The Card

The wind whips the edges of my coat; its corner slaps my wet cheek. This knot in my stomach just won't go away, throbbing with every step. It's a game now, scanning for the next joint in the concrete. I don't think I have looked up since they told me.

'How did they find me?' I skip a gap in the path. 'What's it been, two years!' Anyway, I'm lucky they did.' I surprise myself with a feeble smile for the first time in a week.

I rummage around in my coat pocket for the list. The concrete gaps and creating the list have given me a sense of purpose today. I uncrumple the yellow Post-it note labelled "To Do". Two items follow: suit at the dry cleaners and buy a card.

The suit was the easy part; I was relieved when it still fit. 'Wow, another smile, two in a week. Calm down, girl! Maybe I'll produce another one. Everything comes in threes, so they say.' The hard part is the card; he's a card writer. What man likes a card, let alone buys one and writes in it. He's strange.

'These tears, I am so sick of them, far too salty.' The corner of my mouth catches the end of one. Another gap, a little skip—the knot is loosening. I have to find the perfect card. I can't let him outdo me.

 No more concrete and no more cracks; a little bit of sun appears on the dull cobblestones. Woosh, and my hair flings around my face. A little swallow lands in front. It's chest out, staring up at me, like my mum does when she wants me to do something.

'What do you want, Swallow?' The bird just sits there. "Well, if you are not going to tell me, then I have to go. I'm very busy; I've got to buy a card.' Taking a step to the side of the swallow.

The bird rushes to my face, flying around my head, flicking me gently with its wings. I wave my hands around. 'Hey, hey, hey, watch it, bird. You little menace.' In a flash, the swallow disappears down the alleyway, towards the sound of crashing waves.

'Silly little bird, must have a soul full of mischief.' Brushing my hair from my face. 'What the hell. Where am I?' I stop searching for concrete gaps. 'Agghh, stupid girl, you're lost.' Swivelling around to see where I've come from . "Well, this isn't great." Counting five alleyways.

'Which one', drumming my fingers on my lips. The sun is strong, and the streets are now filling with people. 'I'm going to have to ask for help.'

"Excuse me, can you tell me what part of the city this is?" Asking a passerby.

"It's Harbour Town; the foreshore is just down there." Pointing towards the swallows' escape path. I thank them and set off.

"Whoops." My ankle rolls, steadying myself on a lamp post. I giggle. "And there's the third." The place is pumping, full of morning life. I'm smiling at people, people smile back, and the knot subsides.

A trickle of music emerges from around the next corner, and a spicy smell of dark rum smacks me in the face. 'This place is very sailorish.' A rough hand grabs my hand.

"Hello, sweetie." I hear a gravelly voice say.

A sailor sits next to a chess set, drinking rum. "I bet you play?" he points to the empty crate.

"I don't have time." I maneuver my hand out of his.

The beard is hiding a smile, I suspect. "It will be quick, I promise."

"I can't really," I reply.

"I think you can." he stares at me, taking another tactic. "I doubt that you're any good anyway."

"I'll have you know, I'm undefeated." Gazing at his cheeky face.

"Oh, really?"

"No one beats me unless I let them."

"We'll see. Take a seat"

I take my place on the rickety crate.

We play in silence, moving our pieces thoughtfully across the board. Each of us is trying not to lose pieces due to our stupidity.

"I haven't played for a long while," recalling the last time I played. My stomach pings with an ache, and I rub it. I lose my bishop to the sailor's rook.

"That's a rookie mistake; I thought you could play."

"I meant that to happen." We both laugh.

"I love chess; it's a thinking person's game. You have to watch the board and your opponent and work out their next moves." As he removes her captured piece.

"That's what my friend says. I used to play with him all the time."

"Smart friend."

I tap the top of my queen, smiling at the sailor, trying to psych him out. His face lights up with a big chuckle, and a hint of a tooth peers through the beard.

When checkmate is called, the sailor roars with laughter and holds out his hand. I take it.

"The minute I saw you, I knew you'd be a formidable opponent." Shaking my hand.

"Told you I was good." Waving goodbye.

'Undefeated, yes I am.' Strutting down the lane, mastering the cobblestones.

Up ahead, a swallow perches on a shop's window. It can't be the same one, surely. I sidle up to it. "Hello again, are you stalking me?" Interrogating the animal. "I'm not that interesting to stalk."

"I don't know about that; everyone I meet is interesting." The shopkeeper leans against the open door, chocolate curls cascade around her face and over her shoulders.

The swallow flies off. "You know, swallows are very important; they bring the souls from heaven to newborn babies."

"Well, this little fellow is taking his sweet time delivering his soul."

"As in life and death, rebirth takes time too. I'm sure he is on schedule. Come in, I'm making tea, you look like you need one."

Pointing at the sign, "You're Iza?"

"Of course. And you are?"

"Clara."

"Welcome, Clara, to my Shop of Interesting Things." Waving her hand to reveal her mart.

I hesitate, searching the window display for anything that might indicate danger, but find nothing.

"It's ok, the only thing that will hurt you in here is a trip hazard called Dennis, the blind corgi."

Following her, I keep my eyes down, scanning for a nuggety-looking dog and hoping not to fall over him. Bang! My hip knocks into a table full of brooches and rings; best I keep my eyes up, I think. The shop is cavernous, with pottery, shawls, potions, and knick-knacks scattered all over the place. It's messy, but it's in order somehow.

Iza points to a small table with two stools near the end of the counter. Worrying I'll break something or someone, I take a seat. A candle burns next to me; getting a whiff, I just can't make it out.

Putting the teapot down, "It's tobacco and leather, a very masculine scent, don't you think?"

"It reminds me of someone." The knot is back and tears well. I try to hide my face. In the back corner, I see a sign 'Handmade Cards'.

"Are you looking for a card?" Iza asks while pouring the tea.

"I am. It's for a friend. To put in his coffin," my voice cracks, "He always wrote me cards."

Iza stirred her tea, watching me struggle with the words.

"The last time we spoke, we fought, and he hung up on me."

Iza's silence is not comforting; she watches me crumble.

"I thought he would ring back, but he never did, and I never did, and that was it, I left town."

"What the!" I look down. Dennis lies across my feet.

"He's cold, and he likes to warm himself on people's feet." Dennis starts to snore. "Tell me more about your friend. What's his name?"

"Matthew. He's quick-witted and likes to stir me up, especially over a game of chess." Clara's knot drummed in her belly. "And you had to guess if he was smiling because his beard was so bushy."

Dennis grunts and shifts his body, reminding everyone he is here. "Who was he to you?" Iza hands me a cup of tea.

"I loved him; now he's gone." My sadness splashes over Dennis, making him sit up and look at me. "I thought he was blind." Freaking out from his glare.

"He is, but he can still see through to a person's soul."

I look into his cloudy eyes and stroke his short, twitchy ears. The shop's wares twinkle and glint with soft light. My body warms from the tea, Dennis's weight, and the Iza's space. Tick, tick, tick of a clock melds in with the hum from the street, letting me be present for the first time since I got the news.

One big sigh and a sip of sweet tea, I sink into the room like I'm safely home. The three of us rest while the silence works through the shop, waiting for its time to be broken.

Rising from the stool, Iza touches my shoulder, pointing to the cards. "I'm sure there's a perfect card for you, Clara."

"Do you make them?" Dennis slides off my feet, and I walk over to the display.

"Oh no, I'm not creative. If I were, I'd come up with a better name than Iza's Shop of Interesting Things, don't you think? I've a few loyal suppliers."

"There are so many of them, I'll have to buy a birthday card for my mum while I'm here." Flicking through the assortment of cards.

"Maybe." Iza sings out from the back of the shop.

I feel Dennis plonk down on my foot. "You really must be cold."

"Well, for the life of me, I can't find a birthday card. You must have sold out." Iza doesn't answer.

Browsing through the tiered shelves, there are glittery cards, deep red cards, colourful ones, and grey ones. Some are 3D, with pop-out things, and others are lovely oil paintings. But not one said sympathy, birthday, or congratulations.

"Mmm, what's this card about.' Picking up a very blue, stiff, bumpy card which has 'longing' written on the front in white glitter. I open it, and it's blank inside. I pick up another one. It's an oil painting of a galloping horse, and it says 'controlling', also blank inside. "This is weird," I whisper, directing it to Dennis.

Dennis barks. I look at him. "What?" he paws my leg impatiently. Amongst the cards is a yellow spot. I pull at the card's corner; it's a picture of a lemon orchard, with a stone well. A bucket has fallen over, spilling water into the dirt. There's a word written in the puddle: guilting. "I bet it's blank", I muse. But printed inside is, 'guilt isn't between us'.

"I see, you've found your card." Iza hands me a pen. "I find you have to finish the sentence with your own words. Come, Dennis, time for your snack."

I take a seat back at the table to finish the card. "Not here, it's too beautiful a day to write in a shop; go out into the world." Iza guides me to the door.

"I have to pay."

"Not today, Clara." Iza slips back into the shop's shadows.

Holding my card, I pop the pen into my coat, and I haven't even taken five steps from the shop. "Look who's here." The swallow hops along the cobblestones, pecking at specks of what I can only guess is food.

"I bought a card," I tell him, mentally crossing off one of my tasks today. The swallow keeps doing his thing, unimpressed.

"I hope you aren't late for something important, bird." I move past him, listening to the sea ahead.

The air is dense with rum, tobacco and salt; the waves crash against the rock walls of the foreshore. At last, no more cobblestones, nice flat paths with lovely joints to count. I stroll along, watching the bobbing boats on the water; people meander by me, giving a nod or a hello.

Not far, I see a familiar tree. A giant, with long, thick brown branches and deep green leaves. Exposed roots sit above the ground, making hidey-holes for people to sink into and disappear from the world.

I walk past the tree; at one time, I'd have snuggled into its root system like a love-struck teenager, but not today. Hidden by its enormity is an empty bench. Leaving the path, my feet sink into the soggy grass, and I slip, stumbling forward; the bench catches me. "Handled!" I laugh.

Clinging to my card, I right myself, suck in some tangy air, and unwind into the view. Pulling the pen out of my pocket, "What to write?" Matthew always had the right words to say. I put the pen to the card, and I stop. I don't want to make a mistake by writing a word or two and then changing my mind. I wipe the sweat from my palms on my knees, and my tummy kicks up.

'Deep breaths, deep breaths, you can do it.' I practice a sentence in my head and then on the back of my hand. The pen drags over my skin, 'My love I do... '. "Aggghhhh, this is ridiculous", chucking the pen on the ground.

I sit for a while, mulling over what to write. I scoop up the pen, open the card and write. 'Matthew'. A shadow moves across the card.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out." Matthew sits down. My stomach thumps in pain. He puts his hand on my leg. "I haven't got long, sweetie." My belly's throbbing lessens and then thins to nothing.

"I want you to listen; you need to hear me." His voice is low, and his beard moves. I suspect he's smiling.

"Ok." I squeak.

"Guilt isn't a part of our story, Clara." He takes my hand. "Don't feel guilty about not calling me back or getting on with your life without me."

"I don't feel guilty."

Matthew's beard spreads open to reveal a little bit of tooth, and a hearty laugh escapes. I stay quiet, and a short smirk creases my face. He looks out at the sea and gestures toward it.

"You and I had to unfurl for our worlds to expand. Mine was short and small, but yours will be long and vast." He looks at me again.

"I'm sorry, I just took off and didn't tell you." I fight off tears.

"I figured it's because I thrashed you the last time we played chess. And you were too embarrassed to show your face again." He joyfully pokes, making the situation feel normal.

"No, I let you win. I felt sorry for you." Throwing it back at him. "Every time you won, I let you win to make you feel better." I laugh so hard my knees hit my chest.

"You are so full of it Clara. Well, now we're even." He winks. "One hundred and nine wins a piece."

"Wait a minute, we can't be even; we haven't played in years." Trying to remind him it's been a while. Then I realise.

"You won, Clara, just as I won the last time, fair and square. You and I were always equals; that's why you're the love of my life, and I am yours" His words linger. I wait for more, but the moment is broken by a toddler on a plastic trike.

The scratchy sound of plastic on the cement is followed by his mum pushing a stroller. "There's that bloody bird again." I declare, as the swallow flits around the family. " I wonder if he's done his job yet?" Shaking my head.

Matthew gets up "It's time to go."

I know he just means him, but I stand anyway. I look up at him, and he scans my face, like he's memorising it for later. "See you next time, Clara." I lean in for that last bit of affection. Whoosh, the light touch of a tiny wing brushes my cheek. I watch the swallow land on the card on the bench.

"Hey, don't dirty it," I tell him, slipping it from under his delicate feet. "Matthew, I got you a card." Flicking it in the air in the hope I wasn't talking to myself. But I was, the swallow lingers a little in support. Then he hops off the bench and flies towards the family. Landing on the stroller's hood, he looks down at the baby, and I hear a soft, gentle giggle as the family walks towards the mouth of Harbour Town, and then they are gone, gobbled by the crowd.

'Long and vast, huh.' I open the card, now knowing what to write, and in his handwriting are only these words, "Clara, my equal, my love, keep your eyes up, until next time." Matthew.