Modern Life (A Short Story)

              Gordon Studer

When Helen got the call that Frank’s car had swerved off the highway and landed in a ravine, killing him instantly, the first thought she had was that she could finally wear that little black dress she bought months ago that was hanging in her closet with the price tag still on it.

Frank didn’t like to go out much, preferring instead to stay home watching TV, or rather, falling asleep in front of it, and so there had been little opportunity to dress up. The second thought she had was that she would never again have to endure having sex with him, and that made up for the sadness that slowly enveloped her, thinking of all the things she would now have to do alone. After 24 years of marriage, it would be an adjustment.

That was five months ago, and since then she had sold their house in the suburbs and moved into a condo in the bustling downtown Lake District, hoping to meet new people and maybe even a new man. At 52, she was still young enough to consider starting over. Being childless, she was without the distraction of grandchildren and would remain so unless she met a man who had some. Not that she wanted any, but it did seem to fill up the time for so many of her friends.

The morning of the explosion, Helen was just finishing up the few dishes from her breakfast when her best friend Ida called and invited her to lunch at the museum. A guest lecturer was scheduled to give a talk on Jackson Pollock, and that sounded promising according to Ida. Afterwards they could get a jump on their Christmas shopping, since it was already mid-October and none too early.  Helen agreed, and they decided to meet on the front steps of the museum at noon.

With several hours to kill until she would meet Ida, Helen searched for things to do. She did a load of laundry, changed the sheets on her bed and paid a few bills. Suddenly she thought of calling her sister in Cleveland. They were not especially close but still, since Frank’s death she had tried to fill the void any way she could, and family seemed like one way to go.  Marilyn was older by three years, but she seemed younger in many ways. Much less serious than Helen, she had always been a “party girl” in her youth, and never really outgrew the tendency. Now almost 55, married and the mother of two teenagers, Marilyn still liked to “go out with the girls” for drinks and dancing. Helen found this behavior childish but held her tongue.

It seemed like forever until Marilyn finally answered, obviously out of breath. She explained that she had been outside, hosing down the driveway after a big storm the night before had littered it with broken limbs and piles of leaves. “I almost didn’t hear the phone,” she explained with a little laugh. “Sorry. Anyway, how are you holding up?”

     “I’m fine, I guess. Not too much to report.”

     “Helen, you have got to get out there and start doing! You can’t just mope around, life goes on you know.”

     “Marilyn, it’s only been five months. Technically one mourns for a year.”

     “Who are you, Jane Eyre? This is modern life, nowadays people get back on the horse right away.”

     “Back on the horse? What horse? Where do you get these expressions?”

     “All I’m saying is that life is to be lived, and today is a day of your life so live it!”

     “You'll be glad to hear I am meeting Ida at noon at the museum. There’s some sort of art lecture. And we’re having lunch too. I’m not just sitting at home moping, really I’m not. Please don’t worry about me. Actually I called to see how you all are doing.”

     “A lecture with Ida is not exactly what I had in mind. Anyway, we’re all fine. Lucy has a stomach bug but I think it’s really fear of the SATs coming up.  Bill is out of town as usual, and Bill Jr. spends every waking minute playing sports--if it's not soccer it's football, if it's not football it's lacrosse. I just pray he doesn’t get a concussion. All of his friends have had at least one and I’m telling you, they are quite a sorry bunch.”

     “Well at least they keep you busy,” Helen said, thinking to herself how glad she was that she never had kids.

     “We haven’t seen you in ages.  Not since the funeral, really. I guess you’ll come here for Christmas this year, right?”

     “Well, if I’m invited, certainly.” Actually, Helen hated flying and dreaded making the trip. But still, she imagined herself sitting at home alone instead of out for Chinese food with Frank on Christmas Eve and at the movies on Christmas Day and decided she'd just take a few extra sedatives and get through it somehow.
     
     “Of course you’re invited, silly! In fact, when you're here I'll introduce you to our handsome new neighbor, he's divorced and definitely interested."

     
     "Oh Marilyn, really, don't you think it's too soon?"

     
     "Honey, better too soon than too late! Anyway, I’ve got to get going -- I left the hose running and the dogs are soaking wet out there. Let me call you back later in the week. And really, I hope by our next conversation you have something exciting to tell me about.”

      “Honestly, I’ve got the rest of my life for excitement. Right now all I want is to feel like I can stand on my own two feet and take care of myself.”

    “Of course. I understand, I guess. You’re just not ready to live it up yet.”

   “Exactly. Thanks for understanding. Anyway, give my love to everyone.”

After they hung up at there was little to do around the house so Helen decided to leave early and spend some time window-shopping downtown before meeting Ida. She had to admit she was excited about meeting Marilyn's handsome neighbor. She would certainly bring the little black dress, still unworn (Ida had insisted it was too sexy for Frank’s funeral), its dangling price tag a constant reminder to get a life!

It happened at 10:42 EST, just as Helen was driving across the top span of the bridge. According to the news reports there had been two bombs, one at each end. Early estimates claimed at least 75 people were dead and hundreds more injured. 

Helen never did get to wear that little black dress. “Save it for something special,” Ida had said.