Super Glue

Brian opened the door wearily.  He was glad that today he would be first to get home; all he wanted to do was to sit down and do nothing for half an hour.

   He pulled open the fridge door with his left hand, reached for a can from the top shelf, and as the door gently swung back to it’s closed position, the can was pushed under the top of his right arm, the ring pull removed, and then lifted to his lips.
   Not a drop spilled.
   Settling down on the settee, reaching forward to switch on the ‘tele’, he removed his shoe’s, each foot deftly ridding the shoe from the other; all of these things seemingly done in one continuous movement.  He closed his eyes for a moment, then he picked up the can of beer again, and in a long sustained drink, finished it’s contents.
   It had been a very busy day at the hardware store, and he was tired.  It wasn’t so much that it was physically demanding; it was the unending fetching and carrying, the constant up and down between shop and stock room, and the never ending queue of customers, mostly uncertain of their needs, expecting the man behind the counter to have all the answers.
   There were days like this, and on days like this he would feel sorry for himself, for  now he should be well off, maybe even famous.  Everyone said that he had a rare talent with a guitar, and he was a pretty good singer.  He had put together a smart band while he was at the university, and they had started to get some useful gigs, even the odd television appearance, and he had never doubted that it was only a matter of time before they made it big.
   The tiredness and the beer, the drone from the ‘tele’’, and the warm room had made him a little sleepy, and as he lightly dozed he thought of those early days. Of the band, and how he came to meet up with Mary.  It was on one of his home gigs, here in Oatley, and she had come to the dressing room afterwards.  There were lots of people about, but she stood out.  She really was a stunner, and, Brian remembered, he wasn’t about to pass up a chance like that.  Like most young male performers in the pop world, he had a steady supply of young ladies who were only too happy to spend the night - or even half an hour behind the speakers - with him.
   Mary was a bit different.  As well as beauty, she had brains, and they hit it off straight away.  Of course they did spend that night together, and when he found that she too was studying at the same Uni, they quickly became a couple.  For a while life was good for them both, and they thought of the exciting times to come. She was ‘into’ his kind of music and went with him to all the local gigs, and gradually started to join him on his longer tours.
   She was, or at least had been, very ambitious; pretty sure of herself, and of her intended career in law.  She was aware of her good looks, and of her feisty manner (though she called it self assurance) Often she would fantasize about her court appearances, where council’s for the prosecution would crumble under her incisive questioning of their key witnesses.  
    Mary was quite certain that in time she would be rich and famous, but she hadn’t reckoned for the excitement of the footlights, and the roar of the greasepaint.  Brian had decided that she had a half way passable voice, and with a spot of coaching she could have a supporting role in the line-up.  
    She jumped at the chance.
    Before long her studies were suffering, and her imaginary scenes of court room glory were fading fast.  No matter!.  She remained confident that fame and fortune would find her another way.
   Brian stirred.  He had not quite fallen asleep, but had dropped into a kind of trance, broken now by the sound of a key in the door, and the lock being turned.
  Where there had once been many ladies in his life, now there were two;  Mary and Lucy, his ten year old daughter.  Lucy was the source of his greatest pleasure, and paradoxically his greatest pain. When she was little her parents were pleased to see early signs of musical proficiency, and decided that this would be nurtured, and properly directed.  Brian had been lucky.  He had been blessed with a natural talent, which had blossomed to a level perfectly suited to his performances, without the aid of formal training.  They were determined that for Lucy it would not be left to chance.
   Brian did not move from the settee. Though he could hear movement in the kitchen, his mind was still in the past, at one of those times when fate had played it’s hand.  Three times fate had intervened and changed his life. Three times when events -  out of his control -  had forced him along a different road.
   They were now permanently on tour, and both had abandoned their University studies. It was about a year after they had met, when the first of these fateful intrusions occurred.  “I’m pregnant” Mary had said, at the end of a Gig in Glasgow.
   “What the hell”  Brian had retorted angrily  “how did you let that happen, haven’t you been taking your pill?”
   Having a child was not on their agenda, and options of how best to deal with this new situation were considered.
   Then something odd happened.  All Mary’s ambitions and aspirations disappeared. Suddenly the thought of being a mother was more appealing, and somewhat to her surprise she realized that she wanted this baby.
   Brian was now out on a limb.  He didn’t want that kind of responsibility: not now when he knew it was just about to happen for them.  Putting Mary in the band had turned out to be the master stroke, for her voice had somehow blended with the others, in a way that had made them different from all the other bands around.  Agents and producers had started to hear about them, and Brian had news that a recording contract was ‘in the offing’.  Now this.  Now he would be forced to find a new singer; maybe a new girlfriend. Cruelly, he had hinted that she might have to choose between him and the baby.
   A couple of months had gone by and fate was about to play it’s second card.  They were on their way to the last gig on their European tour.  Hamburg, which had been the launch pad for so many bands before, and from where, Brian was confident, his band would emerge as a household name.
   It was a bad smash.  The driver, who was also the drummer, had fallen asleep at the wheel.  That at least was the theory, but it was never known for certain, for he was dead;  killed outright when the van inexplicably veered  across to the wrong side of the road, colliding head on with a small lorry that was coming towards them.
   Others members of the band had fared better, and Mary was rushed to the hospital, where tests confirmed that her baby was alright; as far as they could tell, unharmed.  The only other member of the band to suffer any major injury was Brian, for most of his right arm which was crushed beyond saving, and had to be removed just above the elbow.
   It was the end.  Everything was lost. No more band; no more touring. No more thought of fame and fortune.  It was over.
   They managed to find a place to live, and Mary was able to work for a couple of months, to supplement his paltry state payments.
   It is said that every cloud has a silver lining, and for a time they had theirs.  Lucy was born on time; she was a beautiful little girl, and there were no signs of any ill effects following the accident. For a while they were a happy family, and gradually Brian was recovering from his injuries.  Had it been the other arm, his return to heath would have been more rapid, but learning to be left handed proved to be difficult and slow.  Finding a job turned out to be traumatic, for he could offer so little to a prospective employer, and the frustration of not being able to do the things his mind told him he was perfectly capable of, was unbearable.  Gradually he was forced to become less demanding and took anything that came his way, as pride was sacrificed to the God of expediency.  It took a few years to achieve any real competence with his left hand, but at last he was offered a reasonable job in a ‘hardware do-it-yourself’ shop in the high street.  Not what he had hoped for, but it was full time, and it was something he could manage.
   Some how they got by, not quite happy, but life was bearable and they managed to stay together as a family. Lucy was the ‘glue’ that held them together.  She was all that a mother and father would want in a daughter, always happy, and a joy to be with.  Their collective pride in her made up for some of the deficiencies in their relationship, not least of which was their failure to produce a sibling for her.
   Their delight in Lucy’s emerging musical ability, was a bonus for them both, the one area in their rather dull lives, where ambitions were shared and their daughter’s  well-being paramount.
   She quickly passed through the hands of local piano teachers, and before long was taken on by a leading teacher, a lady with a worldwide reputation as a concert pianist, but now retired from her own international career.  She too was impressed by Lucy’s skill, and shared the enthusiasm of her parents.
  Life was beginning to offer them some rewards, and as the years of pain and hardship started to dim in their memories, the future was beginning to be something to look forward to.
   But once again, fate was ready to play it’s hand, and as before hope was to be dashed.  Lucy was seven now, and was making good progress, fulfilling all expectations. One day, while practising a difficult passage, over and over again to achieve perfection, her tutor had gone to the kitchen, to make some lemonade.  The door was open and she could hear perfectly well as Lucy repeated the passage on the Baby Grand.  She didn’t have to be there to know it was right.  She didn’t have to ‘see’, to know it was good.
    It wasn’t a scream; more of a shout really.  The music stopped and when the music teacher hurried  back to her charge, she knew at once something was wrong.  Lucy was holding her wrist, gently massaging, and, judging from the tears in her eyes, was clearly in much pain.  It was the start of an arthritic condition, which, in spite many medical examinations, and a wide ranging series of treatments, persisted.  Lucy never played the piano again.
   It seemed like the end of all their dreams, sending Brian and Mary into deep despair.  It was not the end however, for Lucy was more resilient than her mum and dad dared to have dreamed.  What gift it was that came out in her music was still there.  She had a thirst for knowledge, and was usually to be found with her head in a book.  Biographies, natural history, any kind of science or travel; it was all grist to the mill. She also seemed to have a love, and an uncanny knack, for maths.  Gradually her parents began to feel the same kind of excitement they had known a few years ago, when they started to be aware of her gift for music, and they could see the pattern repeating.
   Once again they went in search of the best way to foster this talent, and special schooling had been arranged.  That had been three years earlier, and now, with her scholastic talents well developed, she was headed in the direction of a brilliant academic career.
   Brian finally roused himself from the settee, and went into the kitchen. “Hi girls.” he said brightly, feeling somewhat better for his little doze. “Had a good time?”  He kissed Mary on the cheek, clearly pleased to see her.
   “Yes,” said Mary, and putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder “she’s doing so well, she’ll soon be ready for her next certificate.”
   “And daddy” chirped Lucy “do you think I can have some new shoes; these are getting a bit grubby now”, handing to Brian as she spoke, her old pair of ballet  shoes, with their long blue ribbons fraying, and soft stuffing just starting to break out.  In dance she had found a way to express her love of music, ignoring the pain it often  brought, and with no unattainable ambitions to worry about, it gave her a satisfying artistic outlet.

   Brian and Mary looked at their daughter with a feeling of pride.  In spite of it all she was still the same happy go lucky girl she had always been, and in the end she had not just been the glue that held her parents together.  She was, as her dad had told her ‘more than once’, ‘Our little tube of Super-Glue.