98 Anderson Road

Pilgrim Artist's festival 2023 Literary finalist - Adult Non-Fiction Category.
Prompt: Beauty in the everyday. The abridged, competition version can be found here

He turned 90 last month but refused celebrations. His only daughter had passed away earlier in the year and “how is it right to make party when she’s not here?”. Instead, he stayed at home –  the two bedroom bungalow he’s lived in since Italy - “I have no English then!” – remembering her playing with all the neighbours’ kids - “We knowing everyone then!”. He nursed his late wife in this home, in her forgetful, fading years. Now, he’s alone - “I’m no watch the TV, really, I just put on to keep me company, you know”. 

She’s a third of his age and lives in the townhouse next door – though not during waking hours. She lives a scheduled life - scurrying from work to the gym, to church, to band practice, to babysitting, to…98 Anderson Road.  

She first started to visit because the Bible said to love thy neighbour as thyself… and…the latter she did very well. But now, it's so much more. Turns out, God was giving so much more than just a command. 

When she visits, his world comes alive. His eyes come alive and his voice comes alive (but he mustn’t talk too fast because these dentures give him pain). He turns up his hearing aid so he can absorb all she reports: The station is being redone, the dumplings at the lantern festival were almost as good as her aunties, the vet clinic around the corner had the fire brigade turn up but it was a false alarm. He leans forward in his chair and imagines.

When she visits her world stops - as if the doorbell is a pause button - and she can breathe.  Not that she couldn’t respire adequately for the last 90 minutes on the soccer pitch. But in between sips of tea (with a dash of milk, teabag in, he knows now) her body can breathe, her brain can breathe.

He tells her about the birds stealing his berries despite the netting he set up. Took him all morning and now his hip has pain.  His grand-niece in Sicily rang last Sunday but after 10 minutes the landline cut out. He waited for the great-grandsons to visit but they didn’t – the youngest will have his birthday soon and the present is ready. The cleaner came on Monday and did a terrible job as always - “I can make more clean myself, but company I like so I will not fire her”.

He went to the GP again on Tuesday – all his outings are health related -  and returned with “another medicine - do you believe, dear!”. She does believe him, but he rises slowly, shuffles over to the cabinet and tosses a box onto her lap. “Makes me bloody thirsty and pissing all the time!”. He jabs his stick at her, “You a doctor - tell me, what’s it?”.

The son-in-law dropped off groceries on Wednesday, didn’t stay for a coffee but thankfully remembered fish because he eats fish on Fridays because he is Catholic – “Born a Catholic and will die a Catholic” - and although he cannot attend mass anymore, “God is everywhere”. His funeral must be in a church - “I must remind the family…” - unlike his daughter’s which was in a funeral home, “without hymn, priest or communion!”. And now that she’s gone – “I put TV to keep me company, you know”.

She nurses her tea, nibbles on cashews (her favourite – he knows now) and reaches for the Bible. It’s always dark inside - with his shoulder now, he struggles to fully open the blinds - but not too dark to read. “Where were we up to? This page?”. He leans back in his chair and listens to light. She dog-ears where she finishes. 

She stands, stretches and her mind starts treadmilling. It’ll be a week of overtime, an extra rehearsal and more club training but “I'll try come next Sunday” (a lie – she will come next Sunday).

“I’m always here, dear,” he says, “but if you busy, you don’t need to come. I no expect nothing” (also a lie – he does expect her).

Two lies, one truth. In spending an hour in each other’s lives, they find more beauty in their own.