One Word

The word “No” hangs in the air as if it were a balloon whose string was tied tightly to my wrist. It was floating just above my head as I stood in the kitchen. The telephone receiver, still in my hand, demanded to be hung up. Its insolent dial tone was the only sound in the room. Faintly, a song is playing in another room. I strain to recognize it. My heart will go on. The movie I had been indulging in must have reached its poignant death scene. I become aware of my own heart pounding in my chest, much like a bird trying to break free from its cage.

I am standing in the kitchen, nearly leaning on the sink. Piles of plates and bowl, coffee mugs and beer glasses, and a mountain of flatware that will need polishing before returning to their drawer fill the sink. I have managed to put this chore off all afternoon, and it seems I will have to put it off even longer now.

I spent the rainy afternoon in a leisurely fashion, as if it might be the last one I will enjoy. I curled myself into my favorite chair with stacks of magazines at my feet and a warm cat snuggled against my neck. My plan was to clip desires from the pages while taking in a movie. The film was one of great love and great loss. Sitting through it without tears would be an accomplishment in and of itself.

The afternoon wore on as planned. Cups of tea were sipped, clippings were methodically and precisely cut, and the movie played on with out evoking tears. The rain had subsided, and the sun peeked through the trees to the west. I would not enjoy its warmth today. Soon it would be evening, I thought to myself.

The phone rang, startling me out of my frivolous meditation. I took the empty cup into the kitchen, in hopes of filling it as I spoke with the caller. “Hello?” I said forming the salutation into a question.

“I have some bad news.” It was my mother on the line. Immediately, I thought of my grandmother who had been ill for the past year. A sense of relief rushed over me as I imagined her walking through the gates of heaven, completely healed.

“It’s Granny, isn’t it?” I cut off the words forming on her lips. I wanted to spare her the burden of having to relay the message. Even though the loss was expected, one could never be fully prepared for the death of a parent.

“Kiddo, it’s your Dad…” she whispered, her words trailing off. I didn’t understand what she had just said. I did not comprehend her words. I was still daydreaming of my Grandmother skipping on clouds. I was about to ask my mother to repeat what she had spoken when the words registered in my mind. I could only bring myself to scream one word in response.

“No!”