Play & Book Excerpts
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What's Better Than This?
(Glasco on the Hudson Publishing LLC)
© 2018 Lorraine Salmon
WHEN YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING
Mackey was still facing away from me when he answered. I had been spooned into him all night, my belly against his buttocks, my face pressed against his back. My inability to speak against his inability to fathom the future, a future that is tracked not by the seasons, but by the tick-tock of a silent chronometer measuring out how much time is left.
“Yes,” he said, and his voice cracked.
Just last week we had nothing but time, a future awaiting us, one we’d worked hard for. This morning, we wondered how other people get up “the day after.”
As we laid in bed together, wide awake and exhausted, I thought of the thousands and millions of people before us who had faced this tragedy, faced the loss of their own life; and I prayed for them, and then for us. I prayed that I would be filled with purpose and certainty. I prayed that Mackey would be able to look at me and know I was there for him. I prayed like I hadn’t prayed in a long time. Then I prayed this was all a mistake, and that another test would reveal a chance for another chance. And then I spoke. I don’t know how I uttered a word, but when I cleared my throat to speak, my prayer was answered and that little girl, the one who had watched Sunshine over and over again, spoke.
I held Mackey tighter around his waist, and she said from within: “Mackey, you see that tiny window in your living room, and that sliver of light beyond it?”
“Yes.” His voice cracked again.
“Well, that is where we are going. We are going to the light. You remember how I told you we were getting out of this apartment, soon, and we would be sharing a home together and living our days getting back to each other?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said quietly.
“Well, that light over there is coming up everyday and every day it comes up, we are getting up together, even if we are apart. And we are facing this thing and fighting to keep you here. We don’t even know what that means yet, right?”
Mackey nodded once.
“But we will find out together. We will find out what to do and how to do it. We will do it together and we will meet back here until we meet back in a place with better light.”
I tugged at his belly. “We will find a place with beautiful light and we will live there together and fight this thing. It can’t get you if we keep moving forward and doing the next thing to keep you here with me and Ryan and Kiernan.”
We were quiet for a few minutes. Mackey held my arms tightly around his chest. “Do you want me to keep talking or do you want to get up, Mackey?”
“Keep talking.”
…
“But Mackey, you will need to tell me when you need space, when you want some time to yourself, when I’m in the way.”
Mackey took a breath. “Every day you are here is a good day, Lorraine. Any day you are not here is a day to hope you will be here again soon. I don’t need space. I need you. Just tell me what to do. You tell me what to do and I will do it. I don’t want the boys to think I ever gave up. I won’t. Just keep pointing and I will keep doing the next thing, keep going to the next place, the best option.”
And then I lay there thinking that I was overwhelmed, how could he not be? And then I thought that he was about to have treatments that would probably make him very sick and we could not stay in that apartment in the cellar with old carpet and moldy walls, and only the light that slipped beneath the landlord’s porches and through the cellar windows. We needed hardwood floors and clean area carpets, a newly tiled bathroom and pretty windows with light, lots of light.
“Okay, then. And Mackey, we are moving. Soon. Sooner than you can ever imagine.”
“Okay, we will talk about that.”
“Fine, Mackey, we can talk about it. But we are talking about it while we are doing it. I will start looking today.” Any other time, I would not have had the last word on this topic, but today was different.
I was in charge now. Mackey had said so. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
I added, “We will be together more now than ever before, and I know we love each other, so I guess we will find out if we like each other.”
“We like each other,” Mackey said.
“Okay, then, Mack, let’s get up.”
Mackey squeezed my arms again. I kissed his back. “I love you, Mack.”
“I love you too, more than you will ever know.”
And he got up. Mackey never looked back at me. He slid on his sweat pants and moved toward the light in the room adjacent to our dark bedroom, toward the cellar window with the light that shone through the porch slats. And leaving there became the next thing to do.
While I was making our bed, Mackey shouted, “I’m going for coffee, want some?”
“Sure Mack. Vanilla with cream, no sugar.”
“Like I don’t know that.”
“So, yes then, I want coffee.”
Really what I wanted was a bourbon and some answers. Mackey would be gone for only fifteen minutes. I needed to make all my calls immediately. Once he was back, there was no place for privacy and it was zero degrees out and too bloody cold to talk outside.
And I needed to start packing. Well, in my mind. And in addition to moving, we needed a system for physician information and tracking of medical files, but I could figure that out later. For now I needed to figure out what to do with the suitcases we had packed for our vacation. They were still at the doorway, taking up the only spare three square feet in the apartment.
And then I needed to figure out all that we would be needing, and for the first time I wondered, what do you take with you when you don’t know where you are going?
Mackey was still facing away from me when he answered. I had been spooned into him all night, my belly against his buttocks, my face pressed against his back. My inability to speak against his inability to fathom the future, a future that is tracked not by the seasons, but by the tick-tock of a silent chronometer measuring out how much time is left.
“Yes,” he said, and his voice cracked.
Just last week we had nothing but time, a future awaiting us, one we’d worked hard for. This morning, we wondered how other people get up “the day after.”
As we laid in bed together, wide awake and exhausted, I thought of the thousands and millions of people before us who had faced this tragedy, faced the loss of their own life; and I prayed for them, and then for us. I prayed that I would be filled with purpose and certainty. I prayed that Mackey would be able to look at me and know I was there for him. I prayed like I hadn’t prayed in a long time. Then I prayed this was all a mistake, and that another test would reveal a chance for another chance. And then I spoke. I don’t know how I uttered a word, but when I cleared my throat to speak, my prayer was answered and that little girl, the one who had watched Sunshine over and over again, spoke.
I held Mackey tighter around his waist, and she said from within: “Mackey, you see that tiny window in your living room, and that sliver of light beyond it?”
“Yes.” His voice cracked again.
“Well, that is where we are going. We are going to the light. You remember how I told you we were getting out of this apartment, soon, and we would be sharing a home together and living our days getting back to each other?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said quietly.
“Well, that light over there is coming up everyday and every day it comes up, we are getting up together, even if we are apart. And we are facing this thing and fighting to keep you here. We don’t even know what that means yet, right?”
Mackey nodded once.
“But we will find out together. We will find out what to do and how to do it. We will do it together and we will meet back here until we meet back in a place with better light.”
I tugged at his belly. “We will find a place with beautiful light and we will live there together and fight this thing. It can’t get you if we keep moving forward and doing the next thing to keep you here with me and Ryan and Kiernan.”
We were quiet for a few minutes. Mackey held my arms tightly around his chest. “Do you want me to keep talking or do you want to get up, Mackey?”
“Keep talking.”
…
“But Mackey, you will need to tell me when you need space, when you want some time to yourself, when I’m in the way.”
Mackey took a breath. “Every day you are here is a good day, Lorraine. Any day you are not here is a day to hope you will be here again soon. I don’t need space. I need you. Just tell me what to do. You tell me what to do and I will do it. I don’t want the boys to think I ever gave up. I won’t. Just keep pointing and I will keep doing the next thing, keep going to the next place, the best option.”
And then I lay there thinking that I was overwhelmed, how could he not be? And then I thought that he was about to have treatments that would probably make him very sick and we could not stay in that apartment in the cellar with old carpet and moldy walls, and only the light that slipped beneath the landlord’s porches and through the cellar windows. We needed hardwood floors and clean area carpets, a newly tiled bathroom and pretty windows with light, lots of light.
“Okay, then. And Mackey, we are moving. Soon. Sooner than you can ever imagine.”
“Okay, we will talk about that.”
“Fine, Mackey, we can talk about it. But we are talking about it while we are doing it. I will start looking today.” Any other time, I would not have had the last word on this topic, but today was different.
I was in charge now. Mackey had said so. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
I added, “We will be together more now than ever before, and I know we love each other, so I guess we will find out if we like each other.”
“We like each other,” Mackey said.
“Okay, then, Mack, let’s get up.”
Mackey squeezed my arms again. I kissed his back. “I love you, Mack.”
“I love you too, more than you will ever know.”
And he got up. Mackey never looked back at me. He slid on his sweat pants and moved toward the light in the room adjacent to our dark bedroom, toward the cellar window with the light that shone through the porch slats. And leaving there became the next thing to do.
While I was making our bed, Mackey shouted, “I’m going for coffee, want some?”
“Sure Mack. Vanilla with cream, no sugar.”
“Like I don’t know that.”
“So, yes then, I want coffee.”
Really what I wanted was a bourbon and some answers. Mackey would be gone for only fifteen minutes. I needed to make all my calls immediately. Once he was back, there was no place for privacy and it was zero degrees out and too bloody cold to talk outside.
And I needed to start packing. Well, in my mind. And in addition to moving, we needed a system for physician information and tracking of medical files, but I could figure that out later. For now I needed to figure out what to do with the suitcases we had packed for our vacation. They were still at the doorway, taking up the only spare three square feet in the apartment.
And then I needed to figure out all that we would be needing, and for the first time I wondered, what do you take with you when you don’t know where you are going?
Photo Credit: Franco Vogt
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Lorraine Salmon is the author of What’s Better Than This?, her first memoir which reached the #1 spot on Amazon.com in the “New Dramas and Plays by Women” category shortly after its release in December 2018. This romantic memoir spans her 14-month love affair that quickly blooms into a pivotal and meaningful mid-life romance before turning into a last-wishes-before-dying story. Her journey confronts readers with the questions that arise when we look death squarely in the eye.
Lorraine is a self-taught consultant/developer of over $100M in real estate projects. She spent 25 years in healthcare and real estate management, development, and construction and is a NYS-licensed real estate broker. She was the developer of a $48M traumatic brain injury rehabilitation center in the Hudson Valley Region of New York – the first of its kind. Lorraine is Executive Director of Institutional Advancement and External Relations at SUNY Ulster where she is responsible for the overall planning and management of philanthropic support for the college and an Arbonne Independent Consultant, teaching others to own and operate their own consulting firms. She is the mother of two grown daughters and grandmother (Lola) to five. She currently lives in the Glasco, NY where she enjoys her river view and finds much inspiration for her writing projects. She is working on her second memoir. |
