Red nose day

This cartoon was shared on Facebook, and I think it's a wonderful motto to live by. It's what my blog is supposed to be about, Making life an adventure. Now that I've had cataract surgery and can read and use the computer, I've decided to take up writing again. The problem is, because it's been so long since I've done any writing, I'm not sure what I want to write about. So I've decided to just start writing and see what comes out. One of the reasons I started this blog was to find my 'writer's voice, so as part of this strategy I decided to look back at some of my older blogs and when doing so, I came across the draft for an unfinished one. Well I say unfinished, but in actual fact all I'd done was create a title and added a link to a You Tube video.

Recording video for Oxfam.

This blog is about my, 'adventures', i.e. anything that comes along that I can participate in that, in terms of day to day life seems, 'out of the ordinary'. Being part of the West Oxfordshire Academy of Arts, (WOAPA), Adult Singing group, has been a source of quite a few of my adventures, including doing a flashmob, making a comic video for Oxfam and it's also given me the opportunity to participate in the Big Chorus, Messiah, in the Royal Albert Hall, in London.

The unfinished draft, which I've now decided to finish, was to be about another WOAPA adventure. Brian and Lou, the couple who run WOAPA, had been approached by Radio Oxford who, as part of their Red Nose day celebrations, wanted to create the largest choir in Oxfordshire, to made up of several choirs in the area, and they wanted WOAPA to be part of it. Naturally they said yes.

So it was that myself, along with the rest of my fellow WOAPs, gathered at 7.30 am in the Corn 

Exchange in Witney. The hall was packed, as not only were the adult singers taking part, but the children from the WOAPA Saturday school, the Show choir and also the John Blandy choir, recently started by Brian and Lou, were participating.

There was a great buzz of excitement in the hall, plus a few yawns (mainly from me). Fleur Ostojak, a young journalist from Radio Oxford, was in charge of the proceedings. She explained that we would be recording three songs. The first one, Good Morning Baltimore, from the musical, Hairspray, would be played live on air. Then the other two songs would be recorded to be played later on that morning. The third song, the comedy hit, Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, was chosen by the BBC as the one to be sung by all five choirs, and it would be played at the end of the show.

At last Fleur was given the signal that we were about to go live. She introduced us, then gave the signal for us to start. There must have been about two hundred children and adults singing and the sound was amazing. There were cheers all round after we'd finished singing and had been given the all clear. Fleur was very impressed with the sound me made, as was the presenter of the show because, instead of us recording our second song, a mash up of A Million Dreams,  and, From Now On, from The Greatest Showman, he decided that we should sing this one live on air too. Fleur also asked Lou if Radio Oxford could use us again in the future; and of course she said yes. So a few minutes later we sang live again, although it was also recorded to be played later in the day. After recording the final song, we went outside and sang the third one again to our proud family and friends, who had to wait outside while we were recording, and to people passing by on their way to work. A passing bus even tooted us in support.

Us on the local news.

£63,548,668 was raised for Comic Relief that day. It was a privilege to have been a part of it. The largest choir in Oxfordshire was featured on the local news that evening, and it is from this footage that I've sourced my photos. Brian, from WOAPA, has put together the You Tube video footage on the link below. A lovely reminder of a wonderful morning.




You Tube video of the morning. courtesy of WOAPA, https://youtu.be/WvzHnwAInwU

Photos Isabel's own, plus.

Snoopy cartoon, courtesy of: https://www.facebook.com/purpleclvr/photos/a.375609882543951/3006363792801867/?type=3&theater

The Future is a Blank Page.

"The future is a blank page. That's the best thing. It's also the worst thing. " Adele Sullivan, October 2019. 

Finally, after two years of struggling with my sight, I can see clearly once again. I now just have to wear spectacles for reading. But then again, so do most of my contemporaries. I am a, 'lady of a certain age'  after all.

For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about. Two years ago my vision became very blurry, especially when I tried to read or use a computer. A bit of a problem as I was currently in my final year of doing a Bachelor of Arts (Honours) degree, in Humanities, with Classical Studies, which required a great deal of reading, in both books and on the computer. Somehow I managed it and was extremely proud to graduate in October, 2018.

Initially, the doctors thought my problems were due to excessive dryness, caused by my Lupus. But when I developed double vision in my left eye, further investigation revealed that, although my sight was being affected by the dryness, I also had cataracts in both eyes, with the left eye needing surgery as soon as possible. Six months on from this diagnosis, I'm pleased to say that both eyes have been successfully operated on and with the aid of several types of drops and a minor procedure, I can now 'see a future', (forgive the pun).

While I was studying, I had to put on hold my plan to explore whether I could become a serious writer, and it was my intention to pursue this course of action once I'd graduated. But because of the problems I was experiencing with my sight, I've haven't been able to do so; until now. The trouble is, because I haven't written anything more than a Christmas card in over two years, I'd even stopped writing my blog. I've been suffering a crisis of confidence. I even found myself not enjoying reading other people's work as I spent the time convincing myself that I could never write like them. Well of course I can't, because I'm not them.

One evening after a couple of glasses of wine, I posted about my concerns on Facebook. My lovely Facebook friends responded with some very encouraging comments. The quote at the top of this blog page being one of them. This was all very encouraging, although the little voice inside was still whispering away.

But the universe wasn't about to let me get away with it. Since that evening I've been 'visited', like Scrooge, by three 'ghosts'. What do I mean by this?

The first, 'ghost' was in the guise of an author who was speaking at a University of the Third Age, (U3A), meeting I attended. He'd always wanted to be a writer, but had waited until he was 38 years old before starting to write. He said that the only way to become a writer was to simply just start writing.

The second 'ghost' was Julian Fellowes, the writer of Downton Abbey, one of my heroes. I watched an interview in which he said, that people seem to wait for that warm feeling inside to tell them when it's time to start writing. But that doesn't happen, you just need to sit down and start to write. Sound familiar?

Finally, the third 'ghost' was something I saw on a Facebook friend's page, who felt compelled to share a post from Writer's HQ, saying, 'Write your f*****g novel ffs'.  The language may be a bit choice, but I got the message.

So here I am. Writing my first blog post in months. Inside I'm dancing like Ebeneezer Scrooge on Christmas day, because I too am glad to find that it's not too late.  Thanks to Adele, my Facebook friends and the three 'ghosts', I'm going to just get on with it. After all, 'The future is a blank page'.


Photographs and images, Isabel's own.

Isabel Johnstone 2019  ©

Hello, Remember me?

In September 2012, I started to write this blog. I was starting a new phase of my life and I was determined to make it an adventure. Over the past few years I've certainly had a few adventures, some great, like my paragliding off Mount Baghdad in Turkey, which is 1,763 metres high; to some that didn't go quite according to plan, for example my indoor sky dive that resulted in me ending up in Milton Keynes accident and emergency to have my chin glued back together.

Overall, I've been having great fun.

But getting older, especially if you have a chronic illness, which I do, can also have other challenges. 

As part of my adventure, around about the same time that I started this blog, I embarked on an Open University degree. In June of this year, I sat my final degree, and 6 weeks later, I was offered a Bachelor of Arts, Honours degree in Humanities with Classical Studies, classification 2.1, which I swiftly and happily accepted. As you can imagine, I'm immensely proud of myself, not least because my final year with the Open University was an even bigger challenge for me, as I was experiencing a problem with my eyes, which made it hard for me to read. Not the best problem to have when doing a module on the Roman Empire.

The problem was caused by my lupus which was attacking my tear ducts and preventing them from producing tears. This resulted in the surface of my eye changing shape which meant that my eyes were not refracting light properly. and my reading vision was very blurry and my left eye became inflamed. Despite using 3 different types of drops and gel in my eyes, plus undergoing a cauterisation of my inferior punctils, the drainage channels of the eye, to block them permanently, there was no improvement. I'm now trying steroid drops to be followed by immunosuppressant drops, in an attempt to stop the lupus causing the damage. So for the past few months I've had to limit my time on the computer, and one of the reasons I've not been writing my blog.

I won't lie. At times I've found it quite a challenge to stay positive, especially as I'm also experiencing chronic back pain and was ill again with a lung infection just before Christmas. But as the picture at the top of the blog said, "Nevertheless I persisted". I still attended WOAPA rehearsals every week, I continued to feed the cats at Cogges, and do my Downton Abbey Tours, which people seemed to really enjoy. Plus last Sunday WOAPA had it's annual WOAPA day, which had a 50's theme and I once again performed a duet with one of my WOAPA friends. I even entered into the spirit of things and dressed up as a Pink Lady.

The way I see it, life isn't always easy. But we have a choice. We can either give up and let it grind us down, or we can choose to persist. I could so easily have given in the towel and dropped out of my degree course because of my eyes, and believe me, there were times when I felt like it. But I chose to persist, and boy am I glad I did.

I've now got my graduation ceremony to look forward too, along with celebrating 40 years of marriage. But that will be another blog.

Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy my latest WOAPA video. There's life in the old girl yet. :)

Isabel Johnstone  © 2018

Photos Isabel's own

Nevertheless she persisted courtesy of:  https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/563935184583060855/

Magic happens when you don't give up...

One of the facts of getting older is how time just seems to fly by. This year for me has flown especially fast. I recently looked back at some of the older posts on my blog and was shocked to realise that it's been five years since I started writing it. At the time I had no idea of some of the incredible and fun things that I was going to write about; from paragliding off a 1,700ft high mountain in Turkey, to singing  the Messiah in the Royal Albert Hall in London. There's been highs as well as lows, but that's life, and as I've said before, the bad times make the good ones even more special. After all, it is the, 'Sunshine after the rain', that creates a rainbow.

This year has had it's challenges. In March, on my birthday, I finally had the surgery I'd been waiting over a year for. Like many women of a certain age, I had developed a prolapse. I hadn't realised how common this was until I began telling people that I needed the operation and I couldn't believe how many women then confessed that, either they had had the operation or needed one. It seems to be one of those taboo subjects, like the menopause, that nobody likes to talk about. I'm happy to report that my being open about my surgery has encouraged a couple of friends and acquaintances to agree to having the surgery. But isn't that one of the things that life's about; helping and encouraging each other?

Recently, amid all the doom and gloom of bad news that seems to dominate the news these days, I had a lovely experience that made me realise that there are kind and caring people out there. Over the past few months, I've been experiencing a bit of a flare-up of my lupus. This has manifested itself as pain in my joints and my lower back. On this particular day I'd popped into town for a few items of shopping. I'd been told by the doctor that I shouldn't carry anything heavy, but on this occasion I bought more than I had intended and as a result had two heavy bags of shopping to carry home. As I was struggling along, I met a young woman who used to be one of my neighbours. Despite the fact that she wasn't going my way, she insisted on walking home with me and carrying the heaviest of the two bags. I was so touched by this act of kindness. I must confess that the pain I'd been experiencing had started to get me down and this cheered me up no end.

Another incident had happened earlier that same day that also helped to lift my spirits. I had the pleasure of doing a Downton Abbey tour for a delightful group of ladies from the USA. They were visiting Cogges as part of a trip organised by a company called, 'Friends on the Fly', which was the brainchild of 'two ladies of a certain age', a bit like myself, who had set up the company after retiring, one from teaching and the other from selling antiques. They realised that there are a number of ladies who are on their own, either because of bereavement, divorce or some other reason, who want to travel, but don't want to go on their own. So these two enterprising ladies, decided to set up a company that organises trips for small groups of women, to enable anyone in that position to get out there and see the world. I found this inspirational on two levels. One, because it was such a brilliant idea, and two, because it just goes to show that you're never too old to start a new adventure. This, after all, was one of the reasons I started my blog, but I'd lost my way a bit on that score this year.

So now I'm re-energised and determined to get back on track. I may have to re-think the type of adventure I can participate in because of my health issues. But it's a big world out there, with lots of different types of experiences to participate in. I'm currently rehearsing to sing the Messiah in the Royal Albert Hall again this year and I've started the final module of my Open University degree, which means that I'll hopefully have a graduation to look forward to next year.

Meanwhile, if anyone has any suggestions for any adventures I could consider, please let me know, because, 'Magic does happen when you don't give up.'

Photos,

Magic happens, http://ow.ly/FA9g30g5Z6q

Friends on the fly, a photo of their business card.

Royal Albert Hall, from previous blog post.

Isabel Johnstone 2017 ©



,

Downton, Cogges and me.

December 2015, was a very sad time in our household. Why, what happened, you might ask? Well, 25th December, Christmas day saw the screening of the last ever episode of Downton Abbey. Now if you're not a fan, you'll be thinking, so what! But Downton Abbey has been a big part of my life, for four years and has definitely left a hole.

Not only did it provide me with quality entertainment, it also inspired blogs about embarrassing, as well as exciting encounters and given me a new role as a tour operator. Visitors, from as far afield as Japan, America, Australia and Denmark, are still visiting Cogges to see the site of Yew Tree Farm. This has been an amazing opportunity for Cogges because, not only did we benefit from being paid for allowing the filming to take place, but it's also generated a new source of income, which as a charity has been most welcome.

I've missed the excitement of knowing that they are coming to film and the anticipation of which of the characters will be involved. There'll be no more funny little anecdotes of things that happened during the filming for me to amuse the visitors with when doing a tour. I have it on good authority that there is going to be a film, but have no idea if Yew Tree Farm will feature in it, although I think there's unfinished stories regarding Daisy and Andy and even Mr Mason and Mrs Patmore. But as I'm not Julian Fellowes, I won't have any say in it.

A false dovecot on the toilet block,

one of my anecdotes about filming.

However, I'm very grateful to Downton Abbey as it's helped me to grow and stretch myself as a person. For the past three years I have had great fun talking to interested listeners about two of my passions; Cogges and Downton. It's very gratifying when they laugh in the right places. It's also had its challenges. We've had a group that turned up one and a half hours before they were due and on another occasion, I was on my own with a group of forty four, when a colleague didn't turn up. I was very pleased, if exhausted when they left having enjoyed their visit, without realising that I was being like a swan, calm on the top, but with my feet going like the clappers trying to work out how to handle the situation.

Me, with Charles Edwards.

Then there was the time that I had to work through an interpreter for a group from Denmark. It was definitely a challenge knowing how much to say before stopping to let the interpreter translate. But it was really funny when I told one of my anecdotes about the actor, Charles Edwards, alias Michael Gregson, Marigold's father, taking a selfie of himself when he was filming another period drama here, and sending it to Laura Carmichael, alias Lady Edith, saying, "Guess where I am?". Some of the group did understand English and laughed when I had finished, then the rest of them laughed when they heard the translation. Very gratifying for a frustrated performer like myself. But the best thing of all was when the tour leader told me that the visit to Cogges had been the highlight of their visit. He explained that, although they'd been to Highclere Castle, aka Downton Abbey, it had just felt like they were visiting any stately home. But he said that Cogges felt authentic, that it was really like being at Yew Tree Farm.

No one knows how long we will benefit from the Downton factor. But I'll always be grateful for the opportunity it has afforded me to add to my skill set. It's also given me more confidence when meeting new people. I even accost visitors at Cogges and ask them if they're here because of Downton and offer to give them a tour. I'd never have done this a couple of years ago. I'm also considering extending my knowledge and becoming a history tour guide at Cogges, but that might have to wait until I finish my degree.

Scene from first filming at Cogges.

I've still got my fingers crossed that Yew Tree Farm will feature in the film which, rumour has it, is due to start filming next Spring. We have had more filming at Cogges this year, but I'm not allowed to say anything about it yet. I can say that it features three well known stars of the big and small screen. You'll just have to watch this space.

I've certainly been challenging myself over the past few years and I'm really glad that I wasn't afraid to try. Now my next adventure is that I'm about to start the last module of my Open University degree. For the next nine months I'm going to be immersing myself in the Roman Empire and to get me in the mood, my hubby and I are off on a cruise which will include a visit to Rome. So I'll finish now as I have some packing to do.

Photo's Isabel's own apart from:-

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1709270949086116&set=gm.1649751095097609&type=3&theater&ifg=1


Isabel Johnstone 2017 ©

Sometimes we feel that we are being held back, but...

"154 people who like, Isabel Johnstone, haven't heard from you in a while. Write a post". This popped up in my notifications feed on Facebook recently. First of all, I'm very flattered that 154 people like my page. But I'm sure that they've not been sitting at home pining away because I haven't posted in a while.

My last blog was about persisting even if, or especially, when something happens to discourage you. I'm still feeling chuffed that my short story was short listed, but I've been too busy working on my Open University degree to get down to any creative writing. But I'm now on my Summer break, so no excuses. If I'm being honest, part of the reason that I've not been blogging much recently is that I felt that I'd lost my direction.

My blog is meant to be about proving that 'Life can still be an adventure', but for the past few months it's felt like anything but. I began to feel that I was a fraud, who'd fallen at the first hurdle, and was letting life drag me down.

When I first started blogging I used to get inspiration from photographs with captions that people shared on Facebook. Just recently I saw one that made me think that perhaps this past few months haven't been a step in the wrong direction after all. It was a photograph of an archer and the caption said something along the lines of, 'Sometimes we feel that we are being held back. But we're actually being pulled back in order to be launched into even greater things.'

I'm not sure about the 'greater things' part, but I believe the point is that sometimes we need to take a step back, be still for a bit and decide what our next target, or goal is. It would be lovely if life was all fun and adventures, but we all know it isn't. But we also know that we need life's challenges to help us to grow, become stronger, so that we can deal with the hard times, which are an inevitable part of life.

Life is full of surprises. In December of last year, we were told that our 17 year-old cat, Chutney, had a type of lung cancer and only had a month or two at the most, left to live. We were devastated. But decided to make the most of the time we had left with him. But 5 months later, he was still with us. We decided to take him for a check up. To cut a long story short, he doesn't have cancer after all. He has chronic bronchitis, but is still enjoying life. In fact, only last week I had to take him to the vet as he'd been fighting and had an abcess on his ear.

We could've got upset and even angry with the vet because of the wrong diagnosis. But actually, we were so relieved and let's face it, we've all made mistakes.  To me, this just goes to show that, there is always hope. You never know what lies ahead.

I'm ready to keep living this adventure called life. I'll hang on in and see what I'm being 'fired into' next. Who knows what that might be?

Girl archer pic, courtesey of: https://pixabay.com/en/girl-sport-bow-arrow-exercise-1909006/

Isabel Johnstone 2017

A Twist of Fate

A Twist of Fate

Daylight filtered through the thin, nylon curtains of the motel room. Beth lay on the bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. That split second each morning when she believed that everything was all right had passed, leaving her with the too familiar dragging sensation in her stomach. She rubbed her temples but couldn’t stop the pounding in her head. The room stank of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol, making her nauseous. She pushed herself up on her elbows and reached for the plastic cup of water on the shabby bedside cabinet. A half empty pack of Marlboro Lights lay beside the cup. She shook one out and lit it, then coughed as the acrid smoke filled her lungs. As she pulled on the cigarette her mind began to clear and she remembered why she was here.

            ‘Not long now sweethearts. Mommy’s coming,’ she whispered, as she swung her legs off the bed and padded over to the shower room.

She peered at her reflection in the dim light of the solitary light bulb over the mirror. Haunted brown eyes with dark shadows under them stared back at her. She splashed some water on her face and dragged her fingers through her short, brown hair. A small, white plastic bottle with a ridged cap lay by the sink, its printed label faded by constant handling. She hadn’t needed them for a while. She used alcohol to help her sleep these days.

Beth screwed up her eyes against the early morning, autumn sunshine. People hurried by, their coats wrapped tightly against the cold north wind. She tried to light a cigarette, but her hands were shaking too much. In front of her stood the tall, pentagon-shaped structure of the Baltimore World Trade Centre, dominating the skyline. She stared at it, oblivious to the jostling of people going about their business. It was Thanksgiving and the air was filled with the sounds of children, chattering as they stood in line for the National Aquarium. A man walked by with a child on his shoulders, another one skipping along beside him. Beth looked away, but not before her throat began to ache and the familiar feeling of emptiness settled in her stomach.

She sat down on one of the benches in the harbour. The cold of the stone seeped through the thin material of her old, black coat, but she was unaware of the discomfort. She lit up and, through the haze of the smoke, stared at the Baltimore 9/11 monument which lay in front of her. Sheltered from the sea breeze by the Trade Centre building, the rectangular, grey, marble base reminded her of a tombstone. Her eyes travelled up to the three steel beams lying on top and shivered at their twisted, fused appearance, their bronze colour a stark contrast to the grey of the marble. Designed to act like a sundial, the shadow of the World Trade Centre crept across the base. She watched until it reached six minutes past ten, the time that Flight 93 crashed and then, as if in a dream, she stood up and began to circle the monument. Her eyes scanned the names and dates of birth of all the passengers that had perished on that day; their names engraved forever on its marble surface, a sad reminder of their brief existence. Her heart skipped a beat as, at last, her eyes lit upon the three names she’d been looking for. Through vision blurred by tears, she lifted her fingers to her lips, and kissed the tips before tracing them over each name.

On the 11th September, Beth drove her husband and two daughters to the airport in Newark, New Jersey.

            ‘You better go honey. You don’t want to miss your appointment,’ Frank said, his grey eyes twinkling and she remembered noticing a few grey hairs that had appeared at his temples.

She’d tried to smile, but only the left side of her lips lifted at the corner. Her right cheek throbbed.

            ‘Bye Mommy. Miss you already,’ said Zoe, as she stretched up her arms for a hug.

            ‘Bye sweetie. You be good for Dad and Grandma. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

            ‘I’m always good!’

            ‘I know you are. I’m just kidding you.’ She’d laughed, rubbing the dark curls on her eldest daughter’s head. At five years old, she considered herself to be all grown up.

            ‘I be good too, Mummy.’

            ‘Course you are Jenna. You’re the best little three-year-old in the world,’ she’d replied. Then kneeling down, she’d kissed the top of her youngest daughter’s head. As she’d stood up, their cheeks had touched and she’d winced at the pain that shot through her swollen cheek.

            ‘Bye honey. I hope the dentist can sort out that abscess once and for all.’

            ‘Me too, I don’t know how much more of this pain I can take.’

Beth had watched as the three of them disappeared through security, Frank carrying Jenna, her face resting on his shoulder, Zoe skipping alongside him, holding his hand.

Five years on, she could still feel the softness of her daughter’s cheek as it had touched hers. Her face had been hurting, but she realised now that she hadn’t know what real pain was then.

            ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’

Startled, Beth stepped back and stumbled as her foot gave way underneath her.

            ‘Oh jeez, I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to scare you,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Are you OK?’

            She winced at the pain that shot through her foot as she turned to glare at the tall, blond-haired stranger standing behind her.

            ‘I’m so sorry. You’ve hurt yourself. Here let me help you.’

 ‘I think you’ve done enough already, don’t you?’ she retorted through clenched teeth.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said, a tinge of red appearing under the golden tone of his tan. ‘My wife’s always telling me off for “accosting complete strangers” as she puts it.’

‘Look. I’m fine. I just need to sit down for a minute, that’s all.’ But as she tried to put her weight on her ankle, a sharp pain shot through it. ‘Ouch,’ she cried, tears of anger and frustration now falling down her cheeks.

‘Please, at least let me help you over to the bench?’

            ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude but I just want to be left alone.’ She tried once more to put her weight on her foot, but stumbled as another sharp pain pierced her ankle. ‘Damn it! Well don’t just stand there. Help me if you’re going to.’

He reached forward and lifted her right arm and placed it around his broad shoulders. Beth’s foot barely touched the ground as he helped her hobble over to the stone bench.

            ‘May I?’ he said, pointing at the foot. ‘I know a bit about first aid.’

Beth nodded, and then flinched as he lifted her foot; the pain making her feel light headed.

            ‘Sorry. Mm … looks pretty swollen. You need to get this looked at. My car’s just parked over there. I can take you to the ER.’

            ‘No. Thanks. I’ll call a cab and go myself.’

            ‘That could take ages and how are you going to get yourself into the hospital? Please, let me take you. It was my fault after all.’

Beth looked down at her ankle. She knew he was right. ‘Ok,’ she sighed, ‘but I’d feel more comfortable if we took a cab.’

‘No problem. I’ll be back in a minute. I’m Ethan by the way.’

But Beth just closed her eyes and remained silent.

Ethan’s footsteps echoed on the polished, grey floor as he pushed the wheelchair along the corridor. The smell of antiseptic and polish were making Beth’s stomach heave. She subconsciously began to rub the scars on her wrists. Memories of another hospital corridor tried to push their way into her mind, but she stared at the signs on the walls, reading each one in an attempt to chase the memories away.

As they approached the reception desk, the young woman standing behind smiled at them.

‘Hi, how are you today?’ Ethan said, returning her smile.

But Beth looked down at her lap; she’d had enough of cheerful people today.

‘My friend’s had an accident. I think she’s done something to her ankle.’

‘Well you’ve come to the right place. I’ll need a few details, if you can just fill in this form for me please?’ she said, as she handed him a large white form. ‘The doctors are all with patients at the moment. There’s a bit of a wait I’m afraid.’

Beth looked around at the stark white walls and grey floor, the sickening smell of antiseptic seemed to cling to her. Her heart was pounding and she ran her tongue over her dry lips. The unwanted memories, quiet up until now, forced their way into her mind.

Later that day, she was in Newark hospital’s orthodontic department. She’d watched in horror as the television screen replayed the moment the first plane hit the north tower. She stood transfixed as they reported that Flight 93 had gone down with no survivors. Three days later, she’d woken up in a bed in a side room of the psychiatric department. Her wrists had white bandages wrapped around them, but she’d been too numb to feel any pain.

The sound of Ethan’s voice brought her back to the present as he handed her the form.

‘Sorry. I can’t do this bit. I don’t even know your name.’

 ‘Beth; it’s Beth. Look, you don’t have to wait with me, I’ll be fine.’

            ‘So you keep saying! You sure are one stubborn lady.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day.’

            ‘I’d worked that one out for myself!’ he laughed.

Despite herself, Beth couldn’t help smiling.

The waiting room was remarkably empty. Ethan placed her wheelchair beside one of the orange plastic chairs before sitting down beside her. It was so quiet that Beth was sure he could hear her heart. It was beating so hard, almost as if it was about to leap out of her chest. She hated hospitals.

‘Is it something to do with the memorial?’

Beth started at the sound of Ethan’s voice and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Why do you care? You don’t even know me.’

‘True. But I’m guessing that you were at the monument for a reason. I know I was.’

‘Well it’s my business if I was.’ she retorted as she pulled down the sleeves of her coat, once more conscious of the scars.

‘I realise that. But I think that we might have something in common. Look, we’ve got a while to wait. Why don’t I tell you why I was at the memorial today?’

Beth got the feeling that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but something in the tone of his voice made her nod her head in assent.

‘I was in the north tower when the first plane hit. I was an investment banker with Cantor Fitzgerald and worked on floor 101. I was lucky, but I lost thirteen friends and colleagues that day.’

He stopped and ran his hands, through his close-cropped hair. Beth saw that they were trembling.

            ‘I’m sorry, that must have been terrible,’ she murmured.

            ‘It was.’

He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, she noticed that he had burn marks on the back of them. Like hers, the scars were faded, but still visible.

‘I had nightmares for years,’ he said so softly that she had to lean in closer to hear. ‘Every time I closed my eyes I would feel the heat of the flames and taste the dust and smoke in my mouth. But the worst thing was the sound of screams and cries for help.’

            Beth waited as he took a deep breath before continuing. She seemed unable to tear her eyes away from his scars.

‘I have images in my head that no-one should have.’

Beth’s throat and chest seemed to constrict; she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She continued to stare as he took a tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. Her eyes were stinging as she fought to hold back the tears that had begun to well in them.

‘I’m sorry; it must’ve been very difficult for you,’ she sniffed.

            Ethan nodded his head, ‘The guilt’s the hardest thing to bear. You keep asking yourself, why me? Why did I survive when others didn’t? I was in therapy for a long, long time.’

He sat up and Beth found herself mesmerised by the brightness of his blue eyes.

‘A couple of months after the disaster I quit my job and moved my family out of New York. When you’ve been through something like that, it makes you think about what really matters.’

Beth clasped her hands together to try and stop their trembling. She wanted him to stop but instead found herself saying, ‘So what do you do now?’

            ‘I manage a holiday resort in Vermont. I plan my work around when the kids get home from school. I try to spend as much time with them as possible. I’d been a lousy husband and father; working all the hours God sent. Now I make sure I have time to do things with them.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ Beth whispered, a wistful note in her voice.

‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that, when something tragic happens, it is possible to move on.’

Beth shivered and tugged once more at her sleeves, but said nothing.

‘There’s one thing the therapist said that I’ve never forgotten. Would you like to hear it?’

‘Sure,’ she shrugged.

He took her trembling hands in his and continued. ‘She said that the best way to honour my friends was to live the best life I could, make each day count. I realised that that’s what I would’ve wanted for my family, if I’d died that day. I’ve been given a second chance and I’m taking it.’

Beth stared at the large tanned hands holding her small pale ones. ‘But what if you don’t want a second chance? What if there’s no family to live for?’ she whispered, tears now running unchecked down her cheeks.

‘Well in that case, you should live it for yourself, in honour of their memory.’

Ethan was in the waiting room when the nurse wheeled her back, his blond head nodding as he slept in the chair.

            She tapped him on the shoulder, ‘Ethan, I’m back.’

Startled, his head shot up, his eyes blinking rapidly. ‘What? Oh good, how did you get on?’

            ‘It’s just a sprain. I just need to rest up for a few days.’

            ‘That’s great. What’s that you’re holding?’

            Beth looked at the letter of referral she was clutching in her hand. ‘Oh nothing, I just had a little chat with the doctor. That’s all.’

            He nodded his head and she knew that he understood. ‘How about a coffee before I take you home?’

‘Coffee would be great thanks, but I could murder a cigarette. Do you smoke?’

            ‘Nope! Gave it up after 9/11.’

            ‘Funny, that’s when I started.’

They sat by the window in the cafeteria. Beth stirred her coffee as she stared out on the garden. Children played on small wooden animals as their parents looked on. A little boy sat in a wheelchair, his left leg encased in plaster. He laughed as his mum tickled his foot. Beth smiled.

‘That’s more like it! I was beginning to think that you didn’t know how to smile?’

            ‘I don’t think I did! Not for a long time anyway.’

            ‘Want to tell me about it?’

A father walked by carrying a little girl, her face resting on his shoulder. Beth watched them until they disappeared. She shook her head. ‘Not now. I’m tired. Can you call a cab please?’

As Ethan pushed her along the motel corridor in the borrowed wheelchair the hospital had insisted she use; he talked about his son and two daughters. Beth could see by the way his face lit up as he talked that he was a devoted father. As she listened she closed her eyes and waited for the familiar sharp pain, but, this time it was more of a dull ache.

Ethan opened the door and pulled her into her room. It seemed brighter than Beth remembered.

‘Thank you, I’ll be fine now,’ she said, as she watched him taking in the shabbiness of the room.

            ‘Are you sure? I can stay for a bit if you like?’

            ‘No thanks, I’m tired. All I want to do is sleep.’

‘Well, if you’re sure?’ he reached into his jacket pocket and took something out of his wallet. ‘Here’s my card. Anytime you want a holiday in Vermont, just give me a call. Or, just call. I’d love to hear your story someday. When you’re ready.’

            ‘Thanks. You’ve been really kind. Sorry for being rude.’

            ‘No problem. I get it. Just remember, everyone deserves a second chance.’

            ‘I will,’ she whispered, as he closed the door behind him.

Beth pulled herself up out of the wheelchair and hopped over to the shower room. She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. Was it really possible? Could she really have a second chance? She closed her eyes and pictured the names on the memorial.

Frank Reynolds; 1956; Zoe Reynolds; 1996; Jenna Reynolds; 1998.

They’d been so full of life. She thought about what Ethan had said about living life for them. It was exactly the kind of thing that Frank would have said. She picked up the bottle of pills from where she’d left them that morning. She turned on the tap and opened the bottle. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she watched the contents briefly swirl around in the water before disappearing down the drain. 

Photos, Isabel's own.

Isabel Johnstone 2017 ©