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From: 5lee
Date: Thursday, September 01, 2005
Time: 02:13 AM
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From: Lynda McKenzie
Date: Saturday, July 13, 2002
Time: 08:21 PM
Just Behind the Sweet Peas
My life is much too busy to chatter on about the fortunes or misfortunes of others. So it was not a surprise that I was unaware of the talk around town about my neighbour. Word on the street was that she only had 6 months left if she didn’t have the treatment. Then it was whispered that it was really only 3 months.
I can see most of her back yard from my kitchen window. We didn’t speak a lot, not because we didn’t like each other but because I was busy with family and job and all the other things that people get busy with. She was always working out at the gym or doing the things unattached young business women do these days.
We did share a passion though. We both loved sweet peas. Not the kind you eat, but the kind that crawl up a fence, their tiny tentacles clinging to the posts as they determinedly reach for the sun. If you know about sweet peas, you’ll know that the more you pick them the happier they are and the more they grow. Its almost as if they ask to be cut and brought into the house, scenting and brightening every room with their sweet fragrance and pretty colours. It’s as if they would rather have a short, productive life than be left to wither on the vine.
Word on the street was that she was going for the treatments. Word was that she had all the side effects expected.
Our sweet peas had shared a portion of the fence since she moved in next door five years ago, so it became obvious to me that there must be something amiss when she planted no sweet peas earlier this spring. I began to watch for my neighbour, when ever I had a spare minute. I saw her a few times, bundled in a coat and hat, going from car to house or house to car. And I did notice that her parents seemed to visit more often, and there were often different cars in her driveway.
Word was that she was terribly thin. Word was that she wasn’t responding well to the treatments.
Then one day, as suddenly as the cool weather had arrived last fall, it was summer. The sun’s rays sought the cool moist earth and warmed it. They streamed through windows , showing every fingerprint and smudge from the long winter. It was a time of promise, a time for new growth, a sampling of the summer to come.
That’s when I saw her. Just as I finished rinsing out the teapot and wiping the sink she came out her back door. I couldn’t help but notice that she wasn't dressed in a coat and hat. Instead she wore a silky flowing dress that followed the slight curves of her lithe body and dipped and swirled around her long slender legs. I couldn't help but notice her exquisite earrings and necklace as they caught the sun and turned its light into dancing rainbows. But most of all I couldn’t help but notice that she had not one hair on her head.
As my mind slowly assembled this information, she began to dance. She twirled with her arms outstretched, turning and dipping, moving to music that played only in her mind. Whether she could hear Strauss or Gershwin or some variation known only to her I’ll never know, but her face was as radiant as the jewels she wore. I knew I was witnessing something very mystical and very private but I couldn’t stop watching her as she danced. When she finally stopped I saw her glance over to the fence where only my fledgling sweet pea vines grew. I looked away from the window for just a moment and when I glanced back she had disappeared..
Word on the street was that she had slipped much more quickly than expected. Word was that she smiled the moment she went. A few days later I noticed slender but strong sweet pea vines growing on her side, the other side of the fence. They were almost as tall, and had just as many if not more buds than mine. When the sun peeked out from behind a cloud the leaves glistened with early morning dew, turning the sun’s light into hundreds of tiny dancing rainbows.
Now as I stand at my kitchen window the backyard I can see has been torn apart to accommodate the needs of its new owners. But it doesn’t matter to me what they put there because I will always see her swirling and twirling, oblivious to our world and sparkling in her own just behind the sweet peas.