November    November by Okotoks Clark

  

 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.
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