Just another fence

I remember it - a truly marvellous day. That’s what I thought as I was walking down the street. I knew it quite well by now. Every streetlight and dustbin just stood in their usual places, and this fact itself comforted me very much. At least until I noticed that something was being installed near the street crossing. Well, to better put it, it was reinstalled - one of those short square-cut fences which stood at every crossing for no reason other than indicating that it was indeed a crossing. The old, shabby one was nowhere to be seen.

I frowned, approaching the compliance sign. Not that it concerned me greatly, but still, there must have been a reason for that. Maybe a car crash, which wrecked the fence. Has anyone been killed? Or could it be that some youngster tried jumping over the rusty bar, leading to both of them hitting the floor?

Well, whatever it was, now I needed to go to the next crossing while thinking ahead: Will I be late to the diner? Might need to change busses – spending all my cash on the gift wasn’t helpful after all….

Continuing this whirlwind of thoughts, I haven’t realised where I was until the bus moved, throwing me off my feet. Miraculously, I regained my balance, not without the help of a bulky stranger who gallantly pushed me off himself.

I tried to remember whether I paid the bus driver. Judging by the fact that my back pocket still had something in it – probably no. Being a person of high virtue, I started pushing my way through the bus when a new wave of people flooded inside from the front door, making the goal unachievable. Naturally, I could have asked a lady in front of me to pass on the coins, but after some consideration, decided not to. This little crime was, however, quite well reasoned. After all, I was within 5 minutes away from my stop. The driver couldn’t physically give a change to that many people in such a time. And, as mentioned before, I was short on cash….

I was glad that all the worrying thoughts about being late and changing busses seemed to be of no use now. Nevertheless, I continued running over what I might say in case of being late, very late and almost on time.

***

“Happy Birthday Margret!” I half-shouted, half-sighted after opening the door and seeing her at the doorway. After somewhat stupidly staring at her for a few seconds, I swore never to plan what I was going to say. It wasn’t even her stunning beauty, but the loving look in her kind eyes that created a tiny meltdown in my head. I would probably just stand there for some time, if not the neatly wrapped present I was holding in my hands.

– Is it for me? – she asked with a playful excitement.

– Y-yes. I remember you like writing things down. – I mumbled, coming back to normal with every word. – And you are very good at it! I added while gently passing her the glittering red box.

She smiled, taking the present and unwrapping it straight away.

– I’ve spent a while looking for something unique. – I quickly started explaining. – But in the end, decided to go with the classic. – Finished I, just when Margret was left with a little black book in her hands.

– Oh, John! It’s beautiful, just like I’ve wanted! – She gasped and squeezed me in a hug. – Did I tell you that my grandpa used to have one of those?

– Yes, Margret, that’s what I thought about. – I whispered in her ear. – It seemed nice to carry on the tradition, even though you will become stupidly famous, even compared to your grandpa! – I proclaimed with a confident voice.

She laughed, gave me a kiss, and finally invited me to her flat.

I personally regard that as the best evening of my life. It was beautiful, unique, and unattainable by any fibre of imagination: a man and a woman, a boyfriend, and a girlfriend, two loving human beings. We smiled, we hugged, we tasted each other’s souls, we laughed, cried, and loved and shared our lives with each other.

***

Sadly, it was the last time we celebrated like that. In a month, Margret was hit by a car as we were crossing the street, and after a short instant in which her bruised, bleeding lips moved to spell “I love you John”, they closed forever.

***

I’ve spent two days in the hospital. One was for melding a few of my bones back in their place and one because doctors wouldn’t let me go before checking my mental health. Like it mattered anyhow. Like anything mattered.

I think I was trying to get to Margret’s place because I found myself staring at a new, freshly painted, short square-cut fence at some point on the first night out of the hospital. Now I knew what happened to the old, shabby one. Curious how quickly these things get replaced. Its black, glossy paint was reflecting the streetlight. Flawless everywhere, except one part, where someone heedlessly placed their palm, leaving a print, which would forever remain a part of the fence. Well, that is, until another passing car would take the fence with it….

It was too late for busses, so I ended up walking the whole way. That was irritating. Still, all I wanted was to lay somewhere and drown in my own mind – the need to keep walking helped with that.

Once I made my way to her flat, my mind gave up. I won’t try describing what was going on because I dread those memories. I am frightened to remember sinking on my knees, weeping, both hands, one of them fractured on a doorknob, saving me from falling face to the ground. I don’t want to remember the tide of sorrow and memories, which flooded into me as I stepped into the bedroom, this time rolling into a ball beside the bed, facing a wall. I can’t help but remember opening the little black book on the table. Remember crying as I read a few of her unfinished poems. And remember calming down, as I tried finishing them right there, on those sacred pages.

***

The next morning, I was woken by Margret’s sister, Lucy, who informed me that she couldn’t reach me on my phone and already came here once for a similar reason to mine. The conversation didn’t go very well, but we didn’t have much to say anyway. I wanted to grab the notebook with me, but Lucy insisted on taking it with her. And so, we left after discussing what will happen next.

The funeral went OK. Nothing special. Nothing seemed special anymore. Nothing like her special.

***

Life carried on. I was studying, working, reading. I guess that was a new normal. Back to the dark ages, back to my own Plato’s cave. A month went by. I realised that despite not having enough money for two, my salary was sufficient for one person. This didn’t cheer me up, even though money was always something I worried about.

I didn’t hang out with anyone other than Lucy. So, I wasn’t very surprised when she called one day. It was unusual, though, to hear her joyfully talk about some writing competition in which she submitted Margret’s little black book. And that today her work had been announced a winner! A few hours later we met, so she could tell me all the details.

Straight away, she shoved some magazine opened on a fifth page in my hands.

– Read. – Lucy said simply (though she still looked mysteriously happy about something).

What caught my eye straight away was a picture of me and Margret from the prom. I frowned and started reading:

“Following the tragical death of a young poetess, whose grandfather was a renowned Olaf Martinson, her boyfriend (John Jupiter) submitted her work to our international challenge board. This little act of remembrance, however, bore an astounding fruit. As we are now glad to announce Margret Martinson to be the winner of our yearly writing challenge! Since the usual $20,000 and a coupon for a free notebook in our store won’t be of any use to her now, the price will go to her boyfriend, who submitted her work. As an exception, we would also like to share a few of her poems, hoping that they will grip the heart of every reader and perpetuate her name in the memory of our writing community.

The Statue

How beautiful she is,

Covered in silver and bliss.

Unmoved by the fate of global,

She waits for her lover’s proposal.

Motionless, she stands alone,

Her grave features set in stone.

She will never smile again,

Forever abandoned to her pain.

Love in a bottle

The potion was going so well,

Until he got weary of the smell.

Took a second to cover his nose,

And missed the time for an additional dose.

Elixirs are bubbling,

Things look troubling.

“Don’t know what to expect”,

Says a concerned architect.

Perhaps he found a solution,

For love in a bottle needs absolution.

It’s not perfect, nor calm,

Still, works as a soul-healing balm.

I didn’t notice how a lonely tear slowly ran down my cheek until Lucy shook my shoulder. I looked at her like I’ve never seen her before.

– Lucy, I don’t know what to say. – I chuckled from a little laugh.

And then we started laughing. I haven’t been this excited and relieved after the accident.

– What you did is astonishing. I can’t believe it’s actually true! Margret immortalised in thousands of memories as an exceptional writer! – I carried on.

– Yes, that’s what she always wanted. – Replied Lucy with a warm smile.

We both looked away, realising what price she ended up paying for her dream. Like an unexpected storm, my previous emotions started creeping into my mind. I did not intend for this to happen, so tried to change the subject.

– So, why does the paper mention my name, not yours? I looked back at Lucy.

– Well, if you think I didn’t notice the change in the handwriting of the last stanzas in almost every poem…

– Oh no. – I hid my face behind my palms.

– Yes, John, those poems wouldn’t have been complete without you. It seemed only fair to remind you of that. – Lucy smiled again. There was something sad about that smile, but I didn’t give it much attention.