It wasn’t always like this, I had a normal life, you know what I mean, a beautiful wife and daughter and a house just on the border of the motherland, as the Americans called it “The American dream”.
I can only describe myself as a normal guy, in a normal world with a normal family. I had black hair, which I slicked back each morning, and I had a thin black goatee that my wife always wanted me to get rid of.
I had a wide variety of friends, who nick named me The Devils Advocate, mainly because I wore a black pole neck jumper, black business coat. Damn I had a great life.
Until one day I had walked through my house door, I lived at number 31 and on the mail block it said “The Mackovs”, that was my name John Mackov.
That day when I walked through the door, the mail sitting on the desk next to the phone, it was all quiet except for the quiet irritating cough, my wife’s fever.
Like usual I made two coffees and got some biscuits, which I placed on the tray, I poured the coffee into two mugs and went upstairs, walking slowly concentrating on my wife’s coughing. I knew something was wrong, I could sense it in my mind and my mind never lies.
I walked into the room of my wife’s and looked at her. Her pale face made my eyes twitch and send a sudden chill down my spine, every time I saw her.
I had set the tray of coffee on the bed side table and sat down on the chair next to her bed, holding my wife’s cold hands, I can remember telling her that we would find out what was wrong with her, she would just smile and not say a word, as if she lost her voice. She looked like an old woman, her eyes grey and her wrinkled pale skin stuck to her boney face.
I heard the door open down stairs, my daughter Lucy shouted up the stairs that she was back. I waited for her to enter the room, when suddenly the phone rang, my wife looked at me with a scared face, I looked at the phone rumble on the table, picking it up with my shaking hand I placed the receiver next to my ear and slowly said “hello”.
My Wife kept looking at me with her nervous face, I put the phone down and tried to keep my face straight, I couldn’t tell her it was Leukaemia, tears fell down my cheeks and I made a pathetic smile and told her that it was just the flu. She lay back and smiled then she slowly closed her eyes.
I left her to rest, closing the door behind me, then instantly turned round and place my head against the wall crying with terror, I slouched to the floor with my head in my hands, I could sense my daughter standing next to me, touching my hand, then she asked what was wrong with her mother. I remember looking up at her and saying “Everything is fine…. just fine”. Then she had sat on my lap and hugged me, thinking her mother was ok.
It was the worst day for this to happen, the four days after the phone call, it rained for the first time in 3 months and it chucked it down. I thought it was a bit corny, the shadows of the rain running down the windows made the house look like it was under a disco ball.
I was sitting next to my wife’s cold bed, the grandfather clock ticking in the long silence, I was staring at the floor, my mind was racing I felt like time had just stopped and it was waiting for me to realise what was going to happen.
For the complete five hours of sitting there, my wife would just stare at me, not blinking at all just smiling. Tears began to run down my cheeks, my face felt like it was on fire; it was too much to handle. I grasped my wife’s hand; my tears clung to her fingers and trickled down slowly, I stood up and put my hand over her eyes to close them, then walked out of the room, I could feel her face staring at the back of my head.
I walked down the stairs slowly, sitting down on the bottom step I put my head in my hands again closing my eyes, wishing that it had not happened.
My head ached like a bullet in the back of my head, pulsing in my skull; I looked up at the windows. The rain had suddenly stopped, as if the rain was counting on my wife’s heart to keep flowing, I stood up again feeling disorientated and went into the living room, it was covered in family photos of my wife and daughter, I felt like the pictures were talking to me screaming inside my head, all I could do was scream “Stop”.
I fell to the floor curled up in a ball, gripping my face with my fingers; I couldn’t get the voices of my wife out of my head. I screamed and screamed and suddenly felt a cold hand grab hold of my shoulder, I opened my eyes to see my daughter. Her scared, shivering eyes looking straight back at mine, the voices had stopped and cold, bitter silence fell into the living room.
I wanted the nightmare to be over but it had just begun.
Two years later everything felt like normal, the sun was shining and the moisture in the grass glittered in the light of the sun.
I stared at my wife’s grave for three hours straight, telling the cold steel plack that was covering my wife’s body, everything that had happened in the last two years. I could hear the sound of a motorbike behind me, knowing that my daughter Jess had turned up with her selfish biker stud boyfriend.
The two black leather figures has stepped off the bike, the first figure pulled its helmet off, Lucy’s long blonde hair fell swiftly down her shoulders as if it were been swirled by a spoon. I felt her cold leather glove rest on my shoulder, from the silence all I could hear was her breathing, exhaling air that brushed down my back.
She started to ask me how I felt, which I couldn’t answer because I couldn’t explain the pain, which was burning, inside my heart.
As the day drew forward, I stared blanking at the road, I felt lonely, in pain, in need of a friend, the bottle of whiskey wouldn’t comfort me unless held by my wife’s hands.
That reminded me of a time in High School, it was the first time I met her.
She was sitting there watching the birds as if the best cover of a book, her hair waved a bit in the air, I knew she was the one for me, I remember waiting down the Isle drumming my fingers nervously waiting for an angel to slowly walk down and touch my writs, these memories felt so real.
I watched, as the white figure appeared each step, it seemed like a twitching flash as if she was been fast forward then stop continuously.
As she reached the end of the Isle where I stood, I looked at the pale white vale over her head, love raced through my mind but she kept staring at the crucifix on the table in front, I wondered if she would reveal her face; I could only see the outline of her cheeks.
Suddenly her right arm raised as if her hand was floppy awaiting for a kiss on her fingers, as I held my hand out, it all seemed to become cold, my mind was still racing with love but now replaced curiosity and fear, slowly her head began to turn, I raised my hands slowly, they trembled as I placed my shaking fingers under the vale; caringly I removed the white cloth that kept my wife’s shining face a secret, and there like a bad nightmare, a pale, wrinkled face confronted me, I stepped back with complete horror; what was going on; who was this woman?.
As I watched this mysterious woman, I began to figure out she was familiar; her hair looked just like my wife’s, her eye’s though pale white shined just like her as well.
These questions began racing into my head, her lips began to move, her mouth widened, opening to its limit.
And suddenly like a fog horn closely placed by your ear, she screamed a sound you would only hear on a road, it blared out of her dark bottomless mouth like an on going scream of warning, and then my eye’s began to open slowly, but a bright light was keeping them faintly closed; again I heard the noise, this time it blared into my ears continuously.
I slowly began to react to the oncoming light that charged before me, grabbing the rubber rims of my steering wheel, my slim, sweating fingers sliding down the wheel as if on ice.
Jerking the car right, I just missed the truck that suddenly flashed passed me, its lights trailing behind, leaving me in the dark once more.
My car had rested itself in the long, uncut grass; the blades of green surrounded me, blocking my vision from any dangers that may lie ahead.
But for now the only thing that was on my mind was my recent loss, I couldn’t accept or finding a reason why God would punish me or test me when all I have done in my life is good.
Why should I go through the torture of losing the most precious part of me and casting me into an eternal life of depression and neglect?
I slammed my steering wheel; tears ran down my face, patting on my rugged jeans.
I began to scream, blaring out my lungs as if been stabbed in the chest one thousand times, and that’s what it felt like; it was an ongoing mental crucifixion of my mind and soul, there was no way I could get over this tragedy, I knew I could, but what if I can’t?
Will I be blaming myself forever? Will I be dreaming of my precious wife till I die as well?
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