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Three ladies, three friends, walked arm in arm out of the enormous cemetery gates, crossed the road and into the city park. Their silver hair glowed against their black outfits in the radiance of the bright sun. Sunglasses hid the sadness their eyes portrayed. They meandered along the pathway of the park in silence, the heels of their shoes click-clacked against the stone until they came upon an old majestic and large Weeping Willow tree.
Great expectation hung electrified amidst the walls of the network studios, the stage and editing/recording rooms, the people scurried from one point to the next fearing the time will dissipate before they accomplished their designated task. From the high perches of the network owner to the low stance of the janitor, they all positively knew this breakout live TV entertainment talk show was going to be the greatest success of all TV talk shows. To their credit the network – SA9 – had snapped up the most sought after and highly paid TV show host of all time, Jonathan Bale.
Every Thursday evening, Cole, my partner of three years, my brother Eric, and I have dinner with my parents, Leon and Rose. They live just around the corner from my home in Gordons Bay, and on top of our regular family dinners, we see one another almost every day. Thursdays, however, is family night, and we are all expected to attend.
Under the surface, darkness lurks. Maybe, for a moment, a smile graces my face or a laugh escapes my lips. But just for a moment, then, the crushing weight of the dark presses upon me.
Driving past the pick-up-and-go for the fifth time, I was quickly losing my patience. Dena, my mother, was supposed to have been there waiting for me. According to the person who had answered the phone at the information desk, her flight had landed forty-five minutes ago – yet there was still no sign of her.
Heavy rain drops pelted against the windows of the coffee shop forcing me to stare through the grey haze towards the ocean. Trees were bent over backwards, resisting the force of the wind, and the waves of the sea seemed to argue with the sand, smashing against the shoreline in an angry and wild dance. The storm violently ravaged the usually peaceful beachfront at Addington Beach, as people tried with all their might to remain upright as they ran – or attempted to run – for shelter.
An angel rarely tells a story, but mine begins a few weeks before the Christmas of 1958. "Now I lay down to sleep. I..."
7 results - showing 1 - 7