Between What Was and What Will Be

Frieda opened the door of her little, red cottage and stared at the hot sun.

Another scorcher!, she thought to herself while brining up her long, grayish pony tail to make up a high bun.

With her flowy gauze blouse and the wide legged trousers she had the air of a woman beamed down from the Victorian era. Her trousers were so wide that it was difficult to be sure they were not a full skirt. Frieda looked down on her neighbor prancing about in short shorts.

‘I would walk naked if I could!’, she used to share when they crossed paths on the sidewalk. Frieda would nod and smile, wondering if maybe the heat had messed up the other woman’s brains.

With John away on business Frieda found that she was not sure what to do with herself. She did not need to cook, she had a way about her of living in the house that it needed minimal cleaning, and she had already did all the things you are supposed to do in retirement.

Gardening- tick, knitting- tick, try to write her memoir- tick, she had cleaned and sorted out the house a few times, she did not like the gym, the women’s committee, the church group … so, not many other options left.

Sometimes she would go into town and drive past her old office. She had been a public servant for more than forty years moving between departments and roles, Frieda now had a better understanding of the inner working of the government and public system than most active ministers.

‘Bye gone is bye gone!’, she would sigh muttering to herself.

Frieda went back in the house. The heat made it unpleasant to go out so, she decided she will spend her day at home doing … not sure what she was going to do, but anything was better than being suffocated by the hot sun.

They had moved in the red cottage about twenty years before. The city had gotten too busy, too hectic for them, and both their careers allowed them to work partially from home. Weren’t they happy they had moved when Covid came?!? They were ecstatic! They had been so lucky! She shuddered only at the thought of spending all those lockdowns in their small, stuffed and stuffy, balcony-less apartment in Dublin.

Frieda sat at the kitchen table with her coffee and her small journal. She had never kept a journal when she was young, but now, as time moved on without her being ready for its passing, she felt the need to leave a trace of herself. People that had children did not have this issue, they left bits of themselves in actual humans, but her and John never had children. It had never been a good time, and when they finally started to talk about it they were so settled in their ways, had so many things to do, that they just did not do it.

Frieda knew though why she hadn’t had children. She had been too afraid. Afraid of losing herself in another person, afraid of not being capable and able to be a good mother. Plus, it was such a great responsibility, caring for another human being, for their development, their well-being! No, Frieda had been too afraid knowing that if anything had happened to a potential child of hers, her life would be finished, she would never survive the pain.

Frieda shook her head to chase away the painful prospect. No, much better here with her beautiful notebook, only she had nothing to write. Nothing had happened in her day worth mentioning.

‘Today is so hot! Yesterday it was hot too…’, she put down her pen in frustration. Before she could start to berate herself a knock on the door made her jump. She looked at the clock as if that would tell her if she should open the door or not. She did not get any clarification, so she went to the door when a new knock, a bit more forceful could be heard.

‘Hello?’, Freida asked timidly.

‘Frieda! It’s me Jane! Open please!’

With a sigh of relief Frieda went and opened the door to her often bothersome neighbor. Frieda almost screamed when she saw the other woman. She was wearing a big towel bathrobe, had no shoes on and her usual thick make up was smudged across her face.

‘My God Jane, what happened to you! Are you ok?’

Without replying the woman grabbed her hand and dragged Frieda towards her house.

‘You have to help me Frieda! There is nobody else!’, it was clear Jane was in a heightened state of distress.

‘Of course, anything you need!’, when she found out what the help needed was Frieda was to reconsider her offer.

‘Come!’

Although well in her sixties Jane climbed the stairs effortlessly. Frieda followed slowly wondering if maybe going to the gym was a much better idea than she thought.

Frieda followed Jane in a large, bright bedroom and stopped short when she saw a young man lying there, naked, on the bed.

Jane was standing at the side of the bed sobbing.

‘He is dead!’, she sounded a bit out of her mind, and who would blame her!

‘What?’, Frieda was seeing everything with her own eyes, but still had difficulties understanding it.

‘Why?’

‘How should I know why? We were … at it … and he just stopped, sighed and … that was it. It was hard to get out from under him. It took me more than ten minutes! I was under a dead man for all that time!’, and she started crying even harder.

‘I need to call the Guards!’, Frieda pulled out her phone, but Jane hit it out of her hands.

‘What are you doing???’, Frieda looked at the woman in disbelief.

‘No, not yet! You need to help me!’

‘With what?!?’, Frieda was starting to doubt the reality of all this. For sure she will wake up shortly.

‘Him!’, and her chin pointed to the naked man on the bed.

Frieda was looking at her with her mouth open … she must have gone mad! She was telling herself.

‘Gerry cannot know, the world cannot know! You need to help me get him dressed and take him down in the Gym! He was here giving me private lessons, so nobody will suspect anything if they find him there …’

‘Jane this is mad, we can’t move him!’

‘Yes we can with Gerry’s stair lift! You have to help me Frieda, he is already dead, we are not doing any harm!’

About half an hour later the Guards were swarming the house taking over the home gym on the ground floor while Frieda was in Jane’s kitchen consoling her.

It all went without a hitch, and the next few days the local papers were full of articles about the effects of performance enhancement drugs on gym goers and athletes. Jane wore long skirts and puffy blouses walking slowly, and hid her hair under a strange old lady straw hat. She was consoled by all the town and when Gerry came back from his fishing trip decided he will stay home for a bit to keep her company and postponed his golfing meet for a week.

Frieda struggled a lot with the urge to write in her diary about it, but years of public service had taught her that certain things are best not put on paper.

She did start going to the gym though, and was shocked to see that even her old, squishy body reacted well to weights and training. Jane had become a friend and would often amuse Frieda to no end with stories from her younger years. Jane had always been just as she was, a fun loving, boundary pushing, messer.

Frieda was content now in her retirement and would sometimes spare a thought for the young man, dead way too soon, and she was grateful for her life, the one that had passed and the one she was still leading.