Sorry

“Sorry.” she said, “Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb you.” although she was the one to step off the pavement, he the one with the car door open, barring her way.

“Sorry.” she would say , each time she was out, little adjustments, stepping out of someone’s way to let them pass; “Sorry.” she would say if a passing dog stopped to sniff her leg.

Yet, she was not a humble person. She didn’t feel she took up forbidden, better used room in the world. She was sorry, but what she was sorry about was a world in which, without this word, eyes would not flick up to meet hers. Often as not she’d gain a smile and sometimes, like today, she would even elicit kind words. His words, “You’re alright. No problem. You wouldn’t do that.” Eight whole words in a desert of speechless days.

The radio talked to her; the television babbled on, but she rationed her time with them, saving the batteries, saving the electric.

Her home holding it’s breath, little clicks and creaks the accompaniment to her hours until, time for her walk, she would pull on her hat and wrao round her scarf, take her gloves from the drawer and glance at the lead, hanging limp on it’s hook by the door, idle for months now, her beloved companion gone to hunt rabbits in an eternal dream. He had been her loyal friend. He had answered her calls and listened as she asked his opinion, his head on one side. He understood when she needed his warmth. Just to look at him had made her feel loved, until the day he just had to go. “Sorry.” she’d said, and it came from her heart. “Sorry.” she said to the vet, as she cried, tears dripping from her cheeks onto the familiar fur, still, without breath, for the first time ever.

“Sorry.” she said when she collected the box, “Sorry I made such a fuss.” This was the way she prompted their kindness. This was the way she asked for the hand on her shoulder, the slightest, brief squeeze. Human contact, as she left to take him home for the last time.

“Sorry.” she said to the box, as they rode home on the bus.

“Sorry.” she said again as she tipped his ashes under the cherry tree, amongst the snowdrops, in the park, where the daffodils were pushing through.

“Sorry.” she said to him, for the last time, as she turned to walk home.

Each afternnon she would visit until the cherry tree blossomed, following the early spring flowers, which had honoured his end.

Often, she would perch on the bench, giving him some of her time. She would watch the young mothers and their toddlers. Then a special day came.

“Sorry.” she had said, as she sat on the bench, beside an elderly man who shuffled along to give her more room. He’d smiled, but no words were forthcoming, her ruse hadn’t worked.

But a little girl, with her mother, walked up to the bench. In her hand, bent and ragged, a bunch of daisies, thrust forward and onto her lap. “For the sorry-lady.” said the little one, glancing up at her mum, then patting the knees of the man on the bench. “Sorry,” he said, as he pulled his granddaughter onto his knee, “she doesn’t mean to be rude.”

“Dogdog.” said the girl, staring into her eyes, and slowly the memory flickered into her brain, of the little girl toddling and reaching out for the dog, little fists grabbing handfuls of fur, and her dog just standing, so gentle and calm.

“Sorry.” she said, but the mother was apologising, apologising to her, as she hurried the little one back into her pushchair and off through the park.

How many weeks ago? It had been trying to snow, but here was the little one with her memory of him.

“Sorry lady.” she said again, as she waved her goodbyes, eliciting a smile, which lit up the old face and shone through from the eyes. And here was the beginning of good things to come.

In the strengthening spring sunshine, her frozen heart started to thaw.