Ray’s Call

Ray found his finger twirling the telephone wire, while he listened.
‘Did you hear me, Ray? It could be different this time.’

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It was halfway through the lockdown, all alone in his apartment in the south side of the city, on day 14, when Ray decided as soon as things returned to normal, he would go back. When he said as much on the phone to Lenore, she’d asked him when things had ever been ‘normal’ between them.
He didn’t reply, but he imagined she was holding her hand in front of her, palm facing inwards, so she could see the scars on the inside of her arm. Thin strips of damaged skin making three red circles in a line. Like bullet holes. The recollection made him uncomfortable and his call seemed like a stupid idea. He left it at that and didn’t say anything about it for the rest of the conversation.
Then less than a week before the government announced that the lockdown was over, she called back to ask him, ‘When you last said about moving back here, were you serious?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. He’d been serious about it. But he’d been having doubts since then.
‘You changed your mind?’
‘You know how something seems like a good idea at the time?’ He hesitated just a bit before saying, ‘If this is gonna work, it’s gonna depend on you.’
‘On me? And not on you, Ray?’
He didn’t utter the first thing that came to mind. Maybe he could have put it differently. Did she realize that for things to be different, it would take more on her part, without him having to put it any plainer? She was silent. He waited. He was trying to recall if it had been her right or left hand with the cigarette burns.
‘Ray?’
‘Yeah?’
‘He’s gone. For good.’
Ray found his finger twirling the telephone wire, while he listened.
‘Did you hear me, Ray?’
‘I heard.’
‘It could be different this time. And you’re right. It would be really up to me.’
Ray got his finger out and looked at the orange telephone. Of all the colors.
‘Lenore-‘
‘Ray, he’s gone. I haven’t seen him in months. No calls, nothing.’
‘Are you healthy?’
He heard her take a deep breath, then her voiced changed,
‘I am keeping well.’
He knew her. He could tell when she was sincere. He also knew when she lied. Maybe she understood him too. That whenever he fell silent in the middle of a conversation, it was because something had made him uncomfortable.
‘Ray?’
‘Yeah Lenore?’
‘I’m fine. Did you hear me? Haven’t been ill or to hospital in a while. I’ve been teaching at a kinder-garden three days a week. Mondays through Wednesdays. When the lockdown’s over, I’m going back to work there.’
‘How long you been there?’
Silence.
‘Just a few weeks so far. But it’s a nice change. The kids are lovely.’
He nodded as if she could see his approval, though she was on the other side of town.  Kids. Yeah, lovely. His finger began twisting the circle of wires again.
‘We can meet for tea, one of these afternoons when you are off, when things are back to normal. You still at the dispensary?’
‘Yes I am. Just completed twelve years, can you beat that?’
‘Wow!’
‘Tea sounds good.’
‘One of these days, Ray. Once the lockdown is over.’
He put the phone down.
photo from Unsplash.com by Annie Spratt

Bride and Groom

He just couldn’t believe that he was sitting here today. Actually present at his own wedding.

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The wedding had ended and the hustle and bustle was mostly over. The couple sat quietly by the window, watching the snaking river outside the window, as it carried wild ducks and dry vegetation downstream. A few dark clouds in the distance couldn’t prevent strong sunshine warming up the grounds and the room they were in. In the hallway and dining area, laughter mingling with voices indicated that the guests, mostly family, were setting the table and probably had started with drinks.
The bride’s face was lit by the brightness at the window and she looked calm. Her long-sleeved dress hid the scars of the cuts she’d suffered, on the inside of both her arms. It reminded her of the places she’d been to before arriving here: The nightmare eleven months overseas. The baby. The embassy. What it took to get through to the right people eventually. Returning to your own country is supposed to be easy and the natural thing to do, but that wasn’t her experience. She pulled the sleeves of her dress forward, grateful to be seated there that afternoon.
He took off his glasses and wiped them with his handkerchief. It was a specially monogrammed gift he’d received from his mother for the wedding. He squinted, allowing his face to feel the warm layers of sunlight in the silence. Behind him, outside, he could hear the voice of his uncle, as clear and eloquent as ever, making an impromptu speech. She was next to him, their thighs were touching, he could smell her perfume. A Moroccan scent from Body Shop. He’d forgotten the exact name, but it was exotic.
The funny thing, the thing he felt grateful for, was that his heart was beating normally. He didn’t feel any anxiety. Unlike what he’d experienced five years earlier, when an allergic reaction to his medication had triggered off panic attacks. Unable to leave home, wondering if he’d lose his job if he remained afraid to drive or visit clients. For many months, he’d gone to work in fear, afraid panic attacks would take place anytime. Which they did. Eventually, things improved. The internet had helped. He found advice, certain blogs. Faith helped. But there had been no shortcuts. He just couldn’t believe that he was sitting here today. To be actually present at his own wedding when he didn’t even have the courage to step out of his house for some time.
A hand pressed against his. He turned to look at her and realized they’d both been silent for a long time, lost in their own musings. She wore a look that said that she was with him even if she didn’t understand or know his whole story. He put his glasses back on and gave her a look that he sincerely hoped would convey the same intention. The sound of the door opening was followed by voluminous noise flooding in from the hall outside.
‘Bride and Groom, come on! We’re all waiting for you at the table.’
photo from Unsplash.com by Suhel Nadaf