I had a thought and like an implusive child with something to prove I decided to act on it. Below is a story. Previously, this story was a fanfic that I had written. It received such high praise and substantial reviews that I thought I would challenge myself and breathe new life into a piece of fanfiction I had written a year ago.
This story walks through the darkest corners of grief, loss, and the will to survive. It touches on suicide, cancer, and the kind of pain that hollows a person out. Read gently, and if you are inclined leave me a review.
Have you ever taken a piece of old writing and given it new life? The Weirdo would love to hear from you.
I’m a hard man.
Always have been. I’ve always had to be. As the oldest male heir of the House of Ashford, I was everything, and also nothing. My baby brother was less than that. Our only sister at least had value in her virtue. Laura didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. Unlike her, I couldn’t just be. I couldn’t exist.
There was no world in which I could simply live. Life didn’t begin until I was deemed fit until another family saw me fit. Worthy to be forced to take their daughters hand. I should be so grateful that my bride was picked for me. Life had been written for me since the day I was conceived. I was a born to carry on the Ashford name.
That’s all I ever was to my father. A name. Another priceless, rare object he possessed. Another thing for some socialite to calm. The lower classes had it all wrong. My gilded cage had barb wires around it. In this world, it is us men that are the objects. We are none other than step ladders the young ladies of our society use to elevate themselves and their families, of course. We are the ones that get obtained not the other way around. Either way it’s a filthy practice degrading to both sexes.
In my younger days, I had no desire to claim anyone or be claimed for that matter. At that time, I had yet to meet anyone that shared the voracious appetite I had for knowledge. I craved the beauty of this world. That was the goal of my existence. I could have happily died a bachelor. Then she came along turning my world upside down changing my beliefs, giving me hope. I found in her a reason to do more than exist. I longed to live for once in my life.
She was the first of two flowers that sprouted in the winding rocky path called Life. The first was fair. Dutiful and intelligent. She gave me everything. Including the best ten years a man could have ever hoped for. I loved her more than the air I breathed. She was a need. I learned to fight from her.
Ida.
Ida loved flowers. But I didn’t find out how deep her obsession with blue hydrangeas went until our first date where I arrived with two dozen long stemmed roses. I know I too can be cliche, but I would have been anything for her. She took them holding them at arms length. “I’m allergic,” her only audible response as she continued blessing me with the shy smile I had come to love. I quickly slid the bouquet and a hefty tip into the matre’d’s hand to get rid of the offense item.
My choices of eligible women were slim or rather Father approved women were slim. He had pushed a list across the desk to me that summer and sat back crossing his left leg over the other. This impromptu afternoon lunch was a rarity but for Father another business meeting. He watched with thinly veiled boredom as he watched me run a finger over the seven names. Mother didn’t bother to watch only raising a dainty and well manicured hand in the air snapping her fingers; impatiently ready for cocktail number three.
I was about to protest until I saw her name. I gasped. She was Father and subsequently Mother approved. I could swallow the hollow courage I had found. We married in the fall, the date worked best for Father and most of his shallow country club connections. Neither of us minded, it wouldn’t have mattered to our families if we did. But we were allowed to be together which was most important.
Our union was a happy one. A son, Gregory, followed nine months later. But keeping with family traditions, I let the darkness drain that flower. Work commitments and fighting for Father’s waning approval took me away from them. Away from her. The cancer came wilting my flower, choking it at the root and three years after her diagnosis, she died.
My family, our money, all of the connections we had in the state couldn’t save her. Work became meaningless. Father’s approval a burden. My child a harsh reminder that he would grow up not ever really knowing the woman I knew and loved. Thirty days after her funeral, I had become a dead man walking. My once muscular frame began to wither away. I was ousted from the family company by my brother. My mother-in-law took my son. What little bit of me was left I gave to the bottle of whiskey.
My home had become my prison. I had consecrated it to become my tomb. I had an endgame and set about the basement. I would find a quiet place to do it. Somewhere the maid wouldn’t find me. I couldn’t do that to Clara nor Ms. Alberta. It was best not to upset the women.
Dan was the only one on staff that ventured down here without being told. He would discover my lifeless body. While I built up the courage to end it all, I drank. It dulled the pain numbing my fingers. I couldn’t feel the cool steel of the bullets as I loaded the antique revolver. I admired the polished handle and the carefully placed gold. The Glock felt too pedestrian for an Ashford, and the .375 magnum felt too gaudy. Why not do the deed in style? Ashford style.
Somewhere between preparing for my end and the second bottle of whiskey, I was on the floor of my office laughing. The whiskey would accomplish what Father’s revolver on the floor wouldn’t have a chance to. That’s how my Dan found me, passed out slipping from this world into the next waiting for Ida. But at my lowest, I was blessed to have a second flower sprout in my garden. Dan had guided, half dragged, me to a guest room.
Later that evening, I woke to dark brown eyes. They were filled with compassion and an intelligence I thought I would never see again on this side of the veil. Dan stood off to the side his gaze fixed on the far wall. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. I felt shame. I had asked too much of him. “This is Dr. Elizabeth Wells. She’ll help, and she’s discreet.” He nodded as if his words were any more comforting than the young woman above me.
Her words were soft as lavender bubble bath against my skin and I found myself wanting to live a little longer just to be another minute in her presence. I had only ever felt that with Ida.
My recovery had been short needing only a few days to find myself back on my feet but Elizabeth stayed. I wanted her to stay. Elizabeth didn’t come from money. She was self made. Mother had nearly snarled at the revelation and regarded Elizabeth with carefully veiled disgust as she watched my love down the bridge of her nearly perfect nose. Lunch ended quickly. I apologized to Elizabeth promising to protect her from encounters such as that. From them.
She wasn’t Father nor Mother approved but I courted her with the same ferocity I had with Ida. I had courage I never had before. She was my plus one everywhere. My friends warmed to her. My sister, uncharacteristically, supported us but only in secret. Not wanting to throw the comfortable life Father provided for her into jeopardy. I was given an ultimatum and another list of pre-screened approvals. Mother smirked remarking Elizabeth was beneath my station and it was time I become serious once again and chose someone better. A woman less sickly.
For once, I made myself clear. My choice. My way. Elizabeth was my choice. This time I fought. I regained custody of my son. I choose to start my own company pursuing a passion that I had let go dormant out of fear of my father. This time, the wedding date was of our choosing. We did it our way. I was starting to live again.
But as an Ashford, I learned long ago bliss for me has a short shelf life and after two years and the birth of our little girl the darkness returned and took Elizabeth as well. A drunk driver destroyed my world wilting another flower. This time, I would end the hurt. I didn’t need the whiskey as I slid into the driver’s seat. Speeding down the drive I knew of only one way. The cliff.
There would be no hesitation. No second chances. It was final. I had left the necessary paperwork on the desk in my office. They wouldn’t be hard to find. Just as I press the gas the cliff’s edge in the distance, traffic is nonexistent, I glance in the rearview mirror and I see them. Toys scattered across the backseat. My son. My little girl. Visions of early morning drives race across my mind. The dread that fills me is enough to cause me to slam on the brakes. I couldn’t do it. Not to them. I couldn’t further destroy their world. I return home.
Dan and Clara are waiting by the door. Dan’s gaze is fixed on mine knowing. As he if he had expected the worst. Clara’s cheeks are damp as she’s pulling at the hem of her uniform. I drop my head in shame walking past them and toward my children’s bedrooms.
But alas I am not without hope.
I follow Helen further into the garden. My heart races as I know where she is headed. We are nearing the crypt. The one place on the grounds that is off limits to everyone. My footsteps slow as we near it. I can barely breathe. She raises her chubby little hand to point at two flowers growing together.
It’s odd because I don’t remember planting them there nor having the landscaper do anything besides the usual tasks.
“Ida. Elizabeth.” I whisper their names my heart skipping beats as I approached.
“Mommy,” Helen points toward the yellow trumpet surrounded by five petals, “Gregory’s mommy,” she’s pointing to the blue mophead of the other plant.
Growing together in the slither of light is a hydrangea and a daffodil.
