A Broken Man

*****

It was the weekend. The morning air was still relatively cool in the cemetery, but James knew it would get hotter around midday. But not too far from Christine's marker there was a tree he could sit under for some shade if it got too unbearable.

As much as James tried to clear his mind, he kept coming back to Emily. Wondering if she would come to the cemetery today, and what she would say next if she did.

It was late morning when she arrived. She looked over at James as she walked to her marker. She squatted down in front of it for a moment. After reaching down and touching it, she stood and started walking towards James. He watched her the whole way as she approached.

Once she reached his spot, she stood over him with that half-smile on her face.

"Ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"To tell me your story."

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know whatever you want to share."

James felt like he was being twisted around like a pretzel with her words. How was she doing this?

"What if I don't want to share anything?"

"Then I'll just sit here quietly."

With that, Emily plopped down and busied herself looking for twigs in the grass.

Ar first, James felt a bit of anger arise. Who was this person to demand his story? She didn't though, did she? She asked if he was ready to share...but why did she care? And why should he share his story with a total stranger?

If she could tell what thoughts were swimming through his head, she did not let on. But he couldn't shake the feeling she knew exactly what he was thinking, and it disturbed him. Looking back on the moment, James could never explain to himself why he started speaking, but with a big sigh and a long look at the woman that sat near him, he started.

"My wife died of cancer."

James paused and looked at Emily. She did not speak, nor did she offer condolences or any other platitudes that usually accompanied that statement, and he was grateful for it. Long ago he had tired of the game, pretending their words meant something to him. If it wasn't going to bring Christine back, then he didn't care.

He saw the faint undertones of sympathy in her eyes. It was just enough to soften him slightly, and he continued.

James spoke of a normal relationship. It wasn't love at first sight. There were no declarations of love after the first date. It was typical in the sense that they took their time at first and got to know each other. They would have a fight here and there, but nothing catastrophic and they always resolved the issue after a short cooling-off period.

After a few months, they realized they were in love and told each other as much. A few months later, plans were laid, dates were set and they were on their way toward marriage. They moved in together and experienced the typical growing pains of new couples trying to cohabitat.

It was after they got married that things started to change. Slowly, in tiny increments, they improved their relationship and became better together. It wasn't the grand, sweeping change that comes over movie characters after a deep revelation on their parts. No, this was two people who wanted their relationship to grow. Who wanted to be more in love with each other every day. Who wanted to complement each other. All of that takes work, and it's work many people are not prepared to put in.

When they would fight, which is inevitable in a relationship, they would fight about the issue. They watched some of their more poorly matched friends fight in a way designed to see who could hurt the other more. Other friends were simply trying to 'win' whatever argument they were having with their partner. But there is no 'winning' in these situations. The goal should be to come to a solution with which both sides can live. James and Christine somehow understood this intuitively.

There are times when people will judge others, stating, 'they don't know how good they have it.' James never wanted to be in this camp. He knew how much he cared for his wife and how much she cared for him. Regardless of what else happened around them, he knew he had a winning lottery ticket. Whenever he talked about their relationship, he would always describe himself as 'blessed.'

Then, in less than a year's time, it all came crashing down. An anomaly during a routine checkup. A few tests. Then a few more. A devastating diagnosis. The tears. The anger. The declarations they would fight and win. In the end, none of it mattered. She was taken from him, and there was nothing he could do.

He was given space for a while. Then, gentle persuasion to try and get him to move on. He rebelled. He didn't want to move on. Was everyone blind, or was he just crazy? None of his friends had a relationship that came close to what he had with Christine. Now they wanted him to move on. Move on to what? Second best? A consolation prize? He had the perfect partner. She could not be replaced, and he wouldn't try. It wouldn't be fair to anyone.

James had no idea how long he had been talking. Once he had started, the story just came tumbling out. This was probably the first time he had told the story in its totality. Most of those whom he spoke to immediately afterwards were friends and family that already knew it.

Aside from a few gasps at some of the more depressing parts of the story, Emily remained quiet. She still had the same look on her face. It made him feel peaceful, but he couldn't say why. He waited for her to say something as he had clearly finished his tale, but she remained silent.

"Well?"

She tilted her head at him and furrowed her eyebrows slightly.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what you think?"

"Oh no. It doesn't matter what I think. It only matters what you feel, and you've already told me how you feel."

More surprises from her. James tried to turn the tables a bit.

"I suppose you're going to tell me your story now?"

"No."

"No!?"

"No. Most people are just waiting for their turn to speak. I want to be heard. When I think you're ready to listen, I'll tell you."

Before James could protest, she got up and walked away. She headed to her marker and sat down. Every fiber of him wanted to get up, walk over, and say he was ready to hear her story...demand to hear her story!

Where was this coming from? He had spent the last several years avoiding interacting with people, and here he was having to restrain himself from trying to force someone, albeit verbally, to interact with him.

James was still having a mental war with himself over this when Emily got up and walked away. She turned briefly to wave to him as she left, which he returned.

*****

James had spent ages trying not to think, and here he was, consumed by conversations with a quirky, verbal ninja who seemed always to be ten steps ahead of him. When not working, nearly every waking moment was spent dissecting the conversation.

He was also trying to figure out how to get Emily to tell her story. He had a strong suspicion that if he just asked again, he would get the same result. Almost as if the more he wanted to know, the less likely she was to tell him.

It was starting to affect his cemetery visits now. Instead of blanking his mind, he was wondering when Emily would appear. This made the time spent there drag on. A part of him wanted to be angry that she was upending his rituals. There was something else though, something that was starting to creep into his consciousness; he enjoyed her company.

It had been nearly a week since he last saw her at the cemetery, and he was starting to worry. Had he done something to scare her off? Did something happen to her? Then he started to worry about why he was worrying. He would then end up back at the beginning; wondering where she was. This cycle continued in his mind with every permutation possible thrown in until he was mentally exhausted.

He sighed, picked up another twig and tossed it to the side. He was under the tree now. The midday sun was too hot to stay out in it for too long. It was then he noticed movement. He tried not to get excited. It was the weekend, and while the cemetery didn't get many visitors, there were always a few. He looked up to see Emily walking towards him. As she drew closer, he noticed the almost ever-present half-smile on her face.

She sat down in front of him this time and appeared to subtly study him. James was almost afraid to start, given their previous conversations and his feeling of total inadequacy in keeping up with her. She let him off the hook and started the conversation for them.

"You're not ready."

"I'm not?"

"No."

"How can you tell?"

"Eagerness does not define one's readiness. You want to hear my story, but you're not ready to hear it."

"What does that even mean!?"

Emily smiled a little sadly at him but ignored the question.

"Continue your story."

"But I already told you my story."

"Only a part of it, it's not complete."

"Why should I tell you more of mine, when you won't tell me yours?"

"I've already explained that you're not ready to hear mine. As to why you should tell me more of yours, the explanation is simple: You probably think you told me a complete story the other day, that there isn't anything else to tell."

She looked at him questioningly, waiting for his response.

"Well, yes. I did tell you the whole story."

"When did your wife pass?"

"Five years and three months ago." James replied, probably a little too quickly.

"The end of your story gets longer with each passing second. So I'd say you have five years and three months of story left to tell."

James just glared at her for a moment.

"Fine!"

James spent the better part of the afternoon telling his story. He told Emily about the funeral, and how his parents passed within a year of Christine. He told her how his parents lived in another state, and he had cut them off as well because he found it too painful to talk to them.

He talked at length about his friends. About them growing up together. How they were a part of both his and Christine's lives. He explained about all they tried to do, and how he had rejected it. How eventually, he had rejected them. He explained how he had decided to live his life. To find ways to remove himself from the pain and to try to make it pass as quickly as possible.

He explained that he had thoughts of suicide, but could never do it. He had occasional bouts of depression that Christine had always helped him through. When one of her friends took her life it devastated Christine. She made him promise, no matter how bad it got, that he would never do that. He promised. Especially since it was a promise to Christine, it was one he would never break.

"So you've kept your promise to your wife."

"Of course. She would never want me to do that."

"And what about your friends? How would she feel about what you've done to them?"

He wanted to protest. To tell her that they didn't understand. That he didn't want to be helped. That no amount of 'help' would bring Christine back.

While these thoughts were flashing through his mind, Emily got up and walked away.

His emotions were roiling at this point. He wanted to be angry with Emily. He wanted to yell at her. What did she know? She didn't know how he felt! She didn't know Christine and how amazing their relationship had been.

*****

Back in his apartment that evening, James did what he seemed to do every waking moment he wasn't working. He replayed his conversation with Emily. He still wanted to be angry with her. The more he replayed the conversation, the more he realized he should be angry with himself. What had she said to him? She had made no accusations. She had merely asked a question. 'How would Christine feel about his treatment of his friends?'

James knew he had to admit it. He knew why he was angry, because he would have to admit a truth he should have always known. That he knew how Christine would feel about the entire situation. She would abhor it...and in the blink of an eye, his anger turned to shame.

For the first time in years, James cried.

*****

While the realization may have struck James immediately, his emotions and thoughts needed more time to recover. He skipped the cemetery a few times over the next week, preferring to think about it at home. Regardless of how much he thought about it though, he could see no easy solutions. He had abandoned his friends. Even though Ed asked him to reach out, it took him the better part of a week to get over his shame.

James finally worked up enough courage to dial the number that Saturday morning. After a few rings, James was starting to think it would go to voicemail. He felt a pang of panic, he hadn't thought far enough ahead. What would he leave as a message? He was about to preemptively hang up when Ed answered.

"Hello."

Oh right, Ed didn't know the number he was calling from.

"Hi Ed."

He waited just a moment. He figured Ed might not recognize his voice over the phone. It had been years after all.

"umm, it's James."

"James?"

"Yeah."

It was then that James noticed the background commotion. The sounds of a normal family on a Saturday morning.

"Ed, if this is a bad time I can call ba..."

"No! No, it's fine, just one second."

He heard what sounded like a sliding door open and close and the commotion ceased.

"Sorry to just call you out of the blue."

"I asked you to call me, and it's great to hear from you."

James had gone through every permutation of this conversation he possibly could. Once Ed picked up the phone, his memory of all of them blanked. His mind did not want to work, and he continued solely on emotion.

"Thanks, umm...I'm not sure what to say...except that I'm sorry...umm...I'm sorry I cut you and Janine off. I'm sorry I cut everyone off..."

For the second time in a week, James started to cry.

Ed stuck with him. Telling him he understood. Asking him if they could meet someplace right then. James declined. He promised to get together with him, and to answer his calls. He knew he just wasn't quite ready to go meet up at a bar or wherever. He would need a little more time for that.

He asked for, and Ed gave him, the numbers of the rest of their group he had abandoned. Ed explained he told them about their encounter the other day, and how all of them were hoping James would reach out. It helped, but he was still nervous about the calls he knew he would be making.

James remembered what one of the therapists he visited after Christine's passing had said: Healing is a process.

James didn't know how long the process would take, but at least it had started.

*****

James kept up his visits to the cemetery, though he was down to a couple times a week now. He was concerned as he had not seen Emily in a couple of weeks. At first, he assumed he had just missed her. He now had more of his story to tell, and was, for a change, looking forward to doing so.

He got up from his sitting position below the tree and wiped of the back of his pants. He headed over toward the marker Emily always visited. He now thought it rude that he had never considered seeing or asking who she was visiting previously. They were all markers flush with the ground, so it was hard to tell which was the one she had visited.

Scanning the names and dates, one caught his attention:

Emily Peterson

1983 - 2018

It could be just a coincidence. James headed home, feeling a bit uneasy. Once in his apartment, he grabbed his work laptop, opened the browser, and searched on Emily Peterson 2018. He found a small clipping from a local newspaper. She had been fatally struck while riding her bike. She had lived a few towns over and had been a teacher. He searched her name and the school at which she had taught. He clicked on image results.

He jerked back from the screen when he saw the face staring back at him. An image of a face, head slightly tilted wearing a half-smile. The same face that had spoken to him at the cemetery looked back at him.

"You're ready now."

"AAAAAHHHH!"

James screamed, falling out of his chair and scurrying backwards on hands and feet until he backed into the wall. He looked left and right as if there were an escape route he could manifest next to him. He then put his head down. He was afraid to look. It was a horror movie coming to life.

Finally, he summoned the courage to look up. There stood Emily on the other side of the now turned over chair. She glanced at her image on the screen and looked at him with her half-smile. She seemed to be waiting on him.

"Are you a ghost?"

She smiled more broadly at the question.

"While technically inaccurate, I prefer the term 'Angel.'"

James felt like he was in no position to argue specifics on terminology with someone from the afterlife.

"As in 'guardian angel?'"

"Something like that."

"Who sent you?"

"Oh, I think you know the answer to that, James."

"You've spoken to her?"

"Of course! We both passed within a year of each other, so you could say we are in the same class. We've become quite fond of each other."

"Can you tell me what she's said...or how she is?"

"James, you've been to her grave marker enough to know how she is."

Ghost or not, the verbal jousting was getting tiresome.

"You know what I mean, Emily!"

"Yes, I do. There are some things I can tell you and some things I cannot. So while my answers may not always satisfy you, there are reasons why I may be obtuse."

She moved in front of him and sat down.

"What I can tell you is how she feels. She loves you deeply."

Her statement caused the first tears to fall.

"But you knew this already, didn't you?"

James just nodded his head.

"And how do you think it makes her feel to see the way you treated your friends, and especially how you treated yourself?"

James couldn't answer, he just cried more.

"If anyone knows how much love you have to give, it's Christine. And she feels that love should not be squandered or suppressed. It should be shared. Shared with friends, shared with family. Shared with another woman even."

This statement jolted James back, and he just stared at her.

"James, it doesn't mean you have to. It just means that you shouldn't close yourself off to whatever opportunities love presents to you. You've already started your journey back; please continue it, for yourself and for Christine."

With that Emily stood and turned.

"Wait!" James nearly shouted. Emily turned to him again.

"James, whatever message you are going to ask me to convey, she already knows."

She made to turn back, but paused, turned towards him again, and squatted down next to him. She almost whispered to him.

"I'm not supposed to share things she's said, it's against the rules. But I'm going to break them this one time...She wants me to tell you that she will always love you, and when it's your time, she'll be waiting for you."

Epilogue

Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.

'Not as hard as getting through all twelve books of Paradise Lost,' thought James as he closed the book and leaned back against the bench. Spring was threatening to bloom again. James particularly liked this time of year, watching the struggle that nature went through to make something beautiful.

He thought back to a time when he sat on the same bench, blocking all the beauty out. It was a faint memory now. Like a photograph that has faded so much, some of the detail has disappeared. He wouldn't dwell on it though. Those mistakes were amended for long ago.

It was tentative at first. Setting oneself so firmly on a path, never deviating, never flinching. It made for a long and hard course correction. He eventually reconnected with his friends. It took years to rebuild the relationships. He would never say that it went back to the way it was, but it was as close as he could ask for, given the circumstances.