Puppy Love is True Love, if You’re a Puppy…
(Based on a true experience)
Published by Frank Josey at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Frank Josey
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It was a cool Friday evening - Frank was seventeen, relaxing and listening to a tune “Mercy” by the Buddy Rich Big Band. It had been a busy day, just finished a shift as a short order cook at the family’s Fast Food restaurant, the “Luxury Freeze”. The Josey family lives in a connected building, the kitchen door entering into the restaurant’s kitchen. “Mmm, enjoyed that Burnaby South burger”, Frank thought. “Better get a milkshake”. Suddenly a dark cloud overwhelms Frank; a premonition of something awful having occurred. This is not an uncommon occurrence but Frank hides these paranormal experiences from family and friends for fear of being called “delusional”.
The phone rings upstairs, Frank waits. “Frank, it’s for you”, Dot, his Mum yells downstairs. Frank turns off his phonograph and climbs the creaky steps, wondering if it’s Mark wanting him to play in the Rock’n’Roll Band on Saturday night.
“Frank here, what’s up?” Frank asks. There’s momentary silence on the other end. “Hi, it’s Ken here, I have some bad news. There was a long silence over the line, “yes” Frank says. Jill was killed this afternoon” “What?” Frank asked, not believing this statement by his best friend - Ken cries uncontrollably, “She was hit by a car and thrown a 100 yards”, he sobbed; “Mum and Dad were wondering if you could identify her at the morgue, we can’t do it, we just can’t do it; if you are OK with that, I’ll call the R.C.M.P” (the Royal Canadian Mounted Police were the governing force where Frank lived, and in the area where Jill was killed).
Ken hangs up; Frank sits in stunned disbelief, “Jill, Dead, No” he thinks. He places his face in his hands in utter disbelief.
“What’s wrong” Dot asks? Frank looks up, “Jill’s been killed” he says, startled by his own words; the incredulity creating no emotional response. He goes to the toilet, washes his hands and face, brushes his teeth and changes his shoes. He sits on the porch waiting, watching the traffic go by. “How can she be dead” he says to himself.
He was deeply in love with Jill, who he considered his first girlfriend. Jill was a beautiful blonde eighteen year old psychiatric nurse who liked Frank. They spent many a night socially together, staying up late just talking, and drinking coffee and diet cola. Frank and Jill never dated per se, but would go out on picnics and take in a movie at the Odeon in New Westminster. Sadly, Frank considered these dates. The most intimate moments that they experienced were just walking, talking and holding hands.
The RCMP car pulled up, Frank got in, “Hi officer” Good Evening Mr., Josey”, “call me Frank”. But no words are spoken again on that lonely drive to New Westminster, where her body lays.
The hospital morgue is strange – 4 attendants laughing and talking. “Here to view” is all the officer says. Frank and the officer are escorted into the morgue proper, Frank thinks “Wow what a depressing place, cement floor and walls - and dark”. They walk into another cool room with rows of Stainless Steel “fridge doors”. The aluminum tray is pulled out, and the plastic sheet is pulled away by the coroner.
Nude from the waist up, Frank stares in disbelief at Jill. “Can you identify this person” asks the Coroner coldly, looking at Frank “Yes, that’s Jill Hammer” Frank replies in disbelief; the words echoing in the empty room; “she’s so bloated and disfigured, she was so beautiful 4 hours ago when she was killed” he reflects. She’s covered, the zipping sound hauntingly filling the room; and the tray is pushed back. “Are you okay?” asks the coroner to the ashen cop, then to Frank. Frank does not reply, shocked that he feels no sadness or anger at that moment; just an unexplained numbness. The policeman vomits in the corner.
The drive back to the Luxury Freeze is surreal. Outside the car window, buildings flash by, Frank becomes dizzy, listening to the police dispatcher repeating “Car 764, reply please”. The officer ignores the request. The cop pulls up, their eyes meet and they nod to each other in that strange recognition of sharing an experience neither wanted. Frank waves to the departing police car, the cop nods.
When he enters, his father senses something is wrong. Frank tells him and Fred says in a crackling voice “Jill’s dead? Who’s Jill?” After a momentary silence Frank’s eyes water, “Don’t you fuckin’ cry – men don’t cry!” Fred responds, “I never met her, fuck off” Fred says to his son. Frank bows his head at this remark (knowing to argue would mean being hit) and goes downstairs into his room; unaware Fred and Dot just had a fight, quite a too familiar family occurrence.
Frank lies on the bed, the restaurant’s refrigeration drumming hypnotically outside. He coils in a fetal position, pulling his hair and squirming, moaning “Jill, Jill, Jill”. Falling asleep he wakes at 3 AM, turns on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation jazz program and drifts back to sleep.
The next morning, he drives to Jill’s family in Surrey B.C. Passing familiar sites he enjoyed with Ken and Jill.
Jill’s mother embraces him, wearing that Lilac perfume Jill liked. The pall of mourning is devastating, Frank tries to leave. She pulls him by the arm into the front room and gingerly sits him down on a kitchen chair. Everyone in the family was there. “She was killed by a drunk who veered off to the roadside where she was walking with Susan” her Mum says, Susan nods “Jill saved my life; she pushed me out of the way.” Frank sits quietly, sipping on a warm TAB. “Jill would die if she knew of the botched roadside investigation” her Mum said, then wailed, realizing the words she used. Ken and Frank go into the back yard. “Thanks Frank for doing that – can you identify her again?” Frank wasn’t listening, just staring at the back yard flower arrangements, where many lovely times with Jill were had.
The drive home, Frank feels a deep depression growing –“Jill’s no more, how can that be?”
CKNW radio blares a Beatles hit “I wanna hold your hand”. At breakfast, Frank can’t eat. The Coroner’s station wagon honks outside. “Oh yeh Mum, the coroner wants me to identify the body to the jurors this morning, after the autopsy”. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, can I help?” No thanks Mum”. Dot was a deeply compassionate and understanding mother, who deserved better from her husband and three sons.
Frank arrives at the morgue for the same ritual, again to insensitive attendants. This time twelve jurors and the same cop are present. The drawer was pulled out, creaking this time. Jill was so disfigured by the autopsy, scarred as if a large sewing machine put her back together, so many sutures, she was so bloated.
Again, Frank was emotionless, and said aloud, “Yes, that’s Jill Hammer”.
Several jurors fainted; the cop vomits on the concrete floor, that typical smell revolting Frank; the coroner yells for stretchers; the jurors are checked by two nurses and an intern, taken upstairs to the emergency ward. Outside, it was a lovely fresh afternoon; the Coroner’s car wouldn’t start. The coroner talks with Frank while hospital mechanics repair the vehicle. “Still playing baseball Frank?” (The coroner had been Frank’s baseball coach).”Nah” is all Frank said.
They drive back along the same highway; Frank stares outside, wondering why he isn’t sad or angry “that bloody numbness” he thinks. A sense of panic overwhelms him, “what’ll I do without Jill?”
The next Friday evening, a week after her death, the Family meets Frank at the Moody Park funeral home. They enter the chapel. Its ghostly soft light is chilling. Frank walks up the aisle, slowly approaching the open casket and gasps. There’s a light shining on the mahogany coffin, with flowers around the casket - Jill looks like she’s asleep; she’s beautiful again - the cosmeticians worked their magic.
Panic overcomes Frank and he runs out of the chapel, gets to his car, and cries for several moments. Jill’s father follows him, opens the passenger door, and sits, places his hand on Frank’s shoulder, their dual sobs coming from a depth never experienced before. They hug and hold each other’s hand, in silence now. Jill’s Mum comes out, kisses Frank on the cheek, looks at her husband “let’s go home”.
The next morning was a beautiful fresh B.C. day, sun spreading its golden warmth. Even the flowers at the chapel had a special brightness, as if cleaned. Frank approached the other pall bearers and enters the chapel. “There she is, beautiful”, Frank’s eyes moisten.
They sit at the assigned seats. “She’s so beautiful” Frank keeps saying to himself. The sounds from the movie Dr. Zhivago of “Lara’s theme”, Jill’s favorite tune, which today still haunts Frank, was played before and after the eulogies. Jill’s Dad runs over as if inviting us all to a baseball game “you must come over to our house for refreshments”.
Frank and the other pallbearers carried the casket to the Hearse and went to the crematorium. The drive was long and quiet.
They arrived and entered a chapel like room – then the hungry fiery mouth opened and consumed Frank’s first love. The wailing from Jill’s Mum was unbearable. After leaving the horror room that consumed Jill, her Dad rushes up to the Pall Bearers inviting them to the wake, forgetting he’s repeating an earlier request - his joyful request betraying his desperation and grief.
The wake was the usual sad event, people trying to appear normal. Then Ken says to Frank, “I’d like to introduce you to Luke, Jill’s boyfriend”. Frank was stunned in disbelief, “I was her boyfriend not this asshole” he thought. He wanted to punch him but left the room.
How could she?
Later that summer, Frank had his first real affair, with a beautiful Australian lady, a lifeguard at the Resort in Terrace where Ken & Frank’s jazz band played, and later at Jasper and Banff. Sally was a vivacious Jewish gal. Then Frank could compare - Jill was a close friend, deeply loved, but not a girlfriend.
Then why does Frank still miss Jill? Puppy love is true love, if you’re a puppy.
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Epilogue
The drunk that killed Jill was never tried in a court of law. Her parents broke up soon after. Ken and Frank remained friends.
Notes
The name Sally, and Jill’s surname, are the only name changes to protect the individual’s privacy. “Sally” and Frank are still good friends, communicating frequently by e-mail
If you read short story 2 and 3, you will note Frank’s father, a returned soldier, Fred, suffered from P.T.S.D. for untreated war trauma. At times he was a wonderful humorous man. Read my first “Reality” poem for the effects of PTSD.
About the Author
Frank Josey is a dual citizen of Canada and Australia, with a deep love for both countries and their people. He currently resides in an Australian country town.
Born in New Westminster, B.C. Canada, he grew up in a typical Canadian family in Burnaby, B.C. with a father, Frederick W. Josey (deceased), and his Mum, from Walthamstow , England, Dorothea W Josey, nee Strelitz (surviving). He has two brothers, Lawrence and Martin who reside in Canada.
Whilst attending Simon Fraser University where he was awarded a Bachelor of Arts, Commerce Major. From 1977 to 1992 he was a Canadian Chartered Accountant and from 1992 to 2009, an Australian Chartered Accountant. He is a registered Management accountant (AMA).
He believes that there are many faiths but only one true religion – the religion of love (of neighbor and our creator).
He enjoys various genres of music from good heavy metal to Big Band Jazz. His hobbies are drumming (jazz and military styles), researching theological issues, and “dancing in the rain”. He loves baseball, and Rugby League.
Of the many capable drummers, he enjoys Dave Weckl, Dennis Chambers, Buddy Rich (dec.) and Louis Bellson (dec.) and Neil Peart.
Of the many comedians that he enjoys, his favorites are Billy Connelly, Robin Williams, John Cleese, Rodney Dangerfield (dec.) George Carlin (dec.) and Bob Hope (dec).
He is divorced and has a son and daughter of whom he is proud and several grandchildren, all residing in Australia.
His motto - “Things are never as bad as they seem”.
Upcoming E-books from Frank Josey
Lassiter’s Folly – fiction; an armed robbery (short story) “gone right”.
The Forgotten Heroes – Canadian espionage in WW2, based on a true story but with fictional characters
Stories From My Father – from the life of the Plains Cree Chief in 1860 to my Dad’s serious war wounds in Northern Germany in April 1945
Life With My Father – Novel length, true story; How P.T.S.D. destroys a returned soldier, the taint of family abuse still exists in 2011
Tasmanian Knights – Novel length, fiction; an exciting adventure epic
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If we lift anchor, we may drift to oblivion, or steer by the inner light that guides us – we can choose. (Frank Josey)