m review — short fiction — joseph says goodbye
Joseph Says Goodbye
by Vikki McGuire
Joseph began dreaming about this day years ago. Yesterday, as he sat in the barber chair while Ned trimmed his hair, it all became clear in his head. Now, he was just a few hours away from his new life. Tonight he would leave behind his house, this town, this existence he'd endured for sixty some years. He'd silenced his wanderlust for a long time. His suitcase was packed and hidden in his garage workshop, where Kate wouldn't think to look. "It's funny," he thought, "my entire life fits inside one little box."
Joseph knew that no one would understand why he had to leave. Most likely everyone would think him an old fool. He's wasn't sure he really understood, but he was done swallowing his silence. It'd be hard for Kate, his bride of sixty years; if she even noticed his absence. They stopped talking years ago.
They married at sixteen, Joseph optimistic, Kate eager to claim her adulthood. They'd abandoned caution in the excited pursuit of starting their own family. But, it never happened. Even though they shared a decent life, Joseph felt a ravenous hunger in the pit of his stomach. That craving had gobbled at his soul for years. Their life together became an accumulation of unspoken conversations about their infertility, Kate's sacrifices and Joseph's failings.
The clattering commotion of children growing had long since quieted in his daydreams. His regret remained painful. Humiliation kept them each silent on the subject. He knew that even if a doctor had named Kate as the problem, she still would have blamed him for it. Faulting Joseph had been as routine as her monthly cycles. "You just don't want it bad enough," she accused. Her blood left staining the toilet bowl was more piercing than anything she could have said. As the months turned into years, Kate stopped speaking of it altogether. She simply left her bloody accusations for Joseph to discover. "Probably was my fault," Joseph thought accepting her blame. He was grateful when age overtook them and her periods and recriminations came to an end.
Now it was Saturday morning and Joseph spit polished his boots until they shone. As usual, Kate pressed his shirt and freshly laundered blue overalls with a neat straight crease down the middle of the legs. "Tonight's the night," Joseph thought as he buttoned up his crisp white cotton shirt. He liked to look well put together when he was sitting up on stage with his band. Joseph played guitar and banjo at the grange hall dances once a month. He hadn't missed a dance for as long as he could remember. Playing his instruments and entertaining his neighbors made him feel part of something; gave him a life outside the walls built up around his heart. Kate stopped going years ago. She said, "All the hubbub and crowds bring on my migraines. Besides, those parents should be ashamed of themselves the way they let their children run wild, bothering people, creating a ruckus. My child never would've been allowed such wickedness." But Joseph enjoyed the whoops and hollers, and raucousness of life that filled the hall on Saturday nights. Kate always tried to make Joseph feel guilty about playing the dances. She complained about leaving her home alone, but Joseph refused to stop.
Joseph entered his workshop, grabbed his instruments for the dance, and made one last check of the contents of his suitcase. Seeing everything in order, he took a deep breath and glanced around the room for the last time. His tools hung neatly, lined up from smallest to largest on the pegboard. Nails, nuts, bolts, and screws, sorted and sealed up in mason jars lined the shelves, and not a speck of dust or grime was left on the floor. "That should at least make Kate happy," Joseph thought. "It's all hers after tonight." Satisfied that everything was in order, Joseph closed the lid and tucked the suitcase under his work bench, then walked into the living room to say goodnight to Kate.
In the evenings Kate routinely turned the gas fireplace up to an unbearable temperature, and sat down in her favorite chair with some knitting or a book. Tonight was no exception, and she was asleep in her chair with her knitting in her hands, when Joseph entered the room. He sat opposite her on the edge of the footstool for a few moments while she slept. "By the time I get home to collect my suitcase she'll be upstairs in bed," Joseph thought. "So this is goodbye." Joseph was thankful to say goodbye this way, peacefully, without harsh words between them or her looks of reproach. As he gazed at his wife, he was startled by how buoyant he felt, how utterly uncomplicated it was going to be to walk out the door and leave everything he knew behind. If only their marriage had been this simple. Joseph touched his lips gently to Kate's forehead, whispered "Forgive me," and silently left the room.
Joseph entered the grange hall and headed for the stage. Families entered and placed their coats on chairs that rimmed the edge of the room. Children raced around searching for their friends. Joseph thought about how much he would miss playing the dances. He wasn't too worried about the band. They would easily find someone to take his spot. Besides, arthritis was creeping deeper into his joints and he was making more and more mistakes each time he played. By the end of the night he was barely able to hold the strings because of the pain in his hands, but he played through hoping no one really noticed. His band mates would occasionally give him sideways glances, but since he was the most senior member no one openly questioned him. The dancers didn't seem to notice that a chord was off here and there. Tonight though, Joseph played better than he had in years.
The notes from the last song were still hanging in the air as the kids stormed the stage and surrounded Joseph. They pushed and shoved, jockeying for position, their hands plunging deep into Joseph's pockets grasping for peppermints they knew were waiting for them at the bottom. Joseph smiled seeing their expressions of surprise when they pulled their hands out of his pockets. This evening he'd included shiny silver dollars to go along with the peppermints. He wanted to be sure the kids remembered him after tonight, and from the looks on their faces he saw that he was successful.
As the children raced to their parents to show off their treasures, Joseph slowly packed up his instruments and took a final look around the hall. He was the last to leave tonight, lingering with his band mates longer than usual. He wanted to be sure that he said a proper goodbye. He wanted his friends to remember him fondly.
Finally, Joseph was on his way home. The night air refreshed him and brought back the feeling of weightlessness he felt earlier leaving the house. "I've never played so well," he thought. "My hands aren't stiff at all."
Strangely, the lights were still on in the living room when Joseph approached the house. He only needed to drop off his instruments and grab his suitcase and his new life would begin. Joseph glanced into the living room and as he passed he saw Kate asleep in her chair, the fire blazing, her knitting in her hands. Nothing had changed and Kate had not moved since Joseph left the house several hours earlier. He didn't want to risk waking her, but the room was unusually hot, so he walked over and flipped off the switch to the fireplace. He turned and looked at Kate. She was as still as the dark night. That same stillness crawled inside him, snatched his breath, and held him. Then time slid backwards until it matched the expression on her face. Kate looked like the sixteen year old girl he had married so long ago, before all the disappointments of life settled into her, wrinkling her brow and turning down the corners of her mouth.
Slowly, he sat on the footstool as he had done earlier in the evening. He wondered if she had left him as he sat with her earlier in the evening, when he was so wrapped up in his own departure. He hadn't noticed she was leaving him. "You didn't say goodbye," Joseph said as he reached for her hand.
Vikki McGuire of Oregon
Vikki McGuire graduates from Marylhurst University this spring with a major in English Literature and Writing. When she's not in class, she spends most of her time working in the theatre listening to and telling stories. She lives in Portland with her infinitely supportive husband, inspiring stepdaughter, hairy dog, and fuzzy cat.
