This story follows on from A Wild and Savage Land, though as far as
monologues go it can stand alone.
A Beautiful Land of Dreams by Holly C
Alliance owns them, I am borrowing them.
PG for a naughty word.
I feel Ray's eyes burrowing into the back of my neck, making the hairs stand on end as if he were Superman with x ray vision in the old comics I used to read as a child. Superman would see right through a person, into their hearts, past the outer shell, the outward show. Ray thinks he knows me, thinks he knows what's best for me. He's a good friend but I would have done it any way. I would, I can, I am a Mountie, after all. He's come here to make sure I keep my promise to him. I will.
I look down at the wavering piece of paper on which are scrawled the familiar numbers in unfamiliar handwriting. I have often dialed those numbers myself from the Canadian Consulate in Chicago.
So now I dial with a shaking hand and try to convince myself that the tremors are from the cold but I'm fooling no one. I dial her number or to be more accurate I punch the numbers on the keypad, there is no dial on it. When did I last see a phone with a dial on it? I don't remember. I don't remember much at the moment. Not even how to breathe.
There is a long static filled pause whilst the connection is being made.
Deep breathing is a good calming method. Breathe in deeply to a count of three, out to a count of five, in to five out to seven. I can do it.
"Come on son, stop procrastinating."
"Oh, I wondered when you were going to put in an appearance," I reply drily to the familiar voice. Turning to confront him I see only Ray who has quietly approached me without me even realising. I should have known he has gone for good now. He doesn't need me any more, or is it that I don't need him? He's found his peace so I guess I should find mine. It's what he would have wanted. He would have approved. I think he liked her, but you could never tell with Dad.
I tried to hide it but could tell Ray had noticed the flash of disappointment that crossed my face. He said nothing. He merely stood beside me, silently supporting me in spite of my bad behavior. That's what friends are for. We don't need words any more and we aren't afraid of the silence between us. It feels satisfying to have a friendship like ours; and that is something I am learning to treasure and cherish. Maybe by the end of this day I will feel complete, whole, fulfilled.
I hear the ringing tone, the breath freezes in my throat and I have to concentrate again on inhaling, exhaling. I count: one... two... three...maybe she is out...four...five...or too busy to answer...six... seven...or it's the wrong number...eight...nine...maybe I should just put the phone down...ten...eleven...twelve. As I move to replace the handset I feel the strong grip of Ray's fingers, a vice around my arm. His piercing eyes meet mine as he dares me, dares me to give up. I know what he is saying through his silence, "Don't let me down, don't let yourself down. " Together we lift the receiver to my ear. I can hear her voice and the trembling begins again, Ray's hand is still there holding my arm up, giving me the resolve I lack. She's just another human being; she feels like I do, her heart beats like mine. Not a monster, not something other. The same, just a woman. Unmistakable.
"Hello, is there anyone there?" Then exasperated, "Speak, damn you!"
I could never disobey her, so I respond, a whisper,
"Sir?"
Silence. Is she still there? Is she angry with me? Clearing my throat, I try again.
"Sir?"
The silence is unnerving in its persistence. I pull at my collar feeling the fire's warmth increase the heat in my body. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. The pressure on my arm has gone, Ray has moved slowly and quietly away to sit on a chair by the hearth.
I wait uncomfortably in the silence. Perhaps to her I seem like a spirit, a dream. She thought I was dead, everyone thought we were both dead. That's understandable. So, it is perfectly understandable that she might be a little shocked to hear my voice. It occurs to me that perhaps she has fainted. I consider the image of Margaret Thatcher in a faint, prostrate, immobile on her office floor and a smile curls my lips.
Making eye contact with Ray I see he lifts an eyebrow in query. I shake my head at him and listen intently until I can discern faint breathing down the line, her breathing, far away in Ottawa. Her breathing which is growing more rapid, building up to something - what? Admonition? Anger? Relief?
Then so softly I must strain to hear it, her beautiful voice, "Fraser?" It cuts through my senses to lodge painfully in my chest where longings and dreams lay. Dreams of her that had disturbed my arctic nights, longings for her that had disturbed my dreams.
And I hadn't realised.
"Yes, it's me, sir."
"Fraser. I was just...just thinking about you."
Her voice sounds strange, strained, even through the static of hundreds of kilometres. The pain in my chest gets sharper. I fill the ensuing pause,
"Sir? I'm sorry we were gone so long. We had no radio."
I await the torrent that my words will provoke but none comes. She is strangely subdued.
"I thought you were dead." Her voice cracks on the last word.
I hadn't realised. I hadn't truly considered how the news of my...demise...might affect her. So I have my answer without even having to ask the question.
"Sir, ma'am. I'm-"
I cannot continue for she would never hear me over the wrenching sobs that pierce my heart. I stare at the phone as regretful tears track slowly down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the hand that still clutches the paper, blurring the ink.
Now it is not possible to tell apart the mingled weeping; hers or mine. So I wait a while then breathe in a shudder and try again.
" I am sorry."
Finally, she recovers enough to say quietly, "Fraser, come home safely."
"Yes. Sir"
"I missed you."
There are some emotions I find impossible to express over the phone. I need to see her face to tell her how I feel about her. So I reply as lovingly as I can,
"I'll see you soon. Meg."
Trembling still I replace the phone, exhausted from emotional strain and fall into the nearest chair.
Ray's voice calms me, making light of the situation, "So she give ya a hard time?"
I shake my head, and he smiles at me.
"S'Okay Fraser. You did good." He punches me playfully in the arm. "So where do we sleep? I'm sick of this cold weather, Frase, and want to get back to civilisation soon. First off I need that phone. Gimme."
I assume he needs to call his parents to let them know we are on our way home. But no, Ray is full of surprises. He is grinning like a child on Christmas morning as he says into the mouthpiece, "Hey Frannie, it's Ray."
Fin.
For now
Holly C. Oct 1999
On A Darkling Plain
This Distant Northern Shore
The Breath of the Night Wind
A Wild and Savage Land
A Beautiful Land of Dreams
A Beautiful Land of Dreams by Holly C
Alliance owns them, I am borrowing them.
PG for a naughty word.
I feel Ray's eyes burrowing into the back of my neck, making the hairs stand on end as if he were Superman with x ray vision in the old comics I used to read as a child. Superman would see right through a person, into their hearts, past the outer shell, the outward show. Ray thinks he knows me, thinks he knows what's best for me. He's a good friend but I would have done it any way. I would, I can, I am a Mountie, after all. He's come here to make sure I keep my promise to him. I will.
I look down at the wavering piece of paper on which are scrawled the familiar numbers in unfamiliar handwriting. I have often dialed those numbers myself from the Canadian Consulate in Chicago.
So now I dial with a shaking hand and try to convince myself that the tremors are from the cold but I'm fooling no one. I dial her number or to be more accurate I punch the numbers on the keypad, there is no dial on it. When did I last see a phone with a dial on it? I don't remember. I don't remember much at the moment. Not even how to breathe.
There is a long static filled pause whilst the connection is being made.
Deep breathing is a good calming method. Breathe in deeply to a count of three, out to a count of five, in to five out to seven. I can do it.
"Come on son, stop procrastinating."
"Oh, I wondered when you were going to put in an appearance," I reply drily to the familiar voice. Turning to confront him I see only Ray who has quietly approached me without me even realising. I should have known he has gone for good now. He doesn't need me any more, or is it that I don't need him? He's found his peace so I guess I should find mine. It's what he would have wanted. He would have approved. I think he liked her, but you could never tell with Dad.
I tried to hide it but could tell Ray had noticed the flash of disappointment that crossed my face. He said nothing. He merely stood beside me, silently supporting me in spite of my bad behavior. That's what friends are for. We don't need words any more and we aren't afraid of the silence between us. It feels satisfying to have a friendship like ours; and that is something I am learning to treasure and cherish. Maybe by the end of this day I will feel complete, whole, fulfilled.
I hear the ringing tone, the breath freezes in my throat and I have to concentrate again on inhaling, exhaling. I count: one... two... three...maybe she is out...four...five...or too busy to answer...six... seven...or it's the wrong number...eight...nine...maybe I should just put the phone down...ten...eleven...twelve. As I move to replace the handset I feel the strong grip of Ray's fingers, a vice around my arm. His piercing eyes meet mine as he dares me, dares me to give up. I know what he is saying through his silence, "Don't let me down, don't let yourself down. " Together we lift the receiver to my ear. I can hear her voice and the trembling begins again, Ray's hand is still there holding my arm up, giving me the resolve I lack. She's just another human being; she feels like I do, her heart beats like mine. Not a monster, not something other. The same, just a woman. Unmistakable.
"Hello, is there anyone there?" Then exasperated, "Speak, damn you!"
I could never disobey her, so I respond, a whisper,
"Sir?"
Silence. Is she still there? Is she angry with me? Clearing my throat, I try again.
"Sir?"
The silence is unnerving in its persistence. I pull at my collar feeling the fire's warmth increase the heat in my body. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. The pressure on my arm has gone, Ray has moved slowly and quietly away to sit on a chair by the hearth.
I wait uncomfortably in the silence. Perhaps to her I seem like a spirit, a dream. She thought I was dead, everyone thought we were both dead. That's understandable. So, it is perfectly understandable that she might be a little shocked to hear my voice. It occurs to me that perhaps she has fainted. I consider the image of Margaret Thatcher in a faint, prostrate, immobile on her office floor and a smile curls my lips.
Making eye contact with Ray I see he lifts an eyebrow in query. I shake my head at him and listen intently until I can discern faint breathing down the line, her breathing, far away in Ottawa. Her breathing which is growing more rapid, building up to something - what? Admonition? Anger? Relief?
Then so softly I must strain to hear it, her beautiful voice, "Fraser?" It cuts through my senses to lodge painfully in my chest where longings and dreams lay. Dreams of her that had disturbed my arctic nights, longings for her that had disturbed my dreams.
And I hadn't realised.
"Yes, it's me, sir."
"Fraser. I was just...just thinking about you."
Her voice sounds strange, strained, even through the static of hundreds of kilometres. The pain in my chest gets sharper. I fill the ensuing pause,
"Sir? I'm sorry we were gone so long. We had no radio."
I await the torrent that my words will provoke but none comes. She is strangely subdued.
"I thought you were dead." Her voice cracks on the last word.
I hadn't realised. I hadn't truly considered how the news of my...demise...might affect her. So I have my answer without even having to ask the question.
"Sir, ma'am. I'm-"
I cannot continue for she would never hear me over the wrenching sobs that pierce my heart. I stare at the phone as regretful tears track slowly down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the hand that still clutches the paper, blurring the ink.
Now it is not possible to tell apart the mingled weeping; hers or mine. So I wait a while then breathe in a shudder and try again.
" I am sorry."
Finally, she recovers enough to say quietly, "Fraser, come home safely."
"Yes. Sir"
"I missed you."
There are some emotions I find impossible to express over the phone. I need to see her face to tell her how I feel about her. So I reply as lovingly as I can,
"I'll see you soon. Meg."
Trembling still I replace the phone, exhausted from emotional strain and fall into the nearest chair.
Ray's voice calms me, making light of the situation, "So she give ya a hard time?"
I shake my head, and he smiles at me.
"S'Okay Fraser. You did good." He punches me playfully in the arm. "So where do we sleep? I'm sick of this cold weather, Frase, and want to get back to civilisation soon. First off I need that phone. Gimme."
I assume he needs to call his parents to let them know we are on our way home. But no, Ray is full of surprises. He is grinning like a child on Christmas morning as he says into the mouthpiece, "Hey Frannie, it's Ray."
Fin.
For now
Holly C. Oct 1999
On A Darkling Plain
This Distant Northern Shore
The Breath of the Night Wind
A Wild and Savage Land
A Beautiful Land of Dreams