And as for Teresa - she always was a little Madame, and her mother, own daughter, wanting me gone. It’s unbelievable. I gave everything to her. I know I could be a little ‘prickly’ at times but can’t everyone? How ungrateful can a person be?

Mrs Singer quickly left the deli, and as she wandered down the main street, she caught sight of her granddaughter and her friend again. They were just getting up from the bus stop bench after eating their stash of goodies. Tutting to herself about the amount of ‘rubbish’ young people ate she followed close behind them. As they neared the gate, Mrs Singer glanced up to see her oldest daughter Dawn walking up the stairs to the main entrance of the school. “Hello Mrs Lane” one of the school children called out “Good morning Harry. I hope your arm is getting better. Now hurry along or you will be late for class”. With that Dawn walked into her classroom to start the day.

‘Oh yes of course, this must be where Dawn teaches. I hardly recognised her, she’s lost weight. But she needed to”.  Mrs Singer sat down on the school steps, and a shiver went through her as her legs touched the cold stone. She thought back to the last time she had actually seen her daughter Dawn and realised that it had been over three years. ‘Oh dear has it been that long?  Mind you it wasn’t my fault we had that argument. If a grandmother can’t have her own opinion about how obnoxious her grandchildren’s behaviour is then what’s the point of being one then? Dawn didn’t have to take offence. And as for that no good lazy husband of hers who could never hold down a job, let alone provide for his family, he needed to be told a few home truths.  Why must everyone be so hard to get along with?

Mrs. Singer looked around. A bright orange school bus was pulling up at the front of the building; the doors opened and out bounded noisy and lively children. It was going to be a normal day for so many people, but not for her. She didn’t quite know what she was supposed to do. ‘Surely I’m not supposed to just wander around all day long? I can’t talk to anyone and no one can see me. There has to be a reason, but I don’t understand why I’m here’.

She felt very tired and needed to put her head on something, and even though the steps were hard and rough, sleep took over and a feeling of nothingness enveloped her. She felt as if she was floating above the clouds, light in both body and mind. As she opened her eyes she was no longer on the ground, still unseen and unheard but high above, looking down.

“I am so very sorry Dawn about your mother. Was it sudden? Here sit down and take some deep breaths. Of course you must go home immediately. You must be devastated”. The Principal put his arm around Dawn in a kind manner for a few seconds and then sat down next to her. He was thinking that Dawn must be in shock as there were no tears.

“I really don’t need to go home Giles” Dawn said to the Principal. He looked at her in surprise with an ‘it’s just the shock of it all’ look. “Of course you think that Dawn, I did too when as a teacher my Principal walked into my classroom to tell me the bad news that my Dad had been in an accident and died at the scene, but when I arrived home, was when the realisation of the situation really hit me. I remember thinking that I would never see my Dad again”.

“Giles” Dawn said calmly, “You may have had a wonderful father and I can understand you feeling that way, but I had a very controlling and manipulative mother. I’m not sorry that she has gone and I don’t mind the notion that I will never see my mother again”, and with that Dawn sat down in the chair. She looked out of the window wistfully at the beautiful leafy trees. “I can’t even say that my mother did her best for us all – she didn’t. She did the best for herself and if we didn’t fit in, it was just bad luck. My poor dad was hen pecked throughout his marriage and when he passed away he had a big smile on his face!” Dawn drew in a deep breath sucking in enough air to carry on. “ I think my mother’s friends were that because they were afraid of ‘not being her friend’. The ones who saw through my mother and got the hell away from her were the clever ones. Of course she never spoke to them again, but lucky them. Don’t get me wrong Giles, I do feel sad, but it’s for what could have been, not what I’ve lost. I should have had a warm and loving relationship with my Mother, but I didn’t, and for that I do feel a bit gloomy. You know what; I think I will go home. I feel tired now. I’ll take Teresa with me and we can watch a good fun movie and eat some chocolate. That’ll cheer us up.

High above the clouds floated the soul of a very disappointed old lady, knowing now why she had been sent here. She had heard the truth about what people thought about her and realised that it was all too late to make amends. But did she even want to?