Michael - Part 3: Roadside (B@GoE)

Part of Gloria's story. Backstage at the Garden of Eden

Returning to the Michael/ Gloria stories and adding Lalitha from the Hospice.

Michael pulled off to the side of the road. A semi roared past, blasting his horn.

The gust and spray from the truck pulled at his bottom-of-the-line, compact car. The new car smell still clung to it. Michael’s tears flowed at the side of the busy highway. He wanted to turn around and drive in the opposite direction. He wanted to run away, hide, and not have to face what awaited him. The non-descript, modern car carried him to the trapped-in-time house he grew up in. While he fumbled with the weirdly designed windshield wiper dial, he knew he could navigate his mother’s house in the pitch dark without stubbing his toe. He craved newness.

The comfort of familiarity brought with it smothering memories. A clear path had been set for him. Expectations shared, stories told and his silent acceptance. There was no arguing with Gloria. A woman who had kept the family afloat during hard times and someone who fought the world for her children. Did she not deserve the comfort of sharing stories of their successes with her sisters at home? They wanted these stories. It reinforced their narrative of sacrifice for a better life.

Each time he visited he had to collect in his mind, what he could of his life to share as a measure of success, an achievement that others would also see. Too often these tales fell flat, a silent rebuke. The conversation veered to the flavour of the roast, cooked to perfection.

Now she’s dying. Time running out on the search for the acceptance from his mother. A life-long journey without a drop of water. His thirst endless. His throat dried as he shared his dreams. Stares from his family. His regretful tears after each visit dehydrating his hopes, a lonely desert wandered without end.

Rummaging through his pockets for a tissue, he pulled out a bent business card along with crumpled tissues. ‘Lalitha Aśoka, Managing Director, The Aspen Hospice.’

He dialed the number. She picked up almost immediately. “Hello Michael. Do you want to come for a visit?”

“How did you – ?”

“Oh, I saw the call display. Been doing this a long time.” She chuckled lightly. “I’ve been expecting your call. I’ll make some tea, drive safe.” She hung up.

He leaned forward on the steering wheel and let out a sigh. Leaning back, he looked in the rear-view. He caught sight of himself as a boy in his short pants, white collared shirt, dark socks, and shiny shoes. Scrubbed within an inch of his life, gazed out the window. A dreamy look on his chubby face, lost in the imagination that he escaped to even now. He smiled at that good boy, then pushed the button for the ignition.

Photo by Carissa Weiser on Unsplash