Maybe Tomorrow, Maybe Not

Angela sat on the park bench next to the frozen lake. The breeze was picking up and stung her cheeks, and the tips of her ears. You could hear faint cracks coming from the ice occasionally if you sat long enough, it truly wasn’t winter anymore, and the ice was hanging on longer than usual this year. Any day now and it would be separating into sheets that got progressively smaller and just became floating chunks of ice, soon to disappear as if they never were there.

It was just before sunset. The “magic hour” they talk about in Hollywood (and I guess anywhere else they make movies) where the light is just right for filming and making your picture “perfect”.

“Nothing is perfect in my picture” she thought.

While others might be looking at this view and thinking of the beauty, it symbolized something different for her, the setting of the sun on her own story. The impending end of things, as she felt her day was coming to its end too.

It was, of course, over a boy. And how cheap the word “boyfriend” sounds. Not fiancé, not husband; just “boyfriend”. There just wasn’t enough time for an official title or the accompanying jewelry.

There had been plans for the future. The fairy tale had been the dream. “The Fairy Tale” that all girls dream of. The brass ring like Julia Roberts says she’s waiting for in Pretty Woman, except Angela wasn’t a prostitute and Jack wasn’t a billionaire. The dream. And of course, that’s what it ended up being in the end, just a dream. Now she was living in reality, and reality sucked. Jack would have said it sucked “donkey balls”, but Jack isn't saying shit anymore.

This isn't a breakup story. There was no cheating lover, no lies uncovered, no leaving for another. None of those things were the cause of their “cancelled” plans.

The real cause was cancer. In the pancreas. And as it turned out cancer didn’t give two shits about her plans. Cancer gave a grin, laughed its ass off, and gave both the middle fingers to her and Jack both. The big “fuck you” to that future.

“And the horse you rode in on!” she mumbled under her breath which was followed by a little giggle. At least her sense of humor didn’t completely desert her. Lord knows her sanity had.

She wondered how deep the lake was in its center.

She had dated before, this wasn’t her first love. Ted, her first boyfriend in school was a nice guy. Sweet and shy, but no confidence; and destined to be walked all over by some woman in his life. Angela was not interested in filling that position. And there was Robert the bad boy, no problem with confidence there. He excited her in the way that dangerous boys always excite young girls (and older girls too, to be honest) but he was a whirlwind that came and went; and frankly left you feeling guilty and stupid for even getting involved in the first place.

Jack was different. There were no “but’s” with him. He wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for her. A little weird, but in all the same ways as she was. He gave Angela things she didn’t even know she wanted. Soulmate was such a cliché term, overused, but she finally understood what people meant when they said it.

It was getting later, and no one was hanging around the park at this hour and in this temperature. She had the whole place to herself.

She was remembering the day before he got the diagnosis. That Sunday at the bar and grill they liked to go to back during the warmth of the previous summer. The mediocre cover band that played on the weekend there broke into a very bad version of “Careless Whisper” and they got up and danced. There was no question about it, it was kind of a running joke with Jack that the George Michael ballad was the greatest song ever written. It only reinforced his insistence when Ryan Reynolds made the same joke in his Deadpool movie a few years ago. Regardless of why, they got up and danced. And it was one of the last truly wonderful moments they had.

“I’m never gonna dance again” popped out as the lyrics rambled through her mind. This wasn’t true though; she was going to dance again. And soon.

There were close moments after that. There were truly heartbreaking moments. There was holding the hand of the love of your life when they take their last breath. But the morning after that dance, there were no more days of not knowing that your bliss had an expiration date. No more days without fear, without anger, and without crying; even if you did it in the bathroom to try to keep everyone else's hope up.

Angela made her way down to the rim of the lake, being careful not to slip on the grass bank and tumble down to the thin edge. Wouldn’t it suck now to fall, crack through the ice (maybe break an ankle) and get your feet soaked stomping into 6 inches of water. But she didn’t and she made it to the ice without slipping or crashing through, softly stepping several feet in from the bank to avoid the edge. There had been a story on the news of two kids falling through the ice of a small pond in the next county, and many warnings to stay away from the dangerous conditions.

She slid her feet slowly trying to spread them out across a larger area, not putting both feet (and her whole weight) in the same spot. Kind of a sliding shuffle. Little by little she was further and further out. It took some time, but eventually as the sun slowly disappeared and the sky went dark, she found herself in the center of the frozen pond.

The moon was full, and despite it still being fairly early, it was high enough to light the night sky. The ice glowed in the moonlight and was kind of beautiful. There was almost an ethereal quality to it, a faint glow; and it could have been a dance floor in a Disney movie.

And tonight, it was.

It was a dangerous place to be. The center of the lake froze last and was always the thinnest. She could see movement under the surface of the ice. Maybe small fish, maybe just debris; moving around slowly with some unseen current.

And yet it was now that she brought her feet together beneath her, and closed her eyes. And started to dance.

She slowly swayed back and forth and turned with the beat in her head. What flowed through her was the memory of that last dance in the warm embrace of Jack. And the blissfulness of being ignorant of what was to come.

“These guilty feet have got no rhythm” came out of her mouth and stuck with her. And while the tune played in her head, she couldn’t get past that line. She did have guilty feet.

She was in pain. She was angry. She felt enormous loss. But until now, she hadn't realized she was feeling guilt. For surviving. For not just dying next to him from the pain. Guilt because her own heart didn’t just stop at the same time as his did. It wasn’t right that he should go and she’s still here.

Her gentle swaying turned into a hunched over muted crying. And it did not take long to turn to anger. “It’s not fair.” Quiet words that got progressively louder, and she started bouncing up and down with every repetition. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair” And then she was actually jumping up and down. Over and over. This was what she came for wasn't it? To make it to the center and crash through when no one would see and there was no hope for rescue. To finally get to the place where the hurting stops, and the guilt is washed away by the cold waters under the ice. “IT’S NOT FAIR!”

And then she stopped jumping. Because it wasn’t doing any good anyway. The ice was not cracking. It wasn’t doing anything at all. Despite it’s apparent thinness, it wasn’t giving way tonight.

She started walking back to the shore quickly and without any of the caution she used to get out to the center. Because “Fuck You” that’s why. “FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!” She wasn’t sure who this last outburst was directed at. The ice. God. Cancer in general. Or maybe herself for failing at this.

But maybe, things were different now. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe this isn't the way her story is going to end. Or maybe it is. Maybe she’ll come back and try again.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe not.