The Day She Kissed Me

The Day I Talked

In the cold month of September, my neighbor knocked at my door on a Saturday evening and I had opened it to see a few cans of beer with her.

"Good evening, care for a drink?" she lifted the pack for six in the air.

I accepted, went in and brought out two folded chairs. She handed me one and heard a pop nearby. "Why did you . . . What's this?" I asked, as I played with the root beer.

We had come to a settlement on day I know not, but believe now, was the day she cut my hair. If not the day she disobeyed my order to leave my property.

"This is a little sorry excuse for my daughters touching a sore topic that night." she said.

I looked at her as my mind whisked back to the dinner and the aftermath of their words. "It's not like they mean anything. They're kids, and the Bible says they have a free golden ticket to heaven."

She turned to me. "You went to Sunday school. What happened to 'if you don't love your neighbor, then you don't love God' Mr. Homer." she raised her brow in a playful manner.

I ignored her tease. "My granddaddy was a country bumpkin. Of course, we went to sunday school. How else would we get saved?" I said and my little smile died.

"The fact you said granddaddy makes me believe you're southern. Show me a bit of the charm of a gentleman." she laughed at my expense.

"You wish." I told her before I opened my can.

"Mr. Homer, what happened to your wife?" she asked, and I halt the can from reaching my lips. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"She's gone. Dead for nine years, now." I said, as I brought the can down to my other hand. I wanted her to keep quiet and yet I waited for her to ask more.

"Was she sick?"

"Is childless a sickness?" I asked her with a soft smile.

"To some." she said meekly.

I lifted my head with a sigh. "I was the childless one, she decided to stay by me." From peripheral vision I saw her look at me with many words struggling to come out. "No, she was sick. She died in an accident, I helped create."

"How? What happened?"

"I happened," I remembered the housewarming for our house, to the doctor's appointment turned into disappointment, my regrets, my misplaced priority. We were happy as we could be but as the years passed. I buried myself in work, thriving for more success, more money until she could no longer support me."

The day of the accident flashed before my eyes, she hugged me and I helped her carry the picnic basket to my parent's place at the lake where we would hang out.

On our way back home in the night, when she raised up the point of us having more time. So, I could follow her to check an  orphanage and a new member to our lives and how I snapped, telling her I was working hard for our future.

"We had an argument about there wasn't enough time about us. That she was tired of living in a big house, alone, waiting for me every night. Or being invited to baby showers and have to go by herself. I was too busy finding points to right myself. Being blinded after years of pushing down my failure as a husband. That when I turned back to the road, a deer was . . . Without thinking I swerved left and when I woke up in a hospital, she was gone."

"I'm so, so sorry." Ms. Marlene said.

I nodded my head, I was down in my grief that I had no tears to shed. "I'm right. It's just on someday I feel like she would walk right through this door and tell me it was all a dream, and she was at a restaurant with her friends. And someday remember me of her than most like the day you came into my life."

"I didn't know. If I did, I won't have disturb you." Ms. Marlene said sadly.

I chuckled bitterly. "Did you know pie were her favorite? Apple pies to be specific. They weren't mine like Gael believe. But I forced them down all in the name of love."

"Now, I feel like a terrible idiot."

I turned to her and lifted my can. "Now, you know I felt walking up to that." I pondered on what to say to lift the mood and settled on my best shot. "What happened to you? A nasty divorce when you are you is too big to be true."

She smiled at me as she had her second. "I thought so, too. Until I was standing in a family court, wrestling for my child custody. Split custody, child support, and I was a clueless divorcee. Had to find a job and find a footing."

"I'm sorry." Now, it was turn to comfort her.

"It was as hard on me as the kids. They deserve to have their father in their lives and not on weekends like he's a free daycare center."

"They seem in a hurry to match to every man they see." I said.

"They do, my youngest daughter said I remind of the Pooh, I had no idea he was depressed. I'm happy, raising my girls."

"Depressed, nah," I shook my head in denial as I sipped my drink. "You looked crazy like a washed up version of barbie crossed Medusa. Why do you think I was in a hurry in getting you out?"

She laughed. "You looked intimidating. Guess without those beards, you can't bite."

"Thank you for the mean compliment. I will send you a book on how to compliment people right."

Ms. Marlene wiped her hand on her jeans and jumped to her feet. "Thank for letting me stay here. It's great getting a burden off my chest."

"Just doing my neighborly duty."

She shook her forefinger at me. "Good one, Mr. Homer. And good night." she said, carrying the pack of beer with. "I better help myself to these bad boys."

"Ms. Marlene," I stopped her before she reached the bottom of   the stairs that led to the pavement. "Call me, Jarrod."

"Pleased to meet you, Jarrod. Call me, Freda . . . from da street."

"Hoodwinked, good night." I told her.

And I has sipped my almost full beer as I enjoyed the serenity of the night that greeted my soul, and couldn't help thinking of my wife, Ann. As I did, Freda appeared with the thought like how she stole my wife's smile.

Talking to her was a big step in overcoming my grief, and who knew I would be in my room, a little drunk, hugging the vessel that held the ashes of my favorite  person in the world.

That was memorable night, not the most though on the day I talked to Freda Marlene.

The day I talked.