One Night…revisited

and George were driving home from Nadia’s 30th birthday party. Nadia was married to George’s long time friend, Boris. George had had a lot to drink and was over the limit. Sylvia drove. Neither of them wore seat belts. She carefully asked him “What do you think of that strange woman you were talking to,” not wanting to convey to him her feelings of doubt.

“You mean Melinda? She’s okay.”

“Only okay? You two seemed to be having a grand time and you left me talking to Boris,” said Sylvia in an accusatory tone.

“I like Boris. We go way back. He may be a bit nerdy, but he’s been a good friend to me.” retorted George

“He spent the whole time telling me about himself and never once asked me how I was or what I was up to. I kept glancing at you to come and rescue me but you and Melinda were deep in conversation, sitting so close together on the couch. You were laughing a lot. What was so funny?” continued Sylvia.

“It was nothing really. We found out we had a lot in common. Both of us studied journalism, enjoyed the same music, that sort of thing. You know.”

“No I don’t know, George,” She was getting angry “Tell me more.” Inadvertently, the speedometer crept up.

“Sylvia, I tell you, it was nothing. Maybe we had a little too much to drink and were just enjoying each other’s company.”

Sylvia gave a wry laugh. “Sure you were. So much so that the Nadia came to asked if I was okay. She said I looked upset.”

The car hit the bin that George had put out earlier for garbage collection and came to a stop before hitting the garage door. Sylvia grabbed her coat, slammed the car door and went into the house. She turned the kettle on noticing the scar on her left wrist, the result of depression. It was itching. Her brother had found her comatose, blood everywhere. The paramedics saved her life. That made her think of the gun hidden in her purse. Her brother wouldn’t miss it now that he was in jail.

George staggered into the house, removed his coat, slumped on the couch and a little too loudly said “Bring me some tea, honey.” To Sylvia, it sounded like a command.

That riled Sylvia. She stood in front of him. “You know what else I saw. You and Melinda both going to the washroom together. What the hell went on?”

“I’m telling you Sylvia, it was nothing. Its not what you think.”

“Don’t bullshit me, George. You screwed her, didn’t you!” accused Sylvia, furious with with him.

George knew she was wrong. Whoever Sylvia had seen it was not them. Melinda had told him “George I have to leave now to fetch my wife from the airport.” She must have gone to the washroom before leaving. George, on the other hand had gone out to the patio for a smoke.

Boris was there. He told George, “You’re a lucky guy having a girlfriend like Sylvia. We had a great conversation tonight. You’ve never had a lasting relationship, you know, George, flitting from one girl to another. You’re not getting younger. You should think about settling down.”

George finished his cigarette and went back inside to fetch Sylvia who was talking to Nadia. They both stopped when they saw him approaching.

George tried to reason with Sylvia, but she didn’t, or did not want to, hear. He was tired and she went on and on questioning him until he blurted out, “Go to Hell Sylvia!”

“All right then. I will go to Hell, and let me tell you, I’ll take you with me.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Sylvia,” said George.

That hurt. It was unfair. George was gregarious. She had fallen for his charm when they met at her friend’s place, Josie, for a summer barbecue. George made her forget about her troubles, made her laugh. It didn’t take much for him to persuade her to move in with him. She had yet to find the courage to tell him that she was pregnant and he wasn’t the father.

Sylvia thought for a moment longer, then grabbed her purse and jacket, left the house slamming the door behind her, climbed back in the car and drove aimlessly for half an hour. Her mother would flip if she went there she thought; her devout ways would be hell. Finally, she decided to spend the night at Josie’s place. They had met at the clinic where Josie worked and she had been instrumental in helping Sylvia with her depression. “Anytime you need help, you call me.” she had said emphatically. The invitation to the summer barbecue was a deliberate move by Josie to introduce Sylvia to her circle of friends.

Sylvia rang the doorbell. After what seemed like ages a disheveled Josie answered the door.

“Sorry to bother you Josie but can I sleep over?”

“Come on in Syl. You don’t have to ask,” Josie knew then that something was up. “Let’s have a coffee and we can talk.”

They sat on the couch with a throw blanket over them. “So, what’s up?”

Sylvia relayed the evening’s events finishing with “…Then he told me to go to Hell!”

“Well this isn’t Hell, honey. Sleep on the couch tonight, then in the morning we can have a relaxed breakfast and talk some more. I’m going back to bed now”

Sylvia tossed and turned before falling asleep, grateful for Josie’s non-judgmental nature.

The sunlight woke her and she lay still. The previous night’s drama flooded back. “Shit, that wasn’t a dream,” she muttered to herself. She heard noises coming from the kitchen, so she got up and with the throw blanket wrapped around her poked her head around the corner. Hearing her gasp, Fred turned from attending to the coffee pot. “Hi Sylvia, Josie told me you were here. Did you get some sleep?”

Embarrassed, she said in a croaky voice “Morning Fred,” If only Josie had told me last night that Fred was here she thought to herself. She knew Josie and Fred had been together awhile, but in her state she had forgotten about him until now.

“Josie’s still sleeping so why don’t you freshen up, have a shower. She’ll be down shortly and by then we will have a breakfast to die for. How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled,” came the reply. It described her life she thought; a real mess, depressing. Orphaned at an early age she and her brother had gone through several foster homes ending up in a subsidized housing complex. She never asked her brother how he found the money to pay for the rent.

They sat in the breakfast nook sipping the last of the coffee. “I’m going for a run and you two have time to catch up,” said Fred having been briefed by Josie that she an Sylvia needed time alone.

Sylvia had said very little during their breakfast. That bothered Josie, sensing that Sylvia was putting up walls, shutting out her world. Whatever she tried, Sylvia became more remote. Suddenly Sylvia said “I must get the car back to George. He said he needed it later today. Thanks for the help Josie.” She left abruptly, leaving Josie with a sense of foreboding.

That morning, George took the overflowing garbage container from the house to dump it in the one outside ready for collection. It lay on the ground, its contents strewn over the sidewalk. He began picking up the pieces. He stood suddenly, not comprehending what was in his hand. It looked like a thermometer and then it dawned on him “Oh no! It’s a pregnancy test kit and it’s positive,” he said aloud looking at the meter. He knew what had happened. “This must be be from Sylvia,” he thought. He would go to the local grocery store, buy some flowers and then try to get hold of Sylvia and make up for his blunder last night.

The car was in the driveway when he got back. The scrape on the front fender reminded him again of last night. It shouldn’t have happened. “I’m an asshole,” he said aloud. His pulse sped up. He took a deep breath and bounded up the steps to the front door, excited. He knew what he was going to do. Boris’s words of advice came back to him. “I will not avoid a father’s responsibility,” he promised himself.

The door was locked. “Hmm, that’s strange,” he thought. He rang the doorbell and called out, “Sylvia, its me.”

The door flew open and a bullet ripped through his heart. Looking at George lying there, Sylvia raised the gun to her head, and uttered her last words “See you in hell.”