#1: Grandma’s House

Early 1990s, Adelaide, South Australia

By DINA PERCY

My mother died when I was 3, leaving my grandmother to raise me. Nana was both mother and grandmother to me, confidante and housekeeper for Dad.

Dad remarried when I was 12, and my life became a cycle of drudgery. His new wife was a career woman, and I found myself doing many of the chores as Nana moved out to “give us space.”

I wanted to leave also, but with no job, it was impossible - until my “boyfriend” provided the answer. Nana had dinner at our place every Friday and had many “saleable” items at her new unit.

The next Friday, we broke in. I felt sick and wanted to go, but I was ignored. Suddenly, the light came on, and Nana stood before us with my Pop’s old nine iron. I froze, but my partner bolted, knocking Nana to the ground in his haste to escape.

Nana died, never regaining consciousness. The doctors don’t know why. They say it could’ve been a combination of the flu, which is why she had stayed home that night, and shock. But I know the real reason.

She saw me. Nana died of a broken heart, and I will carry this shame forever.

Dina Percy, who is writing from a friend’s perspective, is married and has three daughters and one granddaughter. He is using a pseudonym to protect his friend’s identity.

#2: The Crimson Angel

December 19, 1995, Indiana

By M.A. BREWER

Anne stood there in my doorway, the sun shining on her red hair. “Will you come to dinner with me?”

“Well, I really can’t,” I replied, looking at the clock. “I have this party I’m going to tonight….”

“Come ON,” she pouted, “we haven’t seen each other in forever, and I really want to talk with you.”

She and I hadn’t spoken in three months. Our friendship had grown awkward, and we couldn’t seem to face each other. But now here she was, on my doorstep, the sun turning her hair into a halo of scarlet flame.

“Anne, I really can’t. One day next week, I promise,” I stated firmly.

“OK.” Her voice sounded shattered, like we had just said good-bye forever. “I love you, you know.”

“Yea, I love you too,” I said, and I closed the door.

I went to the party and drowned my guilt in a mix of alcohol I would never recall. I went home after a restless sleep, feeling sick, ashamed, and haunted. I needed to make things right with Anne - and sooner rather than later.

When I walked in the door, I found my parents sitting at the kitchen table. Pain was evident on their faces.

“What?” I asked, not really wanting an answer.

“It’s Anne. She killed herself early this morning,” my mom said, soft tears in her eyes.

Without a word, I walked into my room and shut the door. I recalled only one thing about our meeting the day before. I remembered Anne, standing in my doorway as the sun shone on her hair, transforming her into a crimson angel.

I realized that I would never see her face again in this lifetime, and I wept at the loss of my beloved friend, the one I couldn’t save.

M.A. Brewer works as a spiritual counselor and metaphysical teacher. She resides in the scenic Pacific Northwest with her husband and two cats.

Posted by Common Ties on Monday, November 19th, 2007 | Email This Post

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