Author's note:
This story combines experiences from many different aspects of different people's lives. Many of the characters in the story are based on real people, but all names have been changed and locations anonymized. Its writing was prompted by listening to Gordon Lightfoot singing 'Home from the Forest', some of the lyrics from which are incorporated into the story. It brought to mind the poignancy of death and dying, of losing loved ones and the hypocrisy surrounding the death and waiting for God industries in this modern world, in which age is a reason for people to be thrown on the trash heap while the world goes on with more important things like making money.
While the story does not contain my usual level of eroticism, hopefully the reader will find the emotional content more than makes up for this lack. I trust that this story will bring more meaning to your life and the lives of your loved ones, especially those of an earlier generation who are so easy to forget.
The old man ate his lunch in silence, largely oblivious to the people surrounding him, as they were of him. Nowadays his life was very much lived in the past. Remembering all those joys and fears of his youth, the loves he loved and the loves he lost, recalling the names and faces as though it all happened only yesterday.
"Come along, dear," said the kindly voice in his ear, "Let's get you into the lounge where you can socialize with the others. Maybe you'd like a game of cards or something, do you think?"
Her name badge said she was 'Debra'. Funny, he thought, I always recalled Deborah as having an 'o' and an 'h' in it. How things change. He let her help him from his chair and leaned heavily on her arm which supported him as he limped on sore and stiffened joints to his favorite chair by the window in the lounge.
"Thank you, sweetheart," he sighed as he sank into the comfortable chair. "I think I'll just sit for a while; maybe have a game later on."
"That's fine. Now you be good and don't go running away anywhere," she chided jokingly.
He replied with a smile, gazing into the beautiful blue-green eyes that so reminded him of his Sylvie. Debra moved away to help others while he gazed out the window at the weak winter sunshine patterning the ground through the now naked branches of the trees. How appropriate, he thought, a winter scene for the winter of his life.
His mind drifted back to winters past, learning to ski, he and his wife, the first one, taking their new baby to the snow in a perambulator fitted with skis instead of wheels; how proud they had been of her, and of the two sons who followed. Proud until he returned home to a note saying it had all ended, 'Don't come looking for me'.
It had been an almost sexless marriage, completely frustrating, starting with high hopes and an emotion mistaken for love, and ending in acrimony and divorce. Best forgotten.
He moved on to the next stage of his life, the devastation of his entire being as he sought meaning from life after losing all those who mattered to him. He thought of the friend he made, alcohol, and how he could lose himself in his friend's company, meaning he didn't have to face life alone; didn't have to face a loveless, joyless existence; didn't have to face his loneliness, his loss, his failure, himself.
In his mind he moved to his savior, Sylvie. Every person on earth has someone who is there for them. Often they are a person who will challenge them, maybe even a person they consider a competitor or an enemy. Yet always that person is there for them. Sylvie was that person for him. Was it just coincidence that she and he were both at the same hostel? Was it just coincidence that she asked him to teach her to ride her motor bike when the person she had meant to ask wasn't there? Was it just coincidence that she sat by the winter fire knitting a jersey while he really had no warm winter wear? Was it just coincidence that she agreed to knit him a jersey but "it will cost you a night out"? Was it just coincidence that this night out became their first date?
Of course not.
They courted cautiously; news of amorous liaisons spread fast in the hostel. He was, after all, still married, a state that caused great concern among Sylvie's family. The first date led to others and trust and intimacy gradually grew.
As he remembered the first night she came to his bed, his lined face cracked into a smile. He closed his eyes to better remember the feelings of love, of actually being loved for himself by this wonderful being, Sylvie. He was impatient, she was inexperienced. The condom was a problem, breaking the flow of love making. He came quickly, leaving her frustrated. Still, it was a start and once the dam is broken, the water continues to flow.
He remembered the shock, horror and devastation he felt a few days later when he withdrew to find the tattered remnants of a broken condom on his deflating penis. Together they lived the imagined future of a child so early in their relationship, of the shame brought to both families, of the hardships that would be endured, of being ostracized by society. The joyful news that Sylvie's period arrived two weeks later brought welcome relief.
He remembered the joys that their relationship brought as they grew closer. The leap that their hearts gave when they unexpectedly saw each other during the day; the stolen moments in the back corner of the office for a kiss and cuddle; hitchhiking 300 miles back from a course for a weekend of being together, hitchhiking back for the course on the Sunday afternoon; of the weekend in a local motel, in which they made love seven times one night despite the bed collapsing under them; of Saturday night's dancing in another town, sharing a motel unit for the night afterwards; of their week-long road trip, being together all day every day, making love all night, every night, well, maybe not quite all night; of their decision to leave their work and chart their course through life together.
Sometimes life-changing decisions are made on the spur of the moment. Such was their decision to change the course of their lives and train in a new vocation. They applied and were accepted into the same college, studying many of the same courses together. They shifted hostels, once again having to deal with finding moments of intimacy in single beds. He smiled again as he remembered the generosity of friends and the nights of spent in their houses in a double bed with Sylvie.
He remembered the final few weeks of the course that first year, which they spent completing practical requirements, staying in an old farmhouse, together, alone. The sheer joy of waking in each other's arms, every morning, of feeling each other close and naked in bed, of being able to make love together when the mood arose, which was frequently. Would life have been bliss if it had continued that way forever? Probably not, he thought, even when the situation is blissful, humans need challenges and changes.
He remembered the following year moving into a rented house together, finally confirming the intimate nature of their relationship to friends and families; his divorce coming through, making their relationship now legal. He remembered their marriage.
"Hi Dad," a voice said in his ear, "Are you awake?"
He slowly came back from the past and opened his eyes to see his daughter standing beside him.
"Yes, I'm awake, sweetheart. How are you?"
