Author's note: Holidays are a deceptive time of year. appreciation goes to Mythos - music is always an inspiration.(clarko_@hotmail.com) Nov. 1999

November
by Okotoks Clark

The winter trees had finally shed their leaves to reveal their naked selves. Now they were as ugly and as unnatural as the city their foliage used to hide, all the more bleak against an invisible sky, that fading grey of a seamless cloud which stole colour in return for a weak breath of dull light. The branches were vulnerable, ready to snap in a moment, but, without their leaves, well prepared for the inevitable snow that would hide them through the winter.

Inside, everything was warm, soft, and bright with a light that reflected off the windows, hiding the world outside. The house was bustling with people who were filled with food, warmth, and a soft sense of contentment. They were immune to the cold, complaining on and off that it was too warm; loosening their belts, vowing never to eat again, laughing; debating lightheartedly as to when to put up the pine tree for next holiday, the promise of dessert and a general sense of exhaustion deciding for them that it would be better to wait until this holiday had passed.

Ray found his sister sitting on the couch, escaping the commotion for one peaceful moment, completely, hidden from the world behind closed eyelids.

He leaned over her and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. Her eyes opened.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Frannie," he said softly, and sat down. "You too, Ray," she said, returning his kiss.

She looked around the happy room, tired, but relaxed. Benton had taken on the task of entertaining the children, and she couldn't tell who was enjoying it more. Diefenbaker looked a little frazzled, but none the worse for wear. Besides, there was nowhere he could escape to.

A group was gathered around the television, half watching the Macy's spectacle, talking about everything from the weather to how the parade just wasn't as good as it used to be.

From the kitchen and the dining room came the clanging sounds of plates and laughter, a plethora of tinfoil, wax paper and cellophane being used to wrap an abundance of culinary gifts which were being offered, refused, and finally forced upon grateful recipients.

"It's so nice to see everyone together. I love this time of year."

Ray was glad to see his sister happy. A smile turned up the corner of his mouth, and he laughed.

"Remember how we were the only kids at school who had turkey sandwiches and spaghetti in our lunches for weeks on end?"

She smiled back, and reached over to wipe a small spot of sauce from the side of his mouth.

"Things haven't changed," she said, content with that thought. At this, Ray became serious. He could feel his head become light, his mouth go dry and his heartbeat quicken. The other sounds grew distant.

"Frannie, there's something I have to tell you," he said looking down at his hands, as if it would be easier not to have to look her in the eye. He didn't know why he was having so much trouble.

"I," he began. It didn't sound right, so he tried again. "Benny... he and... We want you to know..."

He didn't know how to go on. He wanted to express himself properly, accurately, say everything he felt. There was no way he could think of to tell her, share this with her, his sister. The sister he knew would understand, the sister he loved. But the words wouldn't come. Only nameless feelings of...

That perfect night when he and Fraser stood by the lakeside, the lights shimmering off the restless water, a living parallel to the stars sitting motionless in the quiet sky. Their hands reached out instinctively and met. That first touch answered questions he never even knew to ask. Just as naturally, without a sound, their lips met in a kiss, the love he had been waiting for all his life.

Francesca waited curiously and quietly for the revelation.

Finally, full of conviction, Ray looked into her eyes sincerely. "I love him, Frannie. More than anything else I've ever known. With more than my heart, more than all my soul..."

Not a word came out of her mouth. The expression on her face had changed almost imperceptibly, so subtly, yet so drastically.

The last thing she did was let out a small sob before she fled the room almost unnoticed.

Ray cast a desperate glance around. His eyes met Benton's, the only other witness to Francesca's disappearance. Benton's eyes had lost the sense of bright joy that still pervaded the room. Though he didn't hear what was said, he was hurt deeply by the meaning of what he had just seen. Distracted, he reluctantly returned to playful children that demanded his dutiful attention.

Suddenly alone amid the lively crowd, deaf to the vibrant sounds, Ray followed his sister up the stairs.

The dim, blue light of the hallway felt so distant from the place he had just left behind. It was cold and lonely here. He stood before the door to Francesca's room fearfully hesitant about entering. He put his hand on the knob, and for a moment, that was as far as he got.

Guilt flooded his mind. This wasn't her fault. She didn't ask for this.

She didn't deserve this.

The door opened without a sound, and he saw her lying on her bed, the pale moonlight making her look so much older than she had not a minute before. An inexpressible flood of emotions streaked down her cheeks in faintly glittering ribbons.

Ray sat down beside her on the bed, still saying nothing. He ran his hand over her hair and along her back.

She probably didn't know why she was the one who had to hear. He couldn't explain why he had wanted to tell her. He had to do it, felt it was right... How could this be right?

"Frannie," he whispered, "please don't cry."

He drew her towards him, letting her head rest on his shoulder while he stroked her hair.

He wasn't going to let himself do it, but he felt like he would cry.

And she made him angry - not at her, at himself. For all he had expected. What? God, what had he expected? Lost in his own joy, he thought it would be immediately infections. Thought she would understand. She would accept...

He wanted to say he was sorry, but knew he wouldn't, couldn't, apologise. Did he want her to? For that he hated... her? himself? Just hated.

Confusion and frustration tightened his throat. Clenching his teeth helped him stave off the vile bitterness, stopped him from giving into his erratic emotions. Harshly, he wiped the wetness away from the corner of his eye.

Francesca was still breathing unevenly, but she had stopped gasping for air and choking on the dry saltiness at the back of her throat.

Ray took his sister's small, white arm and covered it with his own. He hadn't remembered how soft and tender her skin was. On the surface, it was flawless, like porcelain.

"They always used to tell you," he said, his voice raspy and uneven, "not to do it. But you never listened. You just went right ahead and did it, even though you knew ma would kill you if she ever caught you..."

He caressed her arm distractedly as he spoke.

"And you knew you'd fall off, and you'd lie there under your bike, and all your friends ran away. But you never complained, just came to me quietly with a wet face and a red scrape on your arm. And we'd clean it up, and put a bandage over it. And it would heal..."

They never talked about it, no one ever knew that anything was wrong. After a while, they themselves had forgotten it had even happened.

She put an arm around him. They sat a moment in silence.

"Go get washed up," he said, and kissed her head through her hair. "They're probably wondering where you are downstairs."

Francesca gave her brother a small embrace before she stood up, staring at the ground, sniffling to get rid of the last of the tears, and left the room. She never so much as glanced behind her.

Ray sat with his eyes closed, not there, not thinking, just silent.

After a long while, he stood up and walked to the window. He dragged a finger along the edge of the sill, picking up a bit of dust. The wood was brighter beneath, but showed signs of damage and age and wear. The cleanliness looked out of place, but he couldn't cover it up again.

He stared at the lifeless trees through the flat pane of glass. A silent whisper of snow started to fall. Soon, everything would be covered with a sparkling facade. Despite the cold, everyone loved the whiteness of the snow.

Its beauty made it so easy to forget about the imprisoned, half-dead world underneath. ===========================================================================