Idols For Writers Week Four

This week's prompt was The Golden Rule. I wanted to be original and also try writing something using a theme I've wanted to explore for a while now. So I was doubly thrilled (given the subject matter) when this entry picked up the most votes - over 60% of voters chose it!

JUST KISS ME

Harold, who is definitely in his dotage, thinks Maddy is the best thing since sliced bread.

Twenty years ago, she used to curl up on his lap and whisper little-girl secrets in his ear and he loved it, shameless old flirt that he is. Now she’s all grown up, a streamlined blonde with a degree in Economics and a part-time career as the drummer in an all-girl rock band. But she still likes to perch on Harold’s knee and tease him the way only a favorite granddaughter can.

“Come to a gig with us, Gramps!” she’ll say, tickling his nose with a feathery strand of hair. “I promise you’ll love it!” But Harold puts on his stupid-old-man face and says “Gig? What’s a gig?” “Don’t pretend you don’t know!" she says and then he heaves a vast and sorrowful sigh and says, “Sorry, sweetheart. Your grandma hasn’t let me out on my own since long before Noah built the ark!” He winks and we all laugh, co-conspirators in the idea that he, at the age of 82, might yet run off with one of the teenagers who frequent the city cafés where Maddy and her group perform on Sunday nights.

This weekend, Maddy and her best friend Jane are visiting us. On Saturday night, the girls go out for a few drinks, but on Sunday morning we’ll all be going to church together, something Harold has been looking forward to all week. Like her grandpa, Maddy can carry a tune, but Jane has a voice out of all proportion to her petite frame and when she sings, even the ancient vergers at our chapel sit up and take notice. “I’m probably just a silly old fool," he mutters to me as we wave them goodbye, “but it bothers me that at twenty-four, there’s still no sign of a husband.” He slips his hands deep inside the pockets of his comfortable old corduroy pants as he puzzles over this conundrum.

I link my arm through his. “Give her time,” I say. “We should probably be grateful she didn’t do something stupid, like getting married at eighteen.” Harold turns and gives me a smile that carries me back nearly sixty years. “Didn’t work out so badly for you, though, did it?” he says, his brow creasing slightly. I laugh, and tilt my face up to him. “Just kiss me, you old fool,” I say, and he does, his thin lips brushing my cheek with deep affection. There’s a lot to be said for marrying your best friend.

Later than night, Harold’s snoring wakes me and I realize I need to pay a visit to the bathroom. Barefoot, I shuffle down the hall, wincing as the arthritis in my left knee slows me down. The light is still on in the spare room and I glance in, but there’s no one there. Girls still out, I think, then I hear a muffled giggling coming from the living room and my heart balloons with relief. Even though they’re all grown up, I’m always happier when I know they’re safely home. I head past the bathroom, thinking I’ll just say goodnight, but as I reach the door, Jane’s voice stops me dead in my tracks.

“Think they’re asleep?” Her deep contralto is huskier than ever.

“I’m sure of it.” Maddy’s voice is soft. “They probably both take sleeping pills.”

“Good,” says Jane and it sounds as if she’s smiling. “C’mere, you.”

There’s a subdued scuffing noise, like satin sliding on skin. “Damn.” There’s more stifled laughing, then Maddy’s voice again.

“Aw, forget it, honey. We can fix that later. Just kiss me, OK?”

For an instant, my heart stops and I forget to breathe. Then it’s as if a herd of wildebeest have been let loose and are thundering through my chest. Heat floods my face in a wild rush and I clutch my robe tight.

Oh dear God.

Appalled, I peer round the corner. Wine glasses on the table, shoes on the floor. Maddy and Jane are curled together on the sofa by the window, oblivious to their surroundings. Arms wrapped around each other, hands sliding over smooth skin, hair drifting and flowing through fingers, soft sighing and tiny breaths—

I shut my eyes and step back. I’m worried now that my legs won’t carry me all the way down the hall and back to the bedroom, back to my husband of sixty years, peacefully ensconced in the dark oblivion of sleep. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other and step by step, I make it. Ignore my bladder, ignore my shaking, just slide under the covers and lie there listening to Harold sawing away next to me. But I still hear the quiet padding of feet in the hall and the distinctive click of the spare room door as it closes.

I’m numb all the way to my toes and my thoughts whirl in useless circles, making me dizzy. How could I not have known something so fundamental about Maddy? Is she just experimenting, trying a new identity on for size? But no—Jane’s been coming with her to see us for at least two years now. It’s a two-hour drive from the city so they don’t come all that often, but still… Is our little Maddy really—I stumble over the words, even in my mind, then force myself to face them. Gay? Queer? A lesbian? Abruptly, I bunch the sheets in my fists and bite my lip hard, trying to hold back the torrent of tears that threatens to turn me into a sodden heap of old emotion and new fear. Mustn’t wake Harold, I think, he’ll be so hurt, so upset …

When the sun finally rises, I’m dry-eyed and in control again, but sleep is only a distant memory. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast all round, I take an extra pill to quell the whining of my arthritic knee. Harold drives us to the small village church, where Jane’s voice infuses Hymns Ancient and Modern with new vigor, Maddy’s eyes close in quiet reverence as she takes the sacrament, and I pray as never before. By the end of the service, I’ve decided what to do. I’m a woman of faith and I know I can handle this.

“I’m going to walk back,” I announce as we leave the building. “Won’t you girls keep me company?”

There’s a chorus of concern about my knee and the distance and Harold’s inability to drive a mile or two on his own, but the dissenters are easily quelled and we’re soon on our way. Harold is a bit disgruntled, but he’s not the one I’m worried about now. He can put the kettle on and have the tea ready by the time we get home. I’m sure we’re all going to need it.

I insert myself between the girls, claiming a supporting arm from each of them, because the grass is bumpy and treacherous roots can upset an old lady’s balance. As soon as we’re off, I plunge right in.

“Remind me,” I say, striving for a mild, chatty tone, “how long have you two been friends?”

Maddy plucks a long stalk of grass and flicks it to and fro between her fingers. “Oh, about two and half years now,” she says. “We met when Jane joined the band.” Jane grips my arm as we negotiate a rocky patch.

I draw a deep breath. “Hmmm. And how soon after you met did you become lovers?”

We keep walking but the silence is deafening. Then simultaneously Jane says, “Almost right away,” and Maddy says, “We aren’t lovers,” and right there, it all breaks down. Both girls let go of my arms and we come to a halt. Maddy’s cheeks are flushed bright pink, while Jane’s mouth is set in a mutinous twist. They stare at one another, almost ignoring me.

I reach out and take Maddy’s hand. She shoots me a quick look, shame in the downward angle of her head. “Gran, I don’t know what makes you think—” but I stop her with a look.

“No, Maddy. Don’t make it worse by denying it.” I pause, holding her gaze as best I can, seeing as she is at least six inches taller than me. “I just want to know one thing. When were you planning to tell me?”

Maddy stares at the ground. But Jane turns defiant eyes on me. “Maddy’s refusal to tell any of you about us has been the cause of most of our arguments. I hate it. I’m sick to death of pretending I’m just the best friend whenever I’m around her family.” She lifts her head high, earrings swinging and short auburn hair gleaming in the sunlight. “I’m sorry, Mads, but if she knows already, then why not admit it? What more have you got to lose?”

The fear on Maddy’s face as her two worlds collide is almost more than I can bear and I realize that this is not the time for speeches and homilies and warnings. This is the moment for action. So I step forward and I give her the only gift I can, the gift that was denied me all those years ago, the gift I yearned for when I was eighteen and head over heels in love.

I cup her sweet face between my hands and look deep into her eyes. “It’s okay, my darling. You are who you are and you have the right to love whoever you want. I accept you, sweetheart and I love you.”

As her eyes fill with tears, I bite back the rest of it, the words I’ve kept buried for sixty years. Don’t make my mistakes. No matter how good it may be, second best is not the same thing. Instead, I deliberately thank God for Harold, who knew and who married me anyway. And with the ease of long practice, I block out the memory of the day my darling Catherine was wrenched from me by parents unable to comprehend or accept that the love and passion we shared was real.