{"id":2845,"date":"2015-10-27T03:58:02","date_gmt":"2015-10-27T08:58:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/?p=2845"},"modified":"2020-09-05T03:53:06","modified_gmt":"2020-09-05T08:53:06","slug":"never-alone-fiction-mark-f-geatches","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/never-alone-fiction-mark-f-geatches\/","title":{"rendered":"Never Alone"},"content":{"rendered":"
Original Fiction by<\/h5>\n

Mark F. Geatches<\/a><\/h3>\n

<\/p>\n

I<\/span> t was Tuesday, June 6th<\/sup>. Jim awoke to the unkind buzz of his alarm clock. Though he no longer worked, the watchful sentinel continued to jar him awake five days a week. When he rolled over to silence the alarm, his head jerked away from the cold, wet pillow. He flipped it over and lay in bed, listening to the hypnotizing drone of the city. Jim imagined the discord as a new age symphony with God as composer, man as conductor and musician.<\/div>\n
\n

So many rhythms. So many dissonances,<\/em> he thought, pushing himself from the repressing mattress. He stretched and his mood brightened instantly. Today will be different<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Jim had recently recast his lifestyle at his parents\u2019 insistence. Their return to New York City after a twelve-week absence was sudden and though they remained self-sufficient they were greedy for his attention. Their wealth made it possible for Jim to retire early and devote himself more or less to their whims. Jim feared this would prove both liberating and confining.<\/p>\n

As he went about his morning ritual Jim became emotional for reasons he couldn\u2019t fathom. He loved his parents more than anything in the world and considered himself blessed to once again have them near. But somehow feelings of solitude remained, a looming sense of loss he couldn\u2019t pin down.<\/p>\n

He pushed those thoughts away as he focused on applying toilet paper to two razor nicks. As he left the bathroom, he picked up his phone and dialed his mother\u2019s cell number. The phone rang two times before a familiar voice answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Mother. How are you this morning?\u201d He listened for a moment before continuing, \u201cYes, yes I\u2019m fine. Is Father awake yet?\u201d He squinted and grasped the phone tighter before adding, \u201cWell, you tell him to get out of bed. I expect to play golf today with or without him.\u201d After another pause he went on, \u201cOkay Mom. I\u2019ll have my phone with me. Just have him give me a call when he\u2019s ready.\u201d Jim held his breath before closing, \u201cI love you too, Mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jim\u2019s phone and his heart broke into a thousand pieces. Falling to the cold floor he screamed, \u201cWhat\u2019s happening to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tears sprinkled the tile as he attempted to pick up the pieces of the phone he couldn\u2019t remember shattering. \u201cGet control of yourself, man,\u201d he whispered as he buried the useless electronics in the garbage.<\/p>\n

The remainder of the morning dragged on like a boring sermon before Jim sat for an early lunch at an outdoor caf\u00e9. An hour before, his father had confirmed their golf outing for early that afternoon. Filled with unfamiliar trepidation over their meeting, Jim pushed away from the table leaving much of his lunch uneaten.<\/p>\n

Jim hailed a taxi and sat quietly in the back seat, dreading the reunion with his father. By the time the Crown Victoria pulled into the parking lot of the country club, Jim\u2019s face was flush and beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip. His palms were so wet with perspiration he had trouble lifting the heavy golf bag from the trunk. Maybe I\u2019m getting ill. <\/em>He wiped his forehead on his shirt sleeve.<\/p>\n

The valet greeted him with a broad smile. \u201cHello, Jim. It\u2019s so nice to see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jim\u2019s troubled expression stopped the valet short of further interaction. He ordered a small bucket of balls to hit at the range while he awaited his father\u2019s arrival. The uniform balls transformed into transparent white orbs filled with moments in time. Each new ball he placed on the tee flooded his senses with a poignant detail of one of the many rounds of golf he and his father enjoyed. Every angry swing brought forth a particular word of advice, a comment on work or politics, a shared laugh.<\/p>\n

The taxi was nearing his apartment when Jim realized he had stood his father up, leaving the country club before he arrived. When Jim got home he tossed his clubs in the closet and dropped onto the couch exhausted.<\/p>\n

He texted his father: Sorry Dad. Don\u2019t know what got into me today. I may have picked up a bug. I promise I\u2019ll make it for dinner tonight. Can\u2019t wait to see you and Mother. J
\n<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Jim decided to walk to his parents\u2019 Upper West Side apartment. He reasoned the half hour walk would do him good, helping him shake off these nagging feelings of sadness. He admonished himself repeatedly, that today should be a joyous day, as he made his way under a canopy of concrete, glass, and blue sky. Then a sinister thought occurred. Maybe this foreboding is a premonition of some sort. Though Jim wasn\u2019t superstitious, he quickened his pace realizing that seeing his parents in the flesh was the only thing that would release him from these inexplicably dark thoughts.<\/p>\n

Traveling up Central Park West, Jim was able to pick out Jennings, the familiar doorman. He was thinner, but undeniably the man Jim had known for many years. Jim began to feel ill. His stomach turned when Jennings recognized him from a distance. A bitter taste filled his mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cJim. My goodness, it\u2019s good to see you,\u201d Jennings called over a passing couple. \u201cI\u2019m so sorr\u2500\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHello. Good to see, too. I hope you\u2019ve been well. I\u2019ve come to dine with my parents.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jennings\u2019 kind expression froze in place before he stuttered, \u201cI . . . I\u2019m not sure I understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, don\u2019t joke with me. It\u2019s been a trying day. Just get the door please.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJim, you know I can\u2019t do that. Only \u2500\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you trying to say? You\u2019re stopping me? Maybe you\u2019ve been off work for a time and haven\u2019t been properly versed. My parents moved back this week and they\u2019re expecting me for supper. Please kindly admit me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jennings shuffled in place. \u201cI don\u2019t know what to say, Jim. Are you feeling well? Can I hail you a taxi?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou certainly may not. Shall I admit myself?\u201d Jim said stepping toward the ornately framed glass door.<\/p>\n

Jennings moved quickly to cover the entrance and held his arms out non-threateningly. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Jim. I can\u2019t admit you. You understand, don\u2019t you? Please don\u2019t make a scene.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jim stood rigid, his face red with anger and his eyes glossy. \u201cWait till I tell my parents what happened here today. They\u2019ll have your job.\u201d He reached up and slapped Jennings in the face, then dashed back the way he came. He heard Jennings\u2019 continuing, apologetic pleadings until they were a distant memory.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

The next morning Jim\u2019s hands shook as he reached for a twelve-week-old New York Times<\/em> newspaper on the coffee table. It was folded open to the Celebrities & Social section. The bold headline read, Philanthropist Couple Die in Car Accident<\/em>. The accompanying photo had been taken three years earlier, his parents smiling side-by-side at a fundraiser for a local teen\u2019s cancer treatment. Nicole was unknown to Jim\u2019s parents prior to the event, but they all but adopted the girl after meeting her.<\/p>\n

Jim fondly remembered the occasion; his mother had organized it as a miniature carnival with games for children and a variety of food concessions. The result of the fundraiser, in no small part due to his parent\u2019s generosity, left Nicole\u2019s parents free to concentrate on their daughter\u2019s wellbeing, not their wherewithal.<\/p>\n

Jim\u2019s mouth formed a frown when he continued reading the obituary. He was careful not to allow his tears to sodden the fragile paper as he struggled to view the smearing words. It was the first time he completed the entire tribute. He carefully folded the newspaper, placed it back on the table, and began to quake. When his sobbing subsided he wiped his face dry and sat quietly for a time.<\/p>\n

When he stood up he straightened his shirt and spoke aloud, \u201cI wonder what Mom\u2019s making for dinner tonight. I hope it\u2019s lasagna. I love how she uses sliced meatballs instead of ground sirloin.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Over the next several months Jim found a way to manage his relationship with his family. He could maintain his new lifestyle with few moments of sorrow as long as he refrained from engaging in activities tied to specific memories. Jim and his father, Carl, no longer played golf; they took up bowling instead.<\/p>\n

Frankie, the Manager at Pete\u2019s Pin Parlor, quickly realized Jim\u2019s situation and fell into character accordingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cJimmy. Carl. How ya doing? The usual grilled cheese sandwiches and chips?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Frankie. That\u2019ll be great.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll let you know when they\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

The exchange never wavered, and few people notice that Jim ate both meals.<\/p>\n

Jim and his mother didn\u2019t meet midweek for dinner at A Voce<\/em>; they preferred to bring bagged lunches to the park. Only twice did a stranger sit on his mother\u2019s lap without realizing she was there. Though Jim reacted severely his mother calmed him with her quick wit.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy diet must really be working,\u201d she laughed on one occasion.<\/p>\n

As time progressed Jim was able to venture into public with his entire family in tow. The first occurrence, however, was a disaster. When the restaurant hostess asked how many people were in his party Jim answered three. The young vivacious girl led Jim to the bar where a single seat remained available. She set a menu down and told him the bartender would be glad to take his order.<\/p>\n

Jim replied, \u201cWhat are you talking about? I told you we\u2019re a party of three.\u201d<\/p>\n

Turning red the hostess hurriedly picked up the menu and said, \u201cI\u2019m so sorry. I thought you were kidding when I saw you were alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not alone. Do you need glasses?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir,\u201d she replied with her eyes flitting past Jim to visualize her mistake. \u201cI\u2019ll take you to a booth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat will be fine. I\u2019m sorry I barked at you.\u201d Jim followed closely on her heels.<\/p>\n

When Jim took his seat the hostess looked behind her then timidly asked if she could take his name so that she could send his party in the right direction when they arrived.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere we go again,\u201d Jim snarled. Waving his hand around the booth he scolded, \u201cThey\u2019ve already arrived thank you. If you\u2019d take your job more seriously and open your eyes maybe you could do a proper headcount. Now could you please get us two more menus?\u201d<\/p>\n

The hostess slithered away without further comment.<\/p>\n

Over time these accidents subsided, and an impulsive decision to move out of his apartment added to Jim\u2019s tranquility. Years passed and Jim became increasingly accustomed to his new life. Days that once felt like years now progressed all too swiftly. His family was always with him. Jim was never alone. Often they crowded around him, stifling his movement. Other times there was solitude, though he knew they were near. They tirelessly checked in on him, asking about his well-being, on occasion providing something to satisfy a painful appetite. His family was generous with money when he was in need and endlessly offered advice. The occasional insult never hurt him no matter how severe, because he understood that even outbursts of unexpected physicality were to be expected in a close family.<\/p>\n

Jim never noticed the looks of pity around him, the inspecting eyes, the slant of disgust. He never heard the sentiments of compassion, the expressions of fear, the vial and hateful threats. He never questioned the ripped and stained clothing he wore, nor did he notice the foul odor that was his constant companion. Jim never felt the blaze of summer or the biting chill of winter as he wandered the streets. He never realized that, when he talked to his parents, he spoke only to himself.<\/p>\n

He never understood that his mother and father were dead.<\/p>\n

One morning, as the sun danced on the windows of the highest city towers, Jim slumped to the sidewalk. At that moment he realized these things, these Godawful things. All at once, ten years after the devastating loss of his parents, Jim knew all of these things and infinitely more.<\/p>\n

Jim died there, on the familiar streets of New York City that were his home. He died while his family looked on, though they showed little concern.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\n

Mark Geatches<\/strong> has a master\u2019s degree in trumpet performance from Florida State University and loves music of all kinds. After performing for several years, including a three-year stint in Germany, he entered the business world. He built two small businesses before beginning a new chapter in his life, writing fiction..<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Original Fiction by Mark F. 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