Fear

Paul woke up to his alarm bleary-eyed and feeling unready for the day. But it was Tuesday, his favorite day of the week. He never understood why that was so, yet the realization quickly pushed away his body’s refusal to wake up. Like clockwork, he brewed his coffee in the Keurig and began his methodical morning routine. The toothpaste seemed extra minty on Tuesdays, Paul just couldn't help but smile. He put on his suit, finished his coffee, grabbed a fresh blueberry danish off the counter, and gave Rufus, his cat, a goodbye pet as he walked out of the door of his modest apartment. Humming to himself, he made his way to the parking lot and got into his car, the sky was bright and sunny this morning. The drive to work was uneventful, as usual, and as he found a space in the parking garage, he nearly rammed a black sedan head-on going after the same spot. The woman in the sedan threw her hands up in apology, put her car in reverse, and gave him the spot. Pulling his car into the spot, Paul jammed on his breaks again, certain that the figure of a person dressed in white had been standing there. But the space was empty. Paul shrugged it off, parked his car, and went about his day.

The next Tuesday he nearly hit the same woman in the black sedan going after the same spot, yet Paul was not consciously aware of it. he parked his car and went into the office. Being an accountant wasn’t the most exciting career in the world, but it gave him comfort. Helping folks with their money and teaching them how to manage better was very fulfilling for him. His supervisor was an easygoing gentleman, and Chuck always gave him a lot of leeway to find comfort in his workday. One of the perks of being efficient and customer-friendly. Another perk was being able to go to his favorite bistro on Donovan Street for lunch every Tuesday. The Donny St Bistro had the most incredible grilled hoagies, and Paul’s belly was proof of that. The local YMCA, though, was the venue for his fight against his slowly expand waistline. He wasn’t overweight, by any means, but he wasn’t thrilled with the man in the mirror these days. Every Tuesday, after work, he made the three mile drive to the gym for the next round against his waist. Paul’s workout was not too intense, but he loved his spin class and hitting the machines in the weight room. As he opened the door to the locker room, he jumped back, startled, thinking he was about to run into somebody exiting. He could have sworn that the individual was dressed all in white. But there was nobody there. Paul shrugged it off, showered, and went about his day.

As he left the gym the next Tuesday, the familiar excitement came to him knowing it was time to go visit mom. Paul’s dad had passed away in his sleep a few years back, and though he could see his pain because of it, she was always able to maintain a good humor about her. She always found the humor in every situation, and she had a wit that was as sharp as knife. She greeted him at the door of home with a grin and a hug, the powder blue siding of the house matching her knit sweater and eye shadow. Paul never stayed long enough for dinner, but a large cup of coffee, a couple scones, and good conversation was plenty. His mother would tell him of her garden, the funny stories that were told at the hairdresser, and the evenings of pinochle with her friends from the easy-living community just down the block. And through it all, each and every Tuesday, Paul never mentioned to his mother his disapproval of her smoking, not even when exhaling the drag from her Virginia Slim accidentally in his direction. They both stood at once, his mother with the empty coffee cups in her hand, Paul stretching his arms above his head and standing on his tip-toes. She walked him to her front door, the sun making its way to the horizon in the growing evening, and they cheek-kissed their goodbyes. The waning warm rays of the sun felt delicious upon Paul’s face as he walked to the car. In the driver’s seat and buckled, he turned around and looked out the rear window to back out of his mother’s driveway. Before he reached the road he jammed on the brakes fearing that somebody had just walked behind his vehicle. He was positive that there was a person dressed all in white walking down the sidewalk. But the sidewalk was vacant. Paul shrugged it off, pulled out of the driveway, and went about his day.

Luciano’s Italian Delight was the place to be for Tuesday dinner. The restaurant was always busy, but Tuesdays offered the smallest crowd of the week. Paul could always find an empty table for two in the middle of the dining room. Nobody would be joining him, for he was single and happy with the idea that he would forever be single. The center of the dining room, of which Darlene, the usual waitress, was always happy to seat him there. Modestly attractive, Darlene was probably in her early twenties, subtly curled brown hair down to her neck and big, brown eyes were her most striking features. Her voice came out like a mouse through her obnoxiously bright red lips, but she was very congenial. Paul smiled at her sincerely as she seated him. The menu and a glass of water quickly followed. He really had no need for the menu, it was cover for his desire to eavesdrop on the conversations of the families seated around him. It wasn’t to satisfy a lewd addiction to stick his nose in other people’s business, it was a way to innocently live the lives of others. It gave him a broader picture of the town that he lived in, and it was music to his ears. But as he looked up from his menu, believing Darlene had come to take his order, his eyes fell on a woman sitting directly across from him.

Her hair was black as pitch and straighter than an arrow. It fell across procelain skin and eyes with pupils the color of chardonnay. And she was dressed all in white.

“You must come with me, Paul. It is time… it is past time.” Her voice was soft yet commanding.

Pulling the menu close to him, Paul leaned towards her and asked, “Who are you?”

“I am here to take you to the other side, Paul. You’ve lingered here too long. Your mother can no longer handle the pain.” The woman’s expression never changed, even as the pitch of her voice did. Paul was so confused.

“What do you mean?”, the curiosity in his voice clear as the day had been. “Where have I lingered too long? Why is my mother in pain?”

“Paul, do you remember yesterday? Monday? Do you remember any day besides your Tuesdays?”

He thought about what she said, and she was right! What is going on here?, he thought.

That’s when the front door of Luciano’s busted open and a young man in a ski mask walked in, rifle in hand. The bullets began to fly, and as Paul felt them enter his body, he knew that he was dead. he understood that the presence of his spirit was an undue burden on his mother as he lived everyday as though it was the happy Tuesday when his life was taken. Paul did not want to accept his death, and this Tuesday had been such a perfect day.

The action of the tragic shooting slowed to crawl as he looked around the restaurant. He must let go.

The woman across from him extended her hand his way. “You must accept the cruel truth, rather than cause pain in your comfortable delusion, Paul. Come, be at peace.”

The world around him turned bright and white…