Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.
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Losing you
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Monica's existence was peaceful and tranquil. She had great joys and sorrows now and then, but she was never lonely.
As she made her way towards John's home, she noticed his morning paper on the porch and the absence of his truck. She decided to walk over to the fence. Jack was always there to greet her, running out of his red doghouse.
"Hi sweetie!" she exclaimed.
His tail wagged faster at the sound of her voice. As she scratched the golden retriever behind the ears, she wondered where John was.
If only dogs could talk.
It wasn't like John to leave without saying a word.
She strode back to the front door and looked at her watch. 11: 21 a.m. Looking through the window, she placed a hand over her forehead to try to see more clearly without the sunrays. No lights. She turned and decided to sit on the porch. Picking up the newspaper beside her, she started shuffling through it while her mind wandered…
She found an attachment, a special connection with John that she never found with any other man. He had become a close friend in such a brief amount of time. He had told her once that he was grateful she had kept his life sane.
Suddenly, Monica heard a car driving down the street and she left the paper aside to amble up to the sidewalk and see if it was John's truck. She was right.
She walked up to the curb and waited as he pulled up along the sidewalk where she stood. He seemed distant and elsewhere, she assessed, watching him through the windshield. He looked weary as he turned the key and shut off the engine of his truck. He glanced at the key-chain dangling under the steering wheel and continued to stare downward. He took hold of the steering wheel and gripped it forcefully in his hands.
Monica gently tapped on the passenger window so he would look at her. The gentle tapping brought him out of his thoughts and he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached over to unlock the side door, only to return to his puzzling position, staring out at the horizon. She lifted the door handle and climbed in, unsure whether or not to shut the door. She closed it, anyway.
She gazed out into the distance, wondering what he was looking at.
"John –" she turned to him, touching his arm.
He shook his head, so she sat back and waited until he was ready to talk. She knew he would come around - he always did. He glanced at her and saw she was looking down at herself. He suddenly thought maybe she was trying to figure out what she had done, wondering if she had done something wrong.
Thus, he turned his body to her and told her, bluntly, "My brother died."
She gazed at him and stayed in a daze. He had so much sorrow in him and he wouldn't let it flow out. She scooted toward him and took his face in her hands, tenderly kissing his cheek and then his lips.
He held her for a few minutes before breaking the silence. "It happened all so fast –"
"What?" she wanted to know how it happened and all the other details, but didn't want to rush anything.
"He… He had an accident. He was driving back from a party at 2 in the morning and a trucker made him crash."
John sobbed out more words, "Internal bleeding."
It didn't all make sense to Monica as John described pieces of the whole picture.
"John, let's go inside and you'll take time to explain what happened."
She stepped out of the truck and waited for him to react. He slowly got out of the vehicle and locked it before banging his fist on the hood. He hit the truck furiously. Monica went towards him and stopped him by grabbing his arm.
"Hurting yourself won't make the pain go away –"
He pushed her away and held his hands over his face.
"John, it's me."
He knew he was acting irrationally. He grabbed the slightly shaken Monica and held her tightly. "I'm sorry."
They held each other by the waist, mutually using each other's strength, and walked inside.
They sat on the couch, but after five minutes of silence, John stood up and started to walk upstairs.
"John?" she asked.
"I just need some time. I'm goin' in the shower."
She figured it was best to let him deal with it in his own way. He needed some time alone so she let him do whatever would ease the pain, but she wanted to stay nonetheless to watch from a distance. She walked out back and played with the dog while John threw his clothes onto the bathroom floor and jumped in the shower.
The first jet of water gushed down his nape to his toes. It gave him chills. He barely paid attention to his body and only noticed abstractly that the water was too hot as his skin reddened. He stood under the pouring water. His tears were rolling off his cheeks, blending with it.
After a half hour, Monica still threw the green tennis ball so Jack would run and fetch it. She looked up at John's bedroom window wondering if he was getting dressed. The dog came back with the ball and dropped it in front of her as she was looking up at the window. Jack barked and tugged at her jeans. She picked up the ball and threw it once more before going to the patio door and looking through the glass.
She could see John seated on his brown leather couch. Jesus, he had a fretful look on his face. His hair was tousled and his shoulders slumped under a flannel shirt. He held a single empty glass in his hand and had a half empty bottle of rum on the coffee table in front of him.
She pulled the door open and stepped in. She staggered over and grabbed the glass out of his hand, then sat on the coffee table in front of him, pushing the bottle and glass aside.
Locked eyes with him, she leaned into his space to place her hands on each of his knees. His eyes eventually found hers and she looked into them in the same way he did hers.
She couldn't deny that something about him was different.
"Tell me what happened, John."
He drew a deep breath before he spoke. "My brother Richie. He was in a car crash. And he had a concussion with internal haemorrhage." He paused, eyes filling with tears. "He… he didn't make it to the hospital." John's voice broke.
"John, honey, I'm so sorry. I don't even know what else to say… I'm here."
He took her in his arms and pulled her towards him to sit in his lap.
He nestled his head between her chin and shoulder as she soothingly ran her fingers through his hair.
He was crying, she knew - she felt his tears through her shirt.
All she could do was hold him and hope she would make the pain go away.
TBC…