I Had a Dream
By Frank Plum
ooOOoo
Looking out of the front window, I watched the snow falling even more rapidly than when I arrived home from 'work'. I was quite mesmerised by the swirling sheets of snow which swept around the trees and landed on everything, leaving a thick white blanket on the grass, the road, the parked cars, the trees and even on the window sill. It helped me reach my zone. I'm trying to focus on my mindset, a new mindset that has even been haunting my dreams. Or is it my dreams haunting my mindset? In actual fact, I chuckle to myself, they are one and the same.
Thinking.
Visualising.
Sighing.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Recently, my youngest daughter, and her husband's company, had enabled me the freedom to get out of this hell hole of a house. How I put up with this for so long beggars belief. Looking at this scenario with a fresh mentality, I realise how I feel desolately trapped. I have felt trapped for God knows how long. For how long I have no idea. Maybe it started slowly. It certainly wasn't sudden.
Thinking.
Relaxing.
Watching the snow.
Flurries getting stronger.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Centre-ing myself before sitting down in my recliner, I no longer use the television as my crutch to escape. I just hold my newspaper up as a cover, to focus on my visualisations on what I would love to happen but won't allow myself to actually follow through. Tempting as it seems … so, so tempting.
Thinking.
Focusing.
Leaning back.
Smiling.
Relishing.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I had thought that once Edna moved out and into Stephanie's old apartment, that life would be easier for me to have peace and quiet. Oh, what a lovely thought. Two simple words. Peace … and … Quiet. But, alas, I was wrong. I have to admit now, I miss the crazy old bat. To finally see the shit that was happening around me was in one respect a no-brainer, but also a light bulb moment. How stupid I had been? Did I enable her? Did I allow her to quash and crush my youngest daughter's spirit? Fortunately, for me, I was given a new start, a new opportunity to redeem myself and make better the wrongs of my past. I am forever grateful to my son in law and the faith and love of my Pumpkin.
Thinking.
Reflecting.
Shaking my head.
Get rid of those foggy cobwebs.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It took Ranger and Stephanie being here for their 'final meal' that helped me see how I needed help in the worst way. That was the final stroke, a veritable match to the powder barrel. But Stephanie remained calm and did not rise to the ugly taunts of her malicious-mouthed mother. Nor her equally toxic sister. The fear of not being able to see my Pumpkin in my family home shattered my ego, my mind, my heart. It was a sudden jolt as I felt the tightening sensation in my chest, in my gut. My Pumpkin kissed me goodbye with sad, glistening eyes. She had reserved the glare for her mother and sister, but it changed from contempt to disappointment and then a shrug of disdain. She wasn't surprised. Stephanie had tolerated her mother far too long. Kissing her grandmother, she stood confidently, even defiant, treating her mother with the ignore she deserved. Ranger's face was stoic but I recognised the underlying disgust at my wife. He handed me a business card as he shook my hand before they departed, saying, "We need to talk Frank, if you want to be part of Stephanie's future."
Helen sat there, sipping her wine, with a scornful, triumphant look on her face. I don't understand this woman. I see my daughter, happy and in love, with a man who is equally in love with her. Their engagement was a quiet announcement to close family and even then, Helen was in denial. They eloped much to Helen's chagrin. A blind man could see how much they were in love. I was so rapt that she finally found a man, a real man of her own choosing, who believed in her, supported her and loved her. But, still Helen had to bring up that asshole, Morelli. I don't understand this fixation of hers. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was besotted with him. Then in that whiny sing-song voice, almost sneering, "What about dessert? You can't leave before dessert."
"Yes, we can. We are leaving. Goodnight Grandma, night Daddy."
"Proud of you, Pumpkin."
She smiled. Ranger put his hand in the small of her back after helping her with her coat, guiding her to the car. Stephanie did not look back. My heart clenched again. Edna came up beside me as we watched them leave. She patted my arm and remarked perceptively, "She's finally done it. You will have that talk with Ranger, won't you Frank?" I nodded. Definitely. The time has come. We watched in silence as his black car left tracks in the snow.
"Come on, Edna. Leave her and Valerie with the dinner mess on their own. I'll drop you off at your apartment."
I helped Edna with her coat and as she donned her gloves, we left without another word. Part of me felt ashamed. Most of me was sad, but there was more than a glimmer of hope as my fingers felt Ranger's card in my pocket. Yep. We were going to have a talk. And it was going to be good. I have to concede that I need help. We have reached an impasse. And I need advice on how to deal with this situation. Ranger has experience in these matters, Stephanie had assured me.
I escorted Edna to her apartment. She was a lot happier away from her harpy of a daughter. When the opportunity arose to possibly move into Stephanie's old place, Edna leapt at it immediately, grinning like a loon.
There was very little traffic on the road and any cars I saw were driving slowly. I admired the snow haloes around the street lights at the traffic lights. The snowfall was denser now. The thick blanket of snow was almost luminescent from the brighter street lights at the intersection in the darkness of early evening.
It was peaceful.
It was quiet.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I breathed in slowly through my nose, out through my mouth, enjoying the warmth and efficiency of the car heater. I really was not in a hurry to get home. Children peered out of front windows with wondrous eyes as the snow deepened. They're probably thinking eagerly about the prospect of a Snow Day and making snowmen or snow sculptures. Stephanie and I had often stared out of the front windows, enjoying the first heavy snowfall, while we were cosy and warm inside. Stephanie's imagination made me smile. Anyone can make a snowman. No. She wanted to make a snow dragon, or snow bunnies. Her mother always tried to crush her creative imagination. "What will the neighbours think?" That constant whining and the incessant need to conform. But I loved that independence in Stephanie. Valerie always complied. She was more pliant and Helen beamed at her little angel. Should a man love one child more than the other?
The hum of the heater.
The slow beat of the windscreen wiper blades.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
For my peace of mind.
My sanity was slipping, I'm just thankful, the little family I had left with those two who were willing to get us into family therapy. Ranger had good connections. He was concerned, knowing I was a Nam vet. He spoke quietly about this security empire. I was impressed. He also explained how he exclusively employed military personnel, with a few exceptions, giving them purpose and utilising the skills they already had. He was selective. A big part of his business also promoted health and well-being for his employees and the need for strength and balance in their mindset. He admitted how he was disturbed by the lack of support Vietnam veterans received and he wanted to right that wrong. With Stephanie's encouragement and through Ranger's well-informed advice and expertise, I was able to access these remarkable resources. What a difference!
It's been the greatest feeling ever.
Focus on what I'd like to happen.
Write it down.
Then tear it up.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It was after their last meal, after Edna had moved out, that was the catalyst to begin my campaign to take my life back. Damn Skippy! I needed to reclaim my life. With Ranger's card, Stephanie's love, and the campaign, that the empty feeling was now no longer null and void. I had a new mission. I felt a new vigour and vitality. Home was just for meals. Just the two of us. Not a home, just a house, where I lived. Not very enticing at all. It no longer felt like home.
She pottered around the house, cleaning, ironing, gossiping inanely on that damned phone, cleaning windows all the while complaining incessantly that disdain and disappointment in Stephanie and always sipping on her 'iced tea'. I ignored her bait and frequently disagreed with her. I decided to hide the bottles, just for a bit of fun, mess with her head. Confuse and make her question her own moves, all the while hinting that she is losing those grey cells from too much consumption. I sniggered to myself. Sometimes I diluted them or just changed the contents.
I have a whole new perspective and life is worth living. I have two diametrically opposed daughters: one a beautiful, vivacious, genuine and warm persona; the other, a lovely family minded Burg-loving clone of her mother, Saint Valerie. I have grandchildren, four granddaughters and the prospect of more to come.
Visualise.
Calm.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Initially, when I had moved their chairs in the dining room from the upright to a tilted position, leaning against the table, just to see my wife's chicken lips thin in disdain at what I had done, gave me instant smuggish pleasure.
When Valerie (the Saint) had the audacity to sit down in Stephanie's old chair, I felt pretty good bellowing, "STOP!"
Helen and Val's mouths reminded me of fish opening and closing, almost in sync, at me finally talking. What added to my delight, was the expression of affirmation firmly mixed with added disdain, from Mary Alice, Angie and Lisa, "They are Aunt Stephanie's and Uncle Carlos' chairs." There is hope yet for these little ones, not just Mary Alice who had the same spirit as her beloved aunt. Their loyalty was sweet and powerful, and Valerie was visibly shocked. Helen's soured visage was contemptuous.
"Sit in your own chair Valerie, and leave these three chairs alone. You, and your mother, are the reason we no longer have my baby girl here with her wonderful husband. It was because of your relentless hurtful comments towards even your own grandmother, that caused them to no longer be here."
Wouldn't they be surprised to learn as I went on ignoring their dinner gossip, I was dreaming my biggest plan ever?
Ignoring the vitriol, I sat up taller, opening my chest to breathe easily.
Calm.
Ignore.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Let it flow away like toxic waste.
Dream.
Visualise.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I have friends in the Burg whom I've known for years, but it took me going into therapy to not be afraid to discuss my deepest darkest dream. I am indebted to my beloved daughter and my son in law.
My dream keeps me calm.
I relish the thought as if I really could pull it off.
It's why I rarely, if ever talk at meals.
My dream ...
My new shed arrived just as I showed Hector the one I wanted. State of the art alarm system, so no one could get into my "workshop", as I told everyone it was my very own sanctuary from the hell inside my house. I waited until Helen was shopping to have my two deliveries made.
The very best wood chipper and mini backhoe that money could buy. Price was no object. Having separate bank accounts helped me fulfil my purchases.
I had the timing figured out and measurements helped me dig up a patch of ground over to the side of the shed, away from prying eyes.
Now, ... to put my plan into action. I waited for the inevitable screech of being told to "Come to dinner," but I just ignored it, knowing full well she'd come to see what I was doing.
I waited in the darkness, hearing her sharp, annoyed, distinctive footsteps coming closer.
Finally, she was there, right in front of me.
I slapped the duct tape on her mouth ... hoisted her up with that winch I used for the engine lift. Grunting as she was trying to get down, her eyes practically popping in fear, sheer terror. Finally, I reached the opening, and using my one good hand turned on my Dream Machine.
I gathered my strength and pushed Helen Mazur Plum head first into my wood chipper.
When all was said and done, the backhoe would cover up her burial spot. Maybe a vegetable garden, or better still, a prickly rose garden would be the perfect planting over her.
It was over.
Peace.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Ahhh …
Silence is golden.
oOoOo
I was snapped out of my fantasy, hearing a voice next to me saying ...," Grandpa, why are you smiling?"
Ah yes.
Reality bites.
Dang!
oOoOo
Jointly written by Ms Margaret and Missy Kim
AKA Margaretlucylu and MMBabefanmmm
