Time to forget
I wrote the poem "Time to forget" back in February 2014. It's included in this prose. Does this sound like someone you know?
She had nothing important to think about. Everything which had been valuable to her had gone. Including her children. They didn't even talk to her now.
Lee could remember her history, but it no longer meant anything to her. She remembered her childhood. She knew that she had loved it, but now her parents were dead. Her husband had vanished, wherever she didn't know and didn't care. She had never disconnected the bond between her children and him; she had - then - felt that was important. However they now took him in, she didn't care about.
Her only friend was her dog. Beautiful, she thought. She was 13 human years old, but in dog years she would be 91. Or maybe a bit older. Jess would die this year. Maybe.
But Lee'd read a poem. She opened her favourite internet website, found the poem. She had loved it. Maybe it was written about her, she'd thought. She read it again.
She's not long for this life, she's done her time - she remembers long ago when in her prime
Young and pretty, so full of life, met a young man, became his wife
Meeting her husband had left an indelible mark on her body. And in her brain, she thought. Why had he walked out? Why had he left her in debt? Hadn't she helped him, during the years they were married?
Four children and sags on her body to show the pain and the stresses that no man could know
And her husband, once her valiant prince, grew tired of her, left - hasn't been seen since
Lee wandered through her unit, saw the boxes where she held her history. She touched each one, but couldn't open any of them. She looked at the photographs on her shelves, her walls, her dressing table, her desk. She had put a photo of herself on her desk - something she knew never took any important place in her daughter's home. She sat down and looked at it, not touching it. She remembered where it had been taken, and who was blacked out of it. She used to love him. Not any more. Her tears ran down her face and dripped from her chin. He'd left her. She didn't know why.
Clothing them, loving them, reading them books, ignoring the neighbours' judgmental looks
As she let another man into her door, work of kind, so they wouldn't be poor
She'd helped her children, definitely. Why weren't they even talking to her now? Did they believe what others said?
I'm not a whore, she said to herself, as she hid a few dollars at the back of the shelf
She had paid for her children until they grew up. She raised them alone. She didn't worry about what men said about her - she laughed inside; men liked her! She had wanted her children to work very well to get into great lives. She supported them. She had thought, back then, that she would have a very good life too.
She'd sacrificed much to help them grow and enter the world with their pride on show
"You are who you are", she told them anew, "Don't ever let anyone walk over you!"
As years passed and age lines pitted her face, she watched each one winning their own personal race
Now she can relax, she's earned her time out - isn't that what this life's all about?
Her friend struggled up to her, rested her chin on Lee's leg. Lee bent over and kissed the top of her head, stroked her head, felt her ears, ran her fingers softly down her back.
"Go and lie down again sweetheart," she whispered. Jess looked lovingly at her, turned and struggled over to the mat, lay down.
Lee had to forget too. Forget that her children wouldn't talk to her any more. Forget that she no longer had any friends. Except for her dog. Forget that she was still ill, no matter how anyone thought. She laughed, a sad, weak sound. Anyone didn't care.
The blinds were almost closed across the windows, but no-one ever looked in. This was supposed to be a village, but many years ago she'd thought villages were friendly. Nowadays they were just... well, shut up. Many of those who lived here had similar lives to hers - ignored, turned off by people who didn't need to live here. Many of those who lived here were the same age as she - or younger or older. Many of those who lived here never went out of their own unit. They lived their own life, the same as Lee was, liked it or didn't. If they had died, Lee thought, it would take days before they would be found.
Just like me, she thought.
She stood back from the blinds but could see out the little crack where it had been opened. She watched a parade of tiny ants along the edge of the path outside her door. They never came inside. She glanced down at Jess. Now she was just waiting for her beautiful friend to die. She could see it getting closer, every day. Jess slept differently on the mat than she had used to. She didn't even climb onto Lee's chair, the way she had used to. Lee's only time out of her unit was with Jess to the garden, for Jess to go to the toilet. Maybe, she thought, she should have set up a sand box inside a year ago when they'd moved in, but Jess would have asked to go outside. She was so good, Lee thought.
She looked again out the crack in the blinds. The sky outside was grey, heading to rain. That didn't bother her, because she wouldn't be out there, not today.
She looked back at Jess. She looked different. She was curled up, the way she was before, but something wasn't working there. Lee moved closer, knelt beside her, put her hand on Jess's chest. Nothing happened. Nothing. She wasn't breathing. Lee sat down beside her, felt her tears begin. She began to stroke Jess's chest, her head, her tummy, along her back. She scratched her ears, stroked her head again. Still no breathing. And Lee's tears fell, large, unstoppable. There was not even any residue out of Jess's body because they'd been outside for her to go to the toilet not long ago. Now she had nothing.
Lee's tears kept coming for a long time. She made no move to stop them or wipe them up; they dripped down her clothes, onto Jess. It seems like a long, long time before Lee stood up. She walked again around her unit, looking at the things she'd looked at before. She reached out at her own photo on her desk, touched it, felt so sad for that time - when she'd been happy.
Now she needed to do what she'd planned. She went into the bathroom, opened the cupboard, took out the two jars she'd made up. She took them into the kitchen, opened the fridge and got her bottle of juice out, poured a drink from it into a large glass. She opened each jar, spread the pills on the bench and began to take one each with a small drink. When she'd finished the first glass of juice she poured another, until she had finished the pills. She was starting to feel tired. She needed to lie down with Jess. She knew she would be doing this.
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out the envelope she'd left in there, sat it on her keyboard leaning up against her screen, then reached for her cushion, lay down beside Jess and put her arm around her.
When her time is up she'll have no regret - it's time to move on, time to forget
She slept until she stopped breathing, just like Jess.
Time to forget. That was what she had planned.
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