Our Song : Track 7

The Musical Interludes of a Last Chance Romantic

Border Song - Track 7 of 11

“A life without questions.” That is what Bernie had said, before disappearing into thin air moments later without any explanation.
In actual fact that is what you said.
Me?
You paraphrased. Bernie didn’t actually use those words.
Is that important?
Of course.
In what way?
By way of finding the answer.
But there can’t be an answer without a question.
Therefore, there must be a question in order to set you in the right direction on the path towards the answer.
So if you know so much, what direction do I need to be facing in? There’s an Easterly wind, is that important?
To get the right answer, you must ask the right question. But how are you to know what the right question is, if you have no idea what shape the answer will take?
Now you’re telling me I need to guess a shape, it’s like a children’s education programme.
All I’m saying is that, until you know what you are seeking, you’ll never know how to look for it.
I don’t suppose I’m likely to get a straight answer from you am I?
There are no straight answers to curved questions.
Was that really what Bernie had meant? I never knew him to be quite so … deep.
Maybe you’ve misjudged him.
Or maybe you give him too much credit?
Reggie looked around the room, once again commencing with the brilliant moonlight shining into the room from the window onto the coffee table surface, like a spot light. The moon’s rays were so incredible that Reggie had no need for any additional source of light. He raised his hands and pressed down on the piano keys stretched out across the surface of the coffee table.
With just a couple of days to go, Reggie knew that he needed to utilise any opportunity that presented itself to practice. Despite the sleep depravation, that was once again upon him, Reggie couldn’t possibly miss this chance whilst his wife slept peacefully in their bed upstairs.
The light dazzled the imaginary ivory keys as his finger tips tapped down on the wooden surface, softened by the sheet of paper that rested between the two. The keys had been drawn over four individual sheets of A4 paper with a meticulous precision and placed over the coffee table to create a two dimensional keyboard. It was the only way Reggie could ensure of utilising the spare time he had, wherever he was.
It meant he wouldn’t disturb Valerie, and although he couldn’t necessarily hear the notes he was playing, he could at least train his fingers to play the correct notes and improve on dexterity. Only, the strange thing was that Reggie was finding that he could hear them, every note he played echoed inside his head as if he were playing on a real piano.
At brief intervals, Reggie would pause to listen out for any sound of movement in the rooms above. Like a teenage lad hastily tapping on the keyboard whilst his parents slept upstairs, mouse constantly flickering over the exit button should there be any sign of movement from above, Reggie’s heart beat at a speed consistent with the natural tempo of the song like a portable metronome.
But his arms remained firm, and his wrists composed, as his fingers nimbly danced across the haphazard keyboard. The notes played from each tap of the keyboard transmitted through the air that separated the piano from his ears. The sound waves transposed within his brain into a musical melody, not too dissimilar to the result he was hoping for.
Halfway through the verse, Reggie paused. He stared down at the keyboard and repeated the fragmented bar. The notes were right, he was certain of that, but it didn’t feel right. With his right hand, he placed his thumb on the farthest note, and walked them up the keyboard, counting each note in his head.    
Once again he stopped, and looked over at the old upright piano stood against the lounge wall. It sat restless in the shade of the room, shuffling across the floor, pleading to be played.
She won’t hear, not if we’re quiet.
Of course she will, she’s only upstairs.
I can be quiet, just be gentle with me.
What’s the use in that? If we’re gonna do it, we’re gonna do it properly.
She’ll find out eventually.
“But not like this.” He announced firmly into the echo of the lounge.
Reggie looked around, he had just asserted himself against the will of his seductive piano. What’s more the conversation that had taken place, had not been so different to the one that had taken place a number of years ago in this very room, only in the place of the piano had been a young blonde colleague, half his age at the time, and mostly inebriated.
The particulars of that little escapade had been withheld from Valerie, mostly through luck as opposed to any significant skill in deceit. The young lady in question had left soon after, leaving Reggie to sleep off his night of infidelity on the sofa where he now sat.
The sofa had seen many years in that house, though bore no significant emotional attachment. In fact, over the years, Reggie had resisted Valerie’s frequent requests for it to be replaced. It was not long after the aforementioned incident in question, that Reggie arrived home to a frantic wife, insistent on making substantial changes to the interior décor of the house. In particular, the lounge.
Of course, Reggie had agreed to many of the desired alterations, mostly because he had little reason to do otherwise. But the sofa was a perfectly good sofa, there was no reason to replace it. It suited the new décor as much as the last, and was as comfortable now as when they first purchased it. But particularly, when considering that Valerie’s justification stemmed on the fact that she had grown tired at looking at the same old sofa. That in someway, its condition had deteriorated based on the number of times it had been viewed. As if the light reflecting from the sofa cushions and onto the retinas of the observer, had over time worn away the integrity of the sofa like the tide against a cliff edge.
Valerie always had a habit of extremity. When she made changes, she did it with a drama often seen in television soap operas. If she was to change the furniture of a room, she would seek to change every item within, purely on the basis of change. At times it was an adorable trait, and Reggie couldn’t deny that she had kept the house looking sharp for many years. But at the same time, money was never quite as freely available as Valerie seemed to believe it to be, and as such he had to stand firm on certain issues.
This trivial disagreement actually lasted for a number of months, until Valerie finally agreed to the purchase of a new throw and scatter cushions, but even after there still seemed a certain discomfort within Valerie towards the chair. Her relentless disapproval of the sofa seemed somewhat narrow minded to Reggie who had frequently pointed out that the upright piano stood on the far wall, took up way more space, was equally as conflicting with the newly purchased décor, and most importantly had remained redundant for a number of years.
The reason for Valerie’s reluctance to part with the piano was never quite apparent to Reggie. She had often suggested that she would recommence her learning of the instrument, but owing to various commitments and responsibilities, this never seemed possible. It therefore held a rather ironic tone to Reggie, that the object he had sought to remove from the house for so many years, the object that through its wooden casing had been witness to his infidelities, was now what stood between him and finally declaring his love for a woman in a way that he should have done so many years prior.
Reggie turned back to his practice session over the coffee table. The integrity of the keyboard had been compromised by his musings over the piano across the room, and now what sat before him were a small number of crude drawings, vaguely resembling the shape and tones of a piano keyboard.
He tapped the drawing of the C note, and the reverberation of skin on paper and wood bounced back. There had to be a way he could play the piano, without Valerie hearing, after all she was fast sleep. Valerie had become used to Reggie getting up in the night, using the toilet, opening and closing doors, so much so that it very rarely caused her to stir from slumber. Why would this be any different?
But of the course the risk was too great. If she heard him play, she would immediately know the details of his plan. He was by no means perfect, but already Reggie had a strong grip on the initial structure of the song, and was able to play through most of it, though with mistakes. Either way, his performance was good enough for Valerie to identify that he had been practising, and then the surprise really would be ruined.
There was somewhere else he could practice, somewhere he had been recently under the guidance of the moon. Still dressed in his dressing gown, Reggie walked over to the front door and reached for the handle. Taking a set of keys from the hook to the side and placing them in his pocket, he quietly left the building and commenced his walk down the garden path and out onto the pavement.
Outside, the moon was large and bright, and the beams seemed to be shining up hill. It was just his luck that his instinct was to take him on the more arduous of journeys.
As Reggie looked up towards the road ahead, it almost appeared to be as if the road was getting longer, the hedgerow seemed smaller. Perhaps it was the light, the moon peeping down through the clouds in the night sky.
Reggie continued to walk, but as he quickened his pace, the brow of the hill remained a tiny figment in the distance. With every forward step, he knew he was moving forwards and yet the top of the hill seemed to remain far beyond his reach as if he was stood still. The houses passed by him slowly at first, but then steadily increased in speed, confirming his belief that he was in fact running forwards, but his eyes betrayed him as his view of the hill ahead seemed to contradict this belief of forward momentum.
Within no time at all, houses and gardens were passing by at such a rapid speed Reggie was unable to make out the house numbers. The velocity of his legs continued to increase, there was a numb feeling down both thighs, he knew they were moving, they had to be. The wind against his face, the rush of the houses either side of him told him that he was certainly progressing; only now the hedgerow had disappeared from view, and all that could be seen was the long stretch of road leading ahead and disappearing over the horizon.
Along with the target location at the top of the hill, still just a pin prick in the distance, the size and location of the moon also remained constant. Reggie fought against it, and finally managed to call his legs into check and he stopped on the spot, in the centre of the road, facing ahead. Everything seemed so far away, even the pavements either side now seemed further away, as if the world had been stretched like rubber.
It also occurred to Reggie, as he spun around, that the moon seemed to be constantly in his line of vision. Like it was circling his head with every time that he turned around, but then that was crazy.
There was no escaping it. It was like his body was turning, but his eyes remained in exactly the same place, staring up at the same segment of sky, the moon looming over him and staring through his soul.
How is it doing this?
The faster Reggie spun, the more distinct the moon appeared to become, always remaining directly in front of him no matter where he looked. Reggie shut his eyes, and all imagery around him turned to black and disappeared. Except for one object. The piercing light from in front of him remained just as bright, and just as detailed.
Reggie’s eyes were shut tight, but he stared at the moon in the night sky as if they were wide open.
Maybe it’s the glasses.
Reggie raised his hands to either ear and placed his fingers over the arms of a pair of spectacles, one over each ear. He closed his eyes as he removed the frames.
Woah! Where did the world come from!?
Reggie opened his eyes in alarm, as the world seemed to have snuck up on him in the tiny period that his eyes had been closed. Everything had grown back to its original height, he had returned to his place in the centre of the road, wherever it was he had returned from.
But I don’t wear glasses, where did these come from?
Puzzled, Reggie examined the thin silver frames gripped in his finger tips. Sure enough he was holding a pair of men’s reading glasses. But Reggie didn’t wear glasses, he didn’t even know anyone who wore glasses.
So where did these things come from?
Reggie threw the glasses to the floor, then continued walking forward. It was only now that it occurred to him that he wasn’t sure where he was going. The world had seemed so disorientated, and now, as he strode forwards once again, he couldn’t figure out where, if anywhere, he was heading to.
The hill grew steeper, and with the aching that was growing in his thighs at each uphill step, Reggie finally found himself reaching the peak, just metres away. He raised his wrist and glanced at the place where his watch should be. He then looked down at his dressing gown flapping about his legs.
What time is it?
Three o’clock.
How do you know?
Time isn’t just calculated by the hands on a watch you know.
You can’t possibly tell from the position of the moon, as it doesn’t seem to want to stay in any fixed position for too long.
That’s your opinion. It’s all subjective.
How is it I speak differently when I converse with you?
In what way is it different?
Sounds different. Not that I can hear myself in the conventional way. But somehow my thoughts are clearer than I would imagine them to be.
You imagine your thoughts to have a certain accent?
Accent? No. In fact I couldn’t even identify whether my mind’s voice is that of a man or a woman.
Why shouldn’t your thoughts take on the persona of a woman?
I’m not saying they don’t, but I have no way of knowing. Even though I can hear it, it’s as if it were just words on a page. Much like your own, I have no way of telling whether you are an alternative version of myself or a self sustaining individual taking refuge within my head.
Refuge? From whom?
Or what? I have no idea as to your meaning. But if you are indeed a separate entity of existence that has taken refuge within my head, I should question what makes my head any safer than any others in the surrounding district?
And if the former suggestion is correct, then I am merely a secondary edition of your own thoughts.
If that is the case, and you are just another form of my subconscious taking shape inside my head as an alternative expression, then I would have to wonder how my subconscious is able to conceive of such conversations that converge around a subtext that would not have bearing upon myself. And conversely, those of which I am familiar with, appear to be absent within the context of our conversations.
In what way absent?
What I would usually consider relevant, seems to have no place within my head.
In which case, you mean to say why not how, for the manner in which you do so is of your own choosing.
Reggie took the final step onto the brow of the hill where he stopped and looked around him. The road, both in front and behind him was downhill, he could either roll back home or, should he choose to do so, roll onwards into the distance. But this decision was very much dependant on the reason he was stood on the top of the hill in the middle of the night, still dressed in his dressing gown.
And with either direction open to him, Reggie found himself drawn to the hedge that ran along the side of the road. The moonlight shone on the sharp thorns that protracted from the hedge, gleaming like a thousand tiny knife blades.
He slowly stepped over the uneven tarmac that covered the pavement towards the hedge, even from a distance, he could feel the thorns cutting through the cold air pulling him closer until he stood with his nose within touching distance of the hedge.
He looked into the hedge, through the branches. Despite the density, he found his eyes cutting through the heavy foliage, turning from thorns to brambles, to thick conifer. And then…
There was a field, seemingly empty with the exception of a single oak tree. Its trunk appeared distorted, leaning to the side with broken branches dangling like damaged limbs. And from the top most branches, smoke was drifting towards the moon.
And Reggie could feel the heat coming from the very base of the trunk. It was a heat that seemed to pierce through his very soul and cause him to drop to the floor in agony. Was it a heart attack? He clutched his chest, but couldn’t alleviate the pain which was winding its way throughout the entirety of his body, from head to toes, as if he was on fire himself. His hands were raised to the sides of his head, gripping hard around his skull, to keep his mind from exploding, as he dropped to his knees.
Reggie looked through the hedge once again, and instantly he saw the tree once more, only this time it was in flames. Great quantities of smoke were puffing from the top like the output of the chimneys of a huge power station.   
There was another wave of pain that caused Reggie once again to clutch his head in agony. He knew that there was a problem, he didn’t need to be a specialist to know that things weren’t right and along with the pain Reggie felt a shudder of fear. It was now more important than ever for Reggie to continue his work on the piano, after all, this could be the last opportunity he had to truly commemorate his relationship with the beautiful lady that had warmed his soul for so many years. 
Lifting his head to gaze at the musical notations, Reggie placed his hands back on the keyboard and pressed down hard. The sound wasn’t pretty, but in his head he could hear the words being sung out loud.
 
Hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in the words.
How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world.
 
He continued through the verse with a confidence he hadn’t felt before, flowing through the various notes without a need to glance at the pages of the music. It was as if the notation had etched itself inside his head with a mere glance at the page. But as he commenced the chorus, he found his left hand slip slightly on the fourth bar and his mind went blank.
There was a silent pause as he gazed at the keys.
Commencing again from the start of the chorus, he played through the first three bars, but once again he found the movement of his left hand too much, and struck a number of incorrect notes with a hideous thud.
“Sounding better each time.” A voice came from behind Reggie. He recognised that voice from somewhere. He turned around to see Bernie sipping on a small glass of water and apparently the source of the interruption. He was stood just metres away, beaming in his direction.
“Sorry, don’t stop on my account. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“I just can’t get that chorus right.” Reggie responded disappointedly.
“You’ll get there, just keep practising.”
“I have been practising. I’ve been playing that bit over and over now for…” Reggie paused, and glanced around the room for a clock of some sort. He then looked back to Bernie, “How long have I been here?”
“I told you, time has no meaning here.”
“But it feels as though I’ve been playing for hours.”
“That may be your perception, but that doesn’t make it reality.”
“But I don’t feel like I’ve ever left here.”
“Maybe you haven’t.”
“So, how long have I been here?”
Bernie paused before answering, he seemed somewhat defensive in his stance and almost nervous. “Why is it important?”
“Because it feels as if I’ve been here for years on a number of occasions, and yet I don’t ever remember leaving or coming back. But I couldn’t have been here all that time.”
“Just because you don’t remember it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
Something clicked inside Reggie’s head, as if he had finally managed to cancel out the remainder from a particularly complicated example of long division. He spun around on the stool and threw his fingers over the piano keyboard. Ordinarily you would expect a horrendous crash of noise composed of a variety of conflicting notes, but instead the sound that escaped the strings of the piano was a ferocious, yet wholly dignified D minor chord.
Having played the single chord, he then clicked his fingers and played through the entire first verse and chorus of the song, note perfect and with a beautifully upbeat tempo.
He reached the chorus, with his fingers marching across the keyboard as if his hands had been those of the song’s original composer and performer. As they flowed through the chorus, Reggie felt years of experience pouring out of his fingertips and over the keyboard, playing each note as if a practised routine of a professional.
At the end of the first chorus, he stopped.
“You heard me a moment ago, I just couldn’t get it right, and now…” Reggie played through the entire chorus once again, almost seamlessly. “Perfect.”
Reggie then turned back around to face a dumbfounded Bernie. “Only it wasn’t a moment ago was it?”
“How do you mean?” Bernie seemed nervous, stood with his back to the wall, and fiddling with his fingers as Reggie spoke.
“It came to me, like an epiphany. That I’ve been asking all the wrong questions, when the one question I should have asked never occurred to me, until now.”
“Questions?”
“Yes. The likes of Where are we? How long have we been here? Etc. All seemingly good questions, but the fact is that without knowing the answer to the initial question I was never likely to understand anything further than that.”
Bernie didn’t say anything, he looked almost upset now as opposed to just nervous. There was a sign of inevitability, that Bernie was preparing himself for the revelation that was to blow apart a secret that had been kept within this unfathomable location.
Reggie, with a renewed confidence, seeing his friend’s back firmly against the wall, continued. “The reason is simple. We were never here were we? In fact, we’re not here now are we? Not really.
“Of course we are, where else could we be?”
“Reggie quickly interrupted Bernie before he had the chance to fabricate any further lies to this already elaborate tapestry.
“Up here.” He stated, tapping his head with his forefinger. “It’s all gone on up here. But that is irrelevant.”
“It is?” Bernie tried to sound surprised, but he knew where the conversation was going, and all he could do now was to allow Reggie to uncover the truth.
“You know it is. But all of that is irrelevant. Completely inconceivable, until the one obvious question is answered. The one question that starts us off on the right path.”
Bernie stepped forward, now in acceptance of what was about to be asked and began walking towards Reggie.
“What are you?”
“You know me Reggie, I’m your friend Bernie. Bernie Carter.”
Reggie laughed at Bernie’s feeble last attempt to distract him. “I didn’t ask who you were. I asked what. What are you Bernie? Where are you now?”
All went dark. Reggie could feel his surroundings swirling around him, and in an instant he was once again kneeling on the footpath before the thick green hedge before him, moon light dancing on the drops of dew on the leaves.
“Bernie?”
There was no answer.
Bernie?
There was still no response.
I know what you are now.
There was still no response, and Reggie found himself knelt in the bitter cold of the night, knees wet from the moisture on the ground.
Reggie raised himself to his feet, then took a step back and looked at the hedge. There was nothing wholly unusual about the hedge from first sight. In fact its very lack of being extraordinary was what concerned him the most.
There should have been a tree situated somewhere behind the hedge, a huge oak tree sat in the middle of an enormous open field. But as Reggie perused the hedge and those of either side, he realised that no such vast opening existed.
Reggie took a number of steps backwards to take a better view of the hedge, and true enough could see the row of semi detached homes set back just a small amount of metres from the hedge. That included the segment of hedge that he, himself had passed through some time earlier, and yet when he wasn’t quite sure of.
That is what he believed had taken place. However, now this was no more than a fuzzy memory. Was it merely his imagination? This question was beginning to feature more and more frequently in his thoughts, blurring his reality with dream and vice versa.
There was a gap in the fence about two to three metres wide. Why hadn’t he used this to access the field from the road instead of passing through the thick conifer barrier? This time he did, unsure what had happened to the tree that had once stood in the centre of the now empty field, he paced back onto the footpath and then stepped in wonderment onto the road.
A sudden sense of sadness struck him as he stared at the unconventional gap in the hedge. Reggie could feel the moon behind him beginning to set and a tear began to form in the corner of his eye.
Staring at the green hedge as the colour darkened, Reggie forgot all of what was around him. He no longer felt the chilly breeze drifting through the gaps in his dressing gown, or the scuttling foot steps of a small hedgehog collecting the last of its winter provisions before the big sleep. But more importantly, he didn’t hear the revs of the engine hurtling towards him, or see the head lights shining onto him as the car sped closer towards the spot where he stood.
At the top of the hill, stood in the centre of the road, Reggie turned his head to the right. Looking down the road he spotted the bright head lights of a car driving towards him, with no sign of divergence from its course.
Time stood still. Reggie found himself incredibly aware of his fate, and almost accepting of the fact. There was no sense of panic, no fight or flight impulse, but instead, a more realistic acknowledgement and understanding of his surroundings.  
It was then, as each millisecond unpeeled itself before him, that he was able to see through the windscreen of the oncoming vehicle. He was able to look straight over the dash board at the couple sat in the two front seats of the vehicle.
He recognised both occupants, the driver being Bernie. Not somebody who looked like Bernie, but his actual childhood friend. He was laughing, rather than paying attention to the road ahead, his eyes were turned to his passenger, to whom had his entire attention. Reggie braced himself for impact.
And much like being thrown backwards off a cliff, he felt his legs being taking away from beneath him, flying through the air. It was an incredible sensation of freedom, to have his entire body suspended in mid air, as if he was finally being released from the restraints of mortality. For those brief moments, gravity had released Reggie from the shackles that had forever clung to him from the ground.
Briefly paralysed, but at the same time completely free, Reggie had a feeling of euphoria that overwhelmed his mind. And within moments, he felt his back break into the soft cushioning of his mattress. Sinking into the fabric, his mind reached into the car that had thrown him to the ground.
There he sat, cheerfully laughing in the passenger seat. His compatriot Bernie, was sat to his right and looking across at him with an air of affection he had rarely felt before. The hilarity of the moment was infectious, and Reggie couldn’t help but continue to laugh along.
They looked at one another with a genuine sense of comfort, as if an incredible weight had been freed from them both. He turned his head to the seats behind where sat a single black suit case, the initials VD drawn in a white italic font over the front.
Together, Reggie and Bernie turned their heads forward to face the road, and that’s when they saw him. A man stood, apparently facing them, in the centre of the road. His head was haloed by the moon shining down in the night sky. It looked as if he had been waiting for them, the manner in which he stood like a statue at the brow of the hill, with no sign of flinching as they sped directly at him.
This time, Reggie felt his heart racing, the adrenalin kicking in and his fingers gripped hold of the door handle. Bernie reacted instantly, spinning the steering wheel forcefully to his left, leaning back as he thrust his right foot through the brake pedal.
There was a horrific screech of the brake pads that wailed out from the axles, and the sound of rubber dragging across tarmac. Reggie felt himself being thrown to his right towards the outstretched arm of Bernie clasped on the steering wheel. The disorientation meant the image before him seemed a blur, as he felt the thump of the kerb which raised his buttocks off the seat like a child on a seesaw.
The car seemed to rise into the air at such immense speed that it seemed to fly through a thin fence line of small green conifer shrubs. It was then he saw the huge oak tree leap forward into the bonnet of the car.
The trunk sliced through the metal like a saw, tearing it in half. There was just time to turn his head back to the right and with it look into the eyes of his life long friend one last time, before the world turned black, and the loud crash of silence deafened his ears.
“You okay mate?”
Reggie opened his eyes to see the moon still lighting the night sky above. His head then turned to his left to see the shaded face of a stranger looking over him with concern. The man’s arm was stretched out in offering of assistance.
The man’s features were too faint in the weak light to make any real identification, but the clear lack of facial wrinkles suggested this was a younger male. What better method of judgement was there for a man of Reggie’s age? A man whose face was now infested with the contours of age.
“Fella? You okay? C’mon ol’ guy, let me give you a hand.”
The lad didn’t wait for an answer, but instead took hold of Reggie’s arm beneath the arm pit and a second arm took hold of his elbow. Reggie had no choice, but to assist in lifting himself to his feet, should he have chose otherwise, it was likely that his arm should have been pulled from its socket beneath the shoulder.
At the moment that Reggie found himself stood flat on his feet, his weight no longer relying on the support of the stranger, a voice stated;
“Are you okay mate? I was driving past when you just seemed to collapse in the middle of the road.”
Reggie brushed himself down when he heard a second more familiar voice approaching.
“Reggie? You okay? Reggie!”
“Nothing broken.” Reggie broke into a forced laugh, as he attempted to hold himself upright with an unconvincing sense of dignity.
“It’s OK, he’s a friend of mine.” Reggie recognised the faint voice of Bernie, puffing up the road towards him.
“You wanna go to hospital or anything? I’ll give you a lift.” The young lad was speaking hastily, apparently ignoring Bernie.
“I’m fine thanks, really.”
“You sure? You just fell.”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Reggie stumbled slightly, but managed to retain his balance without requiring further assistance.
“Look mate, I gotta get going, if you’re sure you’re OK.”
“I’ll be fine, thank you.”
Reggie did not look at the man as he left his side. Mostly because should he have acknowledged his presence in anything more than through conversation, then it was possible that he in turn would seek to remedy any such ailment he felt had been inflicted upon poor Reggie. When in fact, all he sought was for the chance to return home, to his warm bed, and loving wife.
The two parted company, and Reggie heard the vehicle ignition as he stumbled back onto the pavement and turning back towards his home, began to walk down the hill. But he was soon halted by a hand grasping his arm.
“Where are you going? You alright?”
Reggie shrugged off the grip of his friend Bernie, and continued his approach down the hill.
“Mate, that looked bad, are you OK?”
“I walked, I fell, I got back up. Don’t pretend you don’t know what happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know what you are, I know what happened, but what I don’t know is why you’re here now.”
The two of them stopped. “You know?”
“Bernie, we were friends for so many years, of course it would be no surprise that I would attempt to suppress the event of your passing. That in order to distort my own acceptance of reality, I should recreate an alternative, more acceptable, existence. And of course, here you are stood before me.”
“And yet, you still seem puzzled?”
“Because I’m stood on the footpath leading to my home, in the middle of the night, dressed in just a dressing gown and shorts.”
“Your point being?”
“Of course I’m puzzled, who wouldn’t be puzzled under these circumstances. After all, if you are as I suspect, merely a pigment of my unrelenting mind to accept the traumas of life’s inevitabilities; I dare not seek an answer, for it is highly unlikely to be anything more than the words of my own interpretation.”
“And yet we both know what it is you wish to verbalise.”
“In which case, if you are as much aware of my enquiry, then I must also be equally aware of the answer that you are to give.”
“Which is?”
“That your presence here only confirms that which I know. And that, at this crossroad I may either choose to continue on the path to truth, or withdraw to the safety of my own subconscious.”
“And which do you choose?”
“If I knew the answer to that, you wouldn’t be asking that question.”
“Then what are you to do?”
“I have no idea. I suppose it is time for me to return home and perform the song I’ve been practising over the last few days. For when the sun rises tomorrow, I will have been married for thirty years, and I know I am ready.”
The two men walked the rest of the way in silence, side by side, down the hill back to Reggie’s home address.
Reggie found himself stood outside his front door, key in hand, reaching forward into the lock. He turned to his side where he saw the image of his friend Bernie, “You coming in?”
“Not now my friend. We still have much to discuss, but that will come. For now, you have something much more pressing to attend to first.”
“One last question.” Reggie had left this question until last, knowing that it would make it that much harder for Bernie to divert the conversation. “Am I dead?”
“Dead?” Bernie seemed surprised. “What makes you say that?”
“The car crash, my constant flitting between realities. I can’t help but think that there is still something that I am missing. Maybe I am coming to terms with the end of my life.” He could feel his heart racing with panic, which seemed rather ironic for a suspected dead man.
Bernie smiled, “My dear friend, I see your mind is almost ready and I am so proud, but now is not the time. All shall be revealed, because until it is, none shall come to pass.”
“Time? Who has the time?”
“Sadly this is one of those occasions where it has caught up with both of us. Please turn and go in now, there is somebody waiting for you.”
With that, not wishing to see his friend disappear into the distance, Reggie stepped into the doorway and within seconds found himself stood in the warmth of his hallway looking up to the stairs that led to the bed in which his wife lay. To his right he saw the door that led to the garden and to his left, and just within his line of vision he saw the keyboard of the piano peeking out from the lounge.
It was his intention to awaken before his wife in the morning and bring her breakfast in bed, along with the card which he had secreted between the pages of one of the music books in the piano stool. He walked into the lounge, and raised the lid of the piano stool, pulling out the various books contained within.
The book he sought was nearer the bottom of the pile. Entitled 30 Years Of Music At The Movies, it seemed almost appropriate to conceal the Anniversary card within such a title as the Anniversary surprise he was planning was something that could have been written into a Hollywood produced romantic comedy. He carefully removed the card, sealed within a handwritten envelope, and quickly placed it inside his dressing gown pocket.
The manoeuvre was made with a great deal of subtlety. Although he knew Valerie was still fast asleep in the bedroom upstairs, he refused to allow his guard to drop for even a second.
He then turned and faced the piano. There was a great deal of foreboding as he gazed upon the wood finish, and the small specks of dust, once again starting to rest upon the surface. For tomorrow, this was to be his only support in providing his wife with a performance she had earn’t for so many years of unconditional love and support.
Tomorrow?
Reggie looked up at the clock, ticking on the wall above the piano. The long, slender minute hand was pointing at a little past the number three, and at even less space from the smaller and chubbier hour hand. True enough, as he stood in his dressing gown looking at the piano on which he was soon to serenade his wife of thirty years, it occurred to him that he was stood on the side of midnight to which he and his wife had reached such an incredible milestone. Valerie, however, lay asleep, her consciousness not yet aware of the date progression.
Very soon, both their time lines were to reconnect, as they emerged in the morning as a married couple of thirty years. He took one final look at the piano, before making his way back into the hallway.
Reggie then shut the door to the lounge and made his way up to the stairs towards his bedroom. He glanced his head through the doorway and into the room. Though he couldn’t see Valerie any more than he could see the bed that stood just feet away, he could hear her breathing, and feel her presence like the warm rays emanating from a radiator.
But before entering the room, he needed to answer the call of nature. He couldn’t remember what the time was when he last relived his bladder of its contents, but after being stood over the toilet with a consistent stream of around three to four minutes, he realised that it must have been a considerable amount of time.
Having finished his urination, Reggie brushed his hands underneath the running water of the cold tap. He then draped the towel over his hands, and then stepped out of the bathroom and turned to the bedroom.
He stepped into the darkness of the bedroom, feeling his way along the wall until he reached the dressing table. There he withdrew the envelope and placed it on the table.
Reggie twiddled his fingers in anticipation of tomorrow, flexing his aging joints. He knew it was just hours away, and yet he still hadn’t decided how it was to take place or when. He made his way around the bed, finding his route around the mattress with his hand placed on the duvet.
But something wasn’t right. Reggie raised the duvet and slipped onto the cold mattress. He reached forward, but all he felt was the cold void between mattress and duvet. There was a sudden realisation that he was alone in bed, between the time of him using the toilet, and returning to the bedroom, Valerie had gone. And yet he hadn’t heard the creaking of the stairs on his descent. Where was she?
He chose to wait in bed for Valerie’s return, she was not likely to be long. Chances were that she had left to get a cup of warm milk or glass of water; and on her return, he could wish her a slightly premature Happy Anniversary.
But Reggie felt himself giving in to the desire for sleep, as he began to wonder what she was doing down stairs with no sign of any sounds to assist him. His eyelids were dropping over his tired eyes, and the image of his wife dressed in her sexiest red nightie became more and more vivid, as his consciously formed imagination slowly merged with the dream led by his subconscious.


To be continued...
Track 8 - The Greatest Discovery