The Tuesday Volunteers

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Mr.Clown shows Pretty Lady the meaning of love.
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Starlight
Starlight
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“The bloody shit, leaving me like that!”

A passing couple looked at me, startled. I realised I had spoken my thought aloud.

I was walking my terrier along the river path and for the millionth time was contemplating the ruins of my marriage. It was only the day before that the divorce had become absolute, and Vic was now free to marry his slut.

There are things that we know are going to happen, but never the less, we somehow can’t encompass them until they actually arrive. I have wondered from time to time how people condemned to be executed, can go on for days, weeks, even months, without falling apart. Perhaps it is a similar thing. Its only when the moment arrives that the reality hits home.

That’s how I was feeling that lovely Spring morning. The reality of being alone, without my husband of eighteen years, finally struck me in all its actuality. It had taken eighteen months to complete the divorce, and all the time he was living with his slut, the twenty-year old that had replaced me in his life. Yet, it had not seemed real, final, until yesterday.

When he first said he was going to leave me for her, I begged and pleaded. Amongst my other emotions now, was anger that I should have abased myself. He had made me feel ugly, unloved and unattractive. I was undesirable to him, and so was undesirable to any one else.

Nineteen years before he could not keep his hands off me. Then it was he who begged and pleaded. He wanted me like he’d never wanted a woman before, so he said.

He was good looking, personable, some years older than I was, and on his way to becoming a successful lawyer.

I was young, just eighteen when I met him at a party. I was flattered that this sophisticated man was attracted to me. I fell fiercely in love with him.

Despite my infatuation with him, I did not give in to his entreaties at first. He tried everything; expensive restaurants, concerts, theatres and romantic moonlight gazing. It was his endless reassurances that he would love me for ever, and I wouldn’t get pregnant because he knew what he was doing, that finally brought about my surrender.

He took my virginity one night in the back of his flashy sports car.

“Anyway,” he said, “You can’t get pregnant the first time.”

How wrong he was. Within a month, I knew I was pregnant. When I told him he said, “You’d better get rid of it. We don’t want to start off our married life on the wrong foot. We need to wait awhile before we have kids.”

He arranged with one of his medical pals to give me an abortion. I can’t complain about the care I received. He was paying, and he could afford the best. Yet looking back, that abortion gives me my most virulent grounds for hating him.

We married, and thereafter, for all the seed he pumped into me, I never got pregnant again.

How naïve, how stupid I had been! For the first five years of our marriage we…no…I was going to write, “we made love constantly.” Looking back now I can only write a word I never normally use. “He fucked me.”

And how he “fucked me.” I lacked experience in sexual matters, and at first, I was horrified at what he expected me to do. Perhaps I should have written, “Demanded.”

In fairness, I must admit I came to enjoy the things into which he initiated me: as well as vaginal sex, which I had obviously anticipated anyway, there was oral and anal sex, ejaculating between my breasts and playing rape games. In fact, sexually I gave myself to him totally. If ever a man was capable of giving a girl a thorough sex education, it was Vic.

It was some time during the fifth year of our marriage that I noticed a falling off in his sexual drive. As I wrote, he is some years older than I am, twelve, to be exact, and once more, I was naïve.

I thought that the decline of his interest was caused by a combination of the time we had been having sex and his age. I actually thought that a man might lose interest sexually speaking, when he was in his mid thirties! How silly can you be?

Friends tried to warn me that Vic was playing around with other women, and I roundly refuted them. I knew “he loved me deeply”, and I loved and desired only him. “He wouldn’t think of entering into sexual relationship with another woman!” Ha!

I was so sure of my place in Vic’s life, I did not even tax him with the things I was told about his, “Playing around,” as some put it.

It was only when he announced he was leaving me for his slut that the truth came out.

I suppose to try to make him self feel better, he then boasted of his infidelities. Even gave me the names of some of them. They included women I had thought to be my friends.

Painful as this was, it was nothing to the final revelation. Over the years of our marriage, I had gone to many doctors to try to discover why I could not get pregnant. I had begun by assuming that the abortion had done something to render me infertile.
Nothing was found to be wrong with me.

Vic always refused to have tests saying, “I got you pregnant that first time, so there’s nothing wrong with me.”

On the day of his departure, he made the final hateful thrust. He told me that after my abortion, the same medical pal had performed a vasectomy on him. If this wasn’t bad enough, he went on to tell me he intended to see if this could be reversed, so he and his slut could have children.

How do you live with someone for eighteen years, and not see the evil, the deception in him or her?

In the face of all this, I broke down completely. All that had underpinned my life had deserted me. Above all, my naivete and blindness rose up to haunt me. I spent two months in a psychiatric nursing home.

Now, here I was, still spitting out my venom, and doing it aloud in public. So what to do?

I had sworn there would never be another man in my life. For the period of my illness, this was no problem. Then I had desired nothing but release from the storms that raged inside me. Now, other desires began to make themselves felt.

Even right up to the time Vic told me he was leaving me, we had continued to “fuck”. I am a woman who normally needs a lot of emotional gratification, and Vic had given it me in the sense of regular sex, even if at a diminished level. Now here I was, with my aching need for satisfaction, and there was no one I could trust with my body.

Certainly, there had been several men who sought to “console” me. They usually suggested that “We could have a very meaningful relationship.” Most of them were husbands of my girl friends, and all of them were sent packing.

I considered the possibility of a lesbian relationship, but decided that it was not for me. So there I was, night after night, trying to satisfy myself with a dildo and vibrator, and weeping with every orgasm because it was not the real thing.

What messes we humans can get ourselves into!

Walking my little dog along the river path, he seemed to be the only thing left I could safely love. I looked into the future, and saw myself year after year, walking alone with my dog along that path.

Vic, of course, being Mr.Money Bags, had graciously provided for his cast-off. At first, my pride tempted me to refuse his grandiose offer, but practicalities intervened.

Marrying young, I had never established a career. I had no particular skills to offer, so getting anything other than the most menial work was about all I could expect. I frankly admit I could not face that situation.

“Something must be done,” I blurted out aloud. I looked around hastily, but no one was in sight, I’m thankful to say.

I sat on the park bench that is just where the river bends, and watched the rosellas swoop from tree to tree, then heard their angry squawking. Oh God, even they, for all their colourful beauty, can’t live in peace,” I complained.

A young couple walked by hand in hand. I watched them sourly. “Just wait till he clears off and leaves you,” I thought.

The thought was a little dampened when two minutes later an elderly couple came by also hand in hand.

I thought about the words of one of the counselors I had attended. “My dear,” she said patronizingly, “You must realise that lifelong fidelity is totally out of date. The modern person needs to be venturesome in their partnerships.”

I later found out she had been married four times.

People went past, some jogging, some walking with grim determination, others strolling contemplatively.

“Something must be done,” I said again, but this time in my head. “I must do something with my life, but what?”

A young man approached leading a terrier. He stopped by the seat looking at Darcy (my terrier).

“Look, Annie,” he said to his dog, “another Yorkshire Terrier.”

I don’t think either Darcy or Annie were particularly interested in their mutual breed, but they did seem to take an interest in their gender difference. There was much sniffing and cavorting.

The young man sat down beside me and began that conversation beloved of dog owners: “How long have you had him/her? What do you feed him/her on? Does he/she bark much?” And so on.

After a few minutes of this conversation the young man rose and said, “Got to go now. It’s my morning at the Royal Children’s Hospital.”

“Someone you know sick,” I asked, with no real concern.

“Luckily, no,” he laughed, “I go there every Tuesday morning to visit the children and cheer them up.”

It was Tuesday.

“Due there at ten and I’ve got to get changed. Goodbye.”

I watched him stride away, with Annie giving rueful backward glances at Darcy, and Darcy straining on the lead to pursue her.

The young man was tall and dark haired, and moved with a graceful sort of ease.

“Bet he hasn’t got a care in the world,” I thought.

It seems to be the case that when we are locked into our own problems, we can’t imagine that others might also be troubled.

I rose and made my way home to my lonely house. Wondering what I was going to do for the rest of the day – or the rest of the week for that matter. I decided on the garden, and spent the rest of the day and some of the week potting and unpotting plants. I actually love gardening, but I seemed to have no real zest for it then, just as I had none for anything else.

As I tinkered around over the following days, thoughts of the young man kept flitting through my mind. I wondered what he did at the Children’s Hospital. I had no real memory of what he looked like, except he was tall, dark and moved so gracefully.
Everyday when I took Darcy for his walk, I kept an eye open for the young man.

I was not particularly disappointed when he did not show up along the river path. My reason for wanting to meet with him again was simply to satisfy my curiosity about his hospital work. My curiosity had to wait a full week.

It was Tuesday again, and once more, I was sitting on the bench by the river bend. The young man hove into view. Darcy and Annie spotted each other and there was much leaping and canine socialising.

The young man sat next to me again and began once more on doggy subjects. I interrupted his discourse about annual injections for doggy ailments.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what do you do at the Children’s Hospital?”

He laughed, showing even white teeth. “I’m a clown,” he said.

“A clown,” I echoed. “What does a clown do in a hospital?”

“Make sick children feel it bit better by getting them to laugh,” he replied.

My curiosity was really aroused now. “How did you get into it?”

“Ah, well. I went with one of my colleagues to visit his sick daughter. I had a bit of a chat with her, then found myself talking to the child in the next bed, then the next. In an hour I talked to every child in the ward.”

“We were about to leave when a lady with a trolley of drinks came into the ward. I noticed she was wearing a badge with “Volunteer” on it. I had a bit of a chat with her, and learned that there were lots of volunteers working in the hospital.”

“You see, many of the kids come in from the country, so their parents can’t visit them every day. Some of the volunteers go and sit with the children, talk to them, read stories and play games. The lady I was talking with asked me if I was interested. I said I was, but my working hours made it a bit difficult. She said the hours were very flexible, so, to cut a long story short, I volunteered.”

If I had thought about such matters at all, I would have pictured the volunteers as retired people. It was fascinating that a young man should be among their number.

“How do you fit it in with your work,” I asked.

“Oh, well, I work as an under manager in a hotel. We have to have people on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, so we operate in shifts. Tuesday is one of my days off, so Tuesday is my hospital day.”

“Did you volunteer as a clown.” I asked.

He laughed again. “No, I was a volunteer visitor, but one day they were holding a birthday party for one of the children. I talked with the other volunteers, and it was agreed I should dress up as a clown. It was a terrific success. You see, I can do a few tricks with cards and string, and take eggs from behind their ears, stuff like that. They loved it and I’ve been their clown ever since.”

“I must go now, I’m due to do my clowning again. Nice to talk with you, er…I’m Bryce Williams. Hope to see you again.”

He moved off and I called after him, “I’m Nancy Nightingale.”

He turned and smiled. “Not a nurse, are you?”

I shook my head.

He went on his way taking with him a heartbroken Annie and leaving behind a disgruntled Darcy. He also left behind a thoughtful Nancy.

He turned up again the following Tuesday, and I plied him with further questions about his volunteering and clowning. He was a good looking young man, and one might have expected him to be out raging and chasing the girls, or they chasing him, rather than amusing hospitalised children.

In a way, I could see why he would be good with children. He had a warm, friendly personality and smiled and laughed easily, but not in the stupid, empty way some people have.

If I was interested in his activities, he was also taking an interest in me.

“Nancy, are you thinking of volunteering?” he asked.

I didn’t know how to answer this question. I had become so embittered with the human race in general that the thought of doing something for someone else did not exactly appeal. Of course, the bitterness was more about me than the human race, but that did not occur to me at the time.

Then the thought came to me of the children I had not been able to have, and Vic’s betrayal had denied me. Perhaps I could…? I decided to prevaricate.

“I’d like to think about it, Bryce,” I said.

“Good,” he smiled. “If you like you could come with me to the hospital one day and see how you feel about it.”

“Yes, I’ll think about it.”

“Bye, Nancy. See you next Tuesday?”

“Probably.”

He was off with his graceful stride.

During the following days I cursed Bryce and his volunteering. “Why did he have to pester me with his suggestions. I was all right as I was, I didn’t need to be bothering with other people’s kids.” So ran my thoughts on one side.

On the other side, I knew of my loveless loneliness. Unattractive and desired only by randy husbands, who wanted “a bit on the side,” my deep self longed to love. I loved Darcy, but loving a dog is not quite the same as loving…who or what? Perhaps sick children would be safe to love.

Tuesday came and I had almost made up my mind not to go to the seat by the river bend. Darcy and I would walk in the other direction. I even started to walk along the path away from the seat, but after a few minutes, I turned, drawn as if by a magnet to that bloody bench.

Bryce was already there. I saw him at some distance, his little Annie off the lead playing with a ball.

Annie was the first to spot us, and hurtled towards us. I released Darcy from his lead and they rushed round each other in joyous welcome.

Bryce looked up and seeing me raised his hand in greeting. As I drew near to him he said, “Thought you might not be turning up today.”

“Started out a bit later than usual,” I lied.

We chatted about the weather for a while, watching Annie and Darcy argue over the ball. Then came what I knew must come.

“Thought any more about working at the hospital, Nancy?”

“Yes, I’ve thought about it.”

A pause.

“And?”

“Could I come and have a look with you?”

“Wonderful. You’d be a real asset Nancy. I mean, most of the volunteers are fairly old, and they are fine for the grandparent image, but when they see you, wow.”

“What do you mean, ‘wow’?”

“Sorry. I wasn’t being rude of suggestive or anything. I mean, when they see a pretty lady like you…”

“Don’t be silly, Bryce.”

There was an awkward pause, poor Bryce not understanding how he might have offended me, which he hadn’t, and me trying not to think of myself as a “pretty lady.”

“No offence, Nancy?”

“Of course not, Bryce.”

“You’d really like to come with me?”

“I said so.” I was not at all sure why I had said so.

“I have to go soon, can I come and pick you up. I’ve got a parking permit and its damned hard to park around the hospital without one.”

I had not expected to be going to visit the hospital so soon, but as usual, having nothing else of any importance to do, I agreed he should pick me up.

I gave him my address, and Bryce loped off, and I hastened home.

There were unaccountable little thrills of excitement running through me. I fed Darcy, rapidly changed my clothes, put on a bit of makeup, and waited on tenterhooks for Bryce to arrive.

He rang the doorbell and I hurried to answer it. Bryce stood there in a clown’s makeup and costume. I burst out laughing and he smiled. “First time I’ve heard you laugh, Nancy.”

He had a somewhat aging Toyota and Annie was sitting in the back.

“Do you leave her in the car all the time your in the hospital, I asked?”

“Good Lord, no. She comes in with me.”

“But I thought animals weren’t allowed.”

He laughed his infectious laugh. “You are behind the times, Nancy. They found that people, especially children, recover far quicker when they can see and touch animals. Besides, Annie has a few tricks of her own.”

It was about a ten minutes drive to the hospital – a huge building, almost forbidding in its overbearing size.

In the reception area Bryce had a few words with an official looking woman, and I was handed a badge with the legend, “Visitor” imprinted on it.

We got into the lift and Bryce pressed the button for the seventh floor.

“Got the leukemia ward today.”

We got out of the lift and turned towards a ward marked 7B. As we entered, I saw that some of the children were sitting around on soft chairs, but most were lying in bed. A cry went up,

“Mr.Clown, Mr.Clown.”

Voices begged for him to do a trick for them, and Bryce went into his funny routine, mending pieces of string that had been cut, pulling eggs out from all over the place. He got them to pick cards and stick them in the pack, and after shuffling them, he turned the card up first go. Annie did little dances on her hind legs and jumped through a hoop. All the time he had a gentle patter that made them laugh.

At first, I followed Bryce as he moved round the ward. I noticed that most of the children had bald heads and were very white, most in the beds had tubes attached to them. After a while I broke away from following Bryce and began to move round the beds, talking to the children, asking them those silly adult questions like, “What’s your name? How old are you.”

I came to one bed were the child looked terribly ill. To my question about her name she said, “Petra.” She was six years old.

I sat beside her, asking her were she came from and how long she had been in hospital. To my questions she answered in whispers, so I had to lean forward to hear her. Her wasted hand reached up to touch my face, and she said, “You are a very pretty lady. Do you think I’ll be pretty like you when I grow up.”

Starlight
Starlight
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