Un Jour Dans La Vie

I was drenched in sweat, sick to my stomach and chills shivering throughout my body. I opted to get out of bed and heads downstairs to my private art room and embrace my works as well as others that I had bought. That room served as a testament to my overly inflated ego. I headed into the room with a bottle of absinthe in one hand and a syringe full of morphine in another. I didn’t know what I was going to do with these things; if anything at all, but I had them ready… just in case any sudden urges arose. one thing was certain though - after the nightmare I suffered that night, I was a loaded gun, ready to strike without warning at the first pull of a trigger… whether I wanted to or not. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’ but when I go off.

I took a seat in my most coveted chair, a luscious green armchair and lit a cigar. The smoke filling up the chambers and poured myself a glass of absinthe, I basked in the flavours of the warm smoke and the fine taste of the spirit. I opened up the journal I had brought with me from the room in the pocket of his robe and began to write.

“Entry 2:
For far too long I have been a man deprived. A man crippled by the overwhelming guilt of so many things such as the death of my father, the abandonment of my mother. These things were crippling. They defined many of my actions; and subsequently, the outcomes of said actions. I learned to deal with it; I can accept everything that happened. I just can’t accept the guilt. That’s what kills me.
I am happy. I am, whether people believe it or not, I am. I learned early on never to take things for granted and I most certainly don’t. I am thankful for everything I have, and I’ll admit in my younger years I had an appetite for more of the same. What I had, no matter thankful, I needed, or wanted more rather.

The garden may be a cause for the onslaught of every bad dream I’ve suffered throughout the night; a reincarnation of old memories of dead people. Was this a testament to my everlasting love and remembrance for them or was it an invitation to plague my dreams? I don’t know. I wish I did. Regardless though, I am keeping the garden. If ever I was to say I have gained nothing but some vague artistic inspiration from it, I’d be wrong. The garden will always remind me of who I was. The garden will also remind me of those who I’ve lost. Memories of loved ones, a tool to always remind myself that there is still that part of me that hasn’t become calloused. And even more so, it will remind me that I haven’t become a monster ho lost his mind completely… not yet anyway.

I have been hallucinating much of this morning. I found myself looking outside my window next to my front door outside to see myself, a young boy, much like in my dream, constructing snowmen. The empty space around me out there was nauseating. The stench of abandonment filled the space around me, increasing with every unheard holler for my mother to come and see my snowman only to find that she wasn’t there to hear my requests for an audience. The funny thing about this is that there is no window where I was looking. It’s just mahogany walls.”

I closed the journal and put it in a drawer in the art room, knowing Teresa would never check it… or so I had hoped. After a few glasses of absinthe I fell asleep in the armchair. My cigar was burnt out and dangling from my teeth and lips and the empty glass in my left hand. Teresa awoke and found me in the room asleep, with a bottle of absinthe beside me. She brought in a blanket and covered me up with it. I was awake but still asleep. She wasn’t aware of it though so she went on to write a letter informing me that she was going to go to the grocery and get some food for the house.

I wanted to say goodbye before she left –but I was too tired to get out of the chair and before I knew it I had fallen asleep. I slept most of the day and when Teresa arrived about an hour or so later she found a note on the door addressed to me and was marked as urgent from Henry, my uncle’s caretaker. She was unsure if she should open it and read it or not and after about half an hour of debating on it she decided to. She read it, wiped her eyes and walked inside the house. Sat down in the room and held my hand until I awakened.

About half an hour had passed I felt the pressure of her grip holding my hand. I had finally waken up to see her with a look of sadness on her face. Unknown as to why, I asked what’s the matter. She handed me the note, without a sound. I took the note from her limp hand and read it.

“Dear Master Branden,

This is Henry, your Uncle Francis’ old caretaker. It is with the upmost sorrow to inform you that your Uncle has passed on. I am coming to see you in Paris and give you insurance policies for you to collect on. Once again, I am so sorry on your loss. I will contact you when I arrive in Paris this Friday. Until then, Master Branden, please do take care.”

I dropped the letter and it hit the floor.

“I am all that is left… everyone else in my family is now dead. I truly am alone… La tristesse durera toujours,” I shouted.

I was never close to my uncle, I actually always was under the assumption that my uncle was resentful toward me, but I always had immense amounts of love for him, regardless if those feelings were reciprocated or not. I was in shock. Everyone in my family was dead and i wasn’t even at the age of 30 yet. If there was one thing I knew anything about, it was abandonment, and I was learning that now.

I stood up off the ground and stretched outward. Teresa sat in her chair and watched as I lit my pipe and walked outside into the garden. I invited her to join me and she joined along, as I expected her to do. We strolled through the garden and I quietly asked her “I would like to construct a pond out here, in memory of Francis. He was so disappointed in my choice of career but he had unquenchable lust for art, just as I. He was more a fan of baroque and romantic art but he adored Monet’s water lilies. What do you think? Think we should do it?” She agreed and right away I worked till my hands were aching.

The next day Henry was set to arrive in France and I was already waiting for him to arrive with Teresa at the docks. It was obvious that we were inseparable. She was the reason why I’ve been able to maintain my composure as well as I was. Never before in such a state of stress have I been able to do so. The weather was stormy and chilly. The cold air was bothering Teresa so I gave her my coat afterward my skin was being battered by the chilly winds. Better me than her though, I thought. The docks were worst place to be in this rather turbulent weather. After about 20 minutes of waiting a ship finally arrived and Henry stepped off of the boat. I immediately run up to henry and gave him a hug.

“Henry, I am so very glad to see you again. I only wish that it was under more pleasant circumstances. This is my girlfriend, Teresa,” Branden said as she greeted him “She has done everything she could to make sure that your stay is pleasant. How did you get out here to Paris?” I inquired.

“Well you seen me get off of the boat so I figured it was apparent Master Branden?” Henry said cheekily.

“Ha I meant finically, Henry.”

“Oh I know. Before Francis died he sold many of his possessions and gave me the profits. Something of a thank you gift he said. He died of lung cancer. Just in case you were wondering what did him in.” henry said.

I was silent; I nodded my head but not much more. It was apparent that I had everything I needed to know and there was nothing left to be said. I opened the doors of the car for both Teresa and Henry and then I put Henry’s luggage inside of the automobile and they were off to head back to the house.

When we arrived Teresa showed Henry around the house and shows him the guestroom where he will be staying. I got the luggage, took it inside and dropped it off in Henry’s room. I left without saying a word and went outside with my paintbrushes and equipment to the garden I cherished so much.

Teresa and Henry both stood watch over me as he painted my garden on the canvas. I could feel their eyes piercing through my back. I looked at the empty canvas and saw that this empty slate can say more than I ever could. The lights that penetrated the space between the leaves were so inspiring to me.

Henry sighed and grabbed the window ceil “I remember him from since he was a small boy back in Manhattan. I remember seeing him as a teenager; naïve and ill tempered. He was in love once that I knew of. He was so happy but there was always a sense of emptiness; a void in which almost no one could replace: the abandonment of his mother. Forgive me if this is too brash; but I think you are one of the only, if not the only person in this world who could bandage such temperamental wounds. I see him out there, I always seen him as a child of my own, and I am proud of him. I know his mother would be if she could only see him now and I know his father was so proud of him. Until the day he died, Branden was always making him proud. And I am sure that he is even prouder now.” Henry said choking back tears.

Teresa was full of glee. She’d had the feeling of making a huge impact on someone’s life for the better, and what a feeling that was. I worked silently outside but I could always feel the eyes watching him. It gave me focus, for whatever reason. Odd since I always hated being watched, especially when I am painting. I started to see something in the bushes but i couldn’t quite tell what it was so I went out to have a check. I dropped my brush on the soil and carefully traversed through the pathway of the lush garden into the depths of it to quench my curiosity. It was my father.

“Branden, my son I am so happy to see you again. It’s been a while. I enjoy this garden, so lush and lively. Please, will you have a seat with me?” My father asked me.

“No, no, no. this is impossible! You’re dead. I know you are… I… had seen you in your casket. You can’t be here. I saw you. I know I saw you.” I said frantically.

“If I am dead then why I am I sitting right here talking to you and why are you questioning if you’ve seen me or not? It’s not that hard to understand; I am here. I always was. I just want to have a talk with you. Want to discuss things.”

A strange sense of ease came over me as I watched the garden illuminate in colour. The colours were gushing outward and covering everything, for these few moments everything was perfect. It was these moments that meant everything to me. I sat down with my father and for a while we had discussions about various topics. Meanwhile Teresa and Henry were wondering what happened to me, they seen me rush into the garden with a look of bewilderment but didn’t want to bother me.

“Son, I am intrigued by your work. You’ve grown into something more than most people can dream of. But you are unaware that you’ve poured your heart into art and lost your mind in the process. I am not your father. I am not your father. I am not real. I am not real.” My father told me as his apparition started to dissolve into empty space.
“What did that mean?”

“Branden who are you talking to?” Teresa asked but getting no response. The only thing things I was saying was “father.”

“Your father?” Henry asked with wonder.

“It’s a long story, I’ll fill you in later,” Teresa told Henry. “Branden, that isn’t your father. Who you are talking to isn’t real. Do you hear me? THAT THING ISN’T REAL!”

Slowly I was coming back to realization. I was hallucinating again.

“My father, I saw my father in the garden. We were talking about things. He told me about the albatross in the sky. He complimented me on my garden and paintings. Then he said I had lost my mind because of my art, I put everything I have into it. He told me that I am going to die alone and bitter. He… he… he wasn’t real… was he?” I said with water eyes.

“Come on honey,” Teresa said, “let’s get you into bed. You need some rest.”

“NO!” I snapped bitterly at Teresa, “I love you, but I am sick of your constant insisting on trying to shove me into bed at the first sign of a problem. Ever since we found out of my mental instabilities you treat me different. You try to pamper me like a baby. Just stop it, okay? I’m going out for a drink.” I announced as I rushed out the front door, slamming it and dropping some china dishes next to the door.

Teresa was speechless. I never snapped at her like that before. It was eerily reminiscent of their last meeting with Hemmingway but much more powerful and bitter. Both Teresa and Henry clean up the china mess and have a seat and drink some wine.

“So… that fight…” Henry asked Teresa after a few minutes of silence.

“Branden has been declared mentally unstable by a psychiatrist. He’s been hallucinating vividly lately but this was the worst episode yet. They’ve been getting worse. A few nights back he was dreaming some weird things about his family. He was screaming, pleading and crying. I tried to see if he was alright but he was dead asleep. He’s been having problems coping with it but he hides it well. The garden, it’s a mask for his pain, something to keep him occupied. I hope he’s alright…” Teresa said quietly.

“Master Branden was always so very bright but when he was younger he did show… signs…. Of this sort of thing coming, but no one knew what to do. Don’t fret dear; I know he didn’t mean what he said. He needs you. You’ve made such a positive impact on him. He has no idea how much he needs you. You’re really all he has left.”

Teresa looked at him with a blank look a shook her head a tad, troubled by the events she wasn’t so sure Henry’s words were true or not.

I was at the local bar drinking away my sorrows. For far too long I neglected the comforts of the grimy, smoke filled bars with muddy dreams and swollen pride and most importantly the devil’s drink. Those people, whether they knew it or not - were there to help you but they never intruded in personal affairs. It was the attitude, the knowledge of knowing that you’re not alone in your problems. I was wondering what happened though. I had a black out of sorts and didn’t even remember arriving here in the first place. I just knew that I was sad. I heard a female voice shout at me.

“Branden, is that you?” the voice inquired.

It was my old friend and harlot, Elsie. The two had some drinks and discussed everything that has happened since they had last met.

“I’ve had my ups and downs. Downs: loss of all friends, depression and mental instability. Bright side is that I found that girl I was chasing down the last time that we had seen each other, and we are happily in love… well I’m happy. I know she was. I don’t know if she still is. I worry that she won’t deal with my freak-outs. They are so sudden and I can’t control them.” I told Elsie while drinking a glass of absinthe.

“Doll, you’re an amazing gentleman and she must know that. If the love is there, she won’t leave. It won’t allow her to, even if she wanted to. Don’t bet yourself senseless over something like that.” Elsie told me confidently.

I knew she meant it but I couldn’t see how she would be right. “I hope you’re right. So, how’ve you been? You look like you’re doing well for yourself.” I asked.

“Oh, better than well. I am out of the prostitution business. I found religion and the guidance of that has severally enlightened me. I am now on my own and making money through a linen business. I still come to these dingy bars because they remind me that no matter how bad things may get for me at times, things can always be worse. I always go to confession afterward.”

We went on into the night talking about things all the more trivial than the topic before it until I noticed the time and headed back home. I gave Elsie my phone number and asked that she give me a call sometime and they all can go to lunch or something together. Elsie smiled and agreed. I returned a vain, unimpressive half smile and walk out.

Teresa was getting worried. She knew I needed time to clear my head but what was taking so long she wondered. She heard a knock on the door and rushed over to open it. There I stood, drenched from the rain that had begun to pour after I started to walk back home. I walked inside and took off my coat and sat down. We all discussed what happened when I blacked out.

“Did I really say all that? Darling I am so sorry… I didn’t mean it.” I pleaded.

Teresa was forgiving and understanding. We started to kiss and get a little physical. Henry, feeling the emotions flaring, decided to bid us a good night. He went to his room to sleep. We headed upstairs and after a while of making up we made up in a little more sexual way. A couple weeks pass and we all were happier and more joyful. We all overcame the issues that arose that Friday night a couple weeks back. Teresa has been feeling sick and she decides to go see a doctor. She comes home and shouts “Branden, we’re having a baby girl!”