Separation Anxiety

A few weeks ago, a neon orange, plastic ball became stuck in the highest branches of the tree in Gordon's front yard.  It was about the size of a basketball.  No one knows how it got there.

Gordon's tree is a poplar.  It stands about twenty-five feet high.  The branches are thin and sparse.  The buds on these branches still only offer a mere hint of the summer ahead. That's probably why the bright orange ball became stuck so firmly.

Sack kids, of course, were considered immediate suspects in the affair.  But none avowed any ownership of the ball.

Gordon, on the other hand, wasn't particularly interested in how the ball became lodged in his tree.  He didn't really care about its owner, either.  He just wanted to get the ball out of his tree.

***

It has been a tough year for Gordon, so far.  Among Sack residents, no one needed a bright orange ball stuck in his tree less than he did.

This past January, Gordon and his wife separated.  They had been together for over fifteen years.  The separation was sudden and unforeseen. Apparently, Gordon's wife received an offer of a new job. The salary and benefits were very attractive.  Unfortunately, the job was located in a distant, western province.

Gordon's wife wanted to accept the job.  He wanted them to remain in the old town.  In the end, they made different choices.

***

Oscar says there is likely more to the separation than meets the eye. He could be right about this.

But it really doesn't matter why Gordon and his wife separated. Additional reasons wouldn't have altered the depth of sadness it evoked among Sack residents.  It's never easy, of course, to be a witness to another's loss.

Gordon's wife informed only a handful of Sack residents about her decision. She asked that others be quietly informed of the matter. Gordon barely mentioned it to anyone.  Within a matter of days, he purchased her share of their home as part of their separation agreement.

And then she was gone.

***

It was a Thursday, when your agent first noticed the bright orange ball in Gordon's tree.  As I motored into the Sack on a rainy afternoon, the ball was like a beacon of hope on the dreary suburban landscape.

Okay, maybe that's a bit of exaggeration.  Still, the ball was rather noticeable to the eye.  

I mentioned the matter to Oscar later on that Thursday evening.  He was eating a maple sugar donut at the time. Between bites, he nodded with a confident, knowledgeable expression.

Then he said, "Ah, you're talking about Gordon's ball, aren't you?"

"It belongs to Gordon?" I asked.

Oscar shook his head and swallowed the remaining piece of his donut. "No, that's just what we're calling it.  We're calling it "Gordon's Ball." 

"Okay," I said agreeably.  "So how did it get stuck in his tree?"

Now Oscar shrugged.  "No idea," he said quickly.  "The most important thing is that Gordon can't get it down.  He has been trying all week."

Oscar brushed some crumbs from his shirt and then dabbed his face with a serviette.  Then he added, "It looks like Gordon's Ball doesn't want to come down."

***

Gordon has kept a very low profile since his separation occurred. Through the balance of winter, he had little interaction with other Sack residents.

Of course, this isn't entirely unusual.  Sack residents have surprisingly little contact with each other during the winter months. Snow shoveling is often the only activity that brings us together in any number.

But as spring emerged, Gordon was noticeable by his lack of presence.  He didn't appear for his traditional, early season yard work.  He didn't tend to his impressive array of outdoor solar lighting. He didn't wash his car once. And not a single email was sent in his role as the grand poobah of the Sack Resident's Society.

One can only imagine that Gordon was grieving the loss of his marriage.

***

According to Oscar, the ball had already been lodged in Gordon's tree for four days.  I also learned that other Sack residents were already aware of the matter of Gordon's Ball.  

Weed, for example, had observed him shaking the tree trunk on a number of occasions.  Little Doug testified that Gordon had even tried throwing a winter boot at the unwanted orb.  And Oscar had already witnessed Gordon's attempts to poke the ball loose, first with a rake and then with a hockey stick tied to a rake.

But these efforts had been to no avail.

***

Only Big Doug had any direct knowledge of how Gordon was coping with the end of his relationship.

While clearing snow after a late March storm, the two men had a brief conversation.  According to Big Doug, Gordon said he was adjusting to this new state of affairs.  Some days, he added, were better than others.  On the more difficult days, he said he just felt numb.

In the midst of this numbness, Gordon said only one thought persisted in his mind.  

"I just never expected to be single at this point in my life," he told Big Doug. 

***

Friday passed and Gordon's Ball remained secure near the top of the tree. When your agent came home from work, I saw Gordon pause under his tree for a few moments.  He gazed up at the ball with his arms folded across his chest. Then he gave the trunk a few half-hearted tugs.

Gordon's Ball, of course, paid no heed to this effort.  Gordon stared up at it intently for about thirty seconds.  He had his hands on his hips.  Then he put his head down and rubbed the back of his neck. Finally, he walked slowly into his house.

Although Gordon was clearly perturbed about the presence of the orange ball in his tree, Oscar felt there was a definite bright side to the matter.  

"At the very least," he said thoughtfully, "he's getting out of the house more often.  He has been working on that ball now for five straight days.  That's more than we've seen him for the last three months."

"That's true," I replied.

"And he has somewhere new to focus his attention," Oscar said.

"That's true, too."

Oscar paused for a moment and then added, "On the other hand, he might just be going mental, too."

***

Sack residents were quick to express their sadness to each other about Gordon's separation.  But there was little discussion about the details and circumstances of the matter.  It was like a death had occurred.  Most often, the subject was mentioned only in hushed tones.

These feelings, however, weren't communicated directly to Gordon. People regarded his low profile as a request for privacy.  Oscar called it a "respectful distance."

This made it seem more like a private death.

The death metaphor, of course, is probably appropriate. Gordon and his wife have lived in the Sack for more than ten years.  And then suddenly, his wife was gone. It's likely that Sack residents will never see her again.

***

Late on Saturday morning, your agent was puttering about on the driveway.  I had just finished checking the oil in the car.  It was a task that had been languishing on the bottom of my list of things to do for some time.

It was a pleasant day.  The sun was out and the cool air was not objectionable. As I stood on the driveway, I heard a sudden clatter from the direction of Gordon's house.  He was carrying a ladder from his garage.  I watched as he positioned it under his front tree.

Gordon then walked back into his garage.  He emerged a few seconds later with a rake in his hands.   Then he started climbing the ladder.

The ladder was propped against the side of the tree trunk. Even though it's a large tree, it is still relatively immature. It can't be more than fifteen years old. The ladder wobbled as Gordon climbed it.

That's when I ventured over to Gordon's house.

***

Your agent held the ladder as Gordon poked his rake at the branches under the ball.  But the business end of the rake was too large to fit between the network of thin branches near the top of the tree. Gordon turned the rake around and used the end of the implement in the same fashion.  But this was equally ineffective for the task.

Gordon cursed under his breath as he backed down the ladder.

When he reached the ground, he said, "I swear I'm gonna cut this tree down, if that bloody thing doesn't come down."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I replied.

***

As Gordon and your agent chatted beside the tree, Oscar suddenly appeared.  After exchanging greetings, he looked up at Gordon's Ball and shook his head.

"Back in the days of the wild west, you could've just shot the thing down," he said to Gordon with a smile.

"Yeah," replied Gordon with a humourless tone.  "I suppose so."  

He looked up at the ball with his arms folded.  His expression was grim, but determined.  Then he looked at me and said, "Can you hold the ladder again?  I'm gonna try something else."

"No sweat," I answered.  "Let's do it."

Gordon retrieved a hockey stick from his garage and, using duct tape, proceeded to attach it to the shaft of his rake. With your agent holding it place, Gordon headed up the ladder once again.  Then Oscar passed the rake/hockey stick contraption into his outstretched hand.

As Gordon poked unsuccessfully at the tree, Big Doug arrived.  He carried a telescopic golf ball retriever in his hand.

"Try this," he commanded.

***

Mrs. Wonders had a brief, tearful discussion with Gordon's wife before she left for her new life out west.

As far as Gordon was concerned, his wife expressed her hope that he would remain in the Sack for some time, despite her departure. Even though the neighbourhood often "drives him crazy," she said he "absolutely loves living in that house."  

She said Gordon probably wouldn't know what to do with himself, if he moved to an apartment or condominium.

***

Big Doug's telescopic golf ball retriever wasn't up to the task of freeing Gordon's Ball.

After numerous attempts, Gordon returned to the ground with a look of dejection on his face.  By this time, several more Sack residents had assembled under Gordon's tree. Weed and Little Doug had just returned to the Sack in Little Doug's pick-up truck.  They walked over to Gordon's house and joined the impromptu conference on the subject of Gordon's Ball.

A few minutes later, Maxwell sauntered over from the Bitterman residence, where he had been smoking on the front steps.

"Can't get the ball out of the tree, eh?" he said to Gordon with a gap-toothed smile.

Gordon, of course, is not a big fan of Maxwell.  He regards him as an illegal alien of sorts within the Sack, if not the Bitterman house, as well.  It was no surprise, therefore, to hear the sarcasm in his reply.

"No," he said dryly, "we're just trying to push it up higher in the tree."

***

The growing assembly of Sack residents under Gordon's tree had many ideas on how to release Gordon's Ball from the tree.  Some involved throwing various objects at it, while others utilized a miscellaneous array of poking instruments.

Gordon wasn't keen on throwing any large objects at his tree.  He said he would prefer not to break any branches in the process. Apparently, he broke one himself when he threw a winter boot at the ball earlier in the week.

It was at this point that Big Doug, sticking with a golfing motif, decided that we could throw golf balls at the reluctant object.  These, he explained, would be heavy enough to dislodge Gordon's Ball and small enough to penetrate the tangle of branches in the tree top. Gordon considered this for a moment and then gave his consent to Big Doug's plan.

As Big Doug left to retrieve some golf balls from his garage, Oscar looked up at Gordon's Ball again and said: 

"It's still too bad these aren't the old wild west days.  We could've shot that baby down in no time."

Gordon smirked and began to put his ladder away.  Maxwell, of course, guffawed at Oscar's statement.   While making the appropriate sound affects, he started shooting at Gordon's Ball with his finger.

That's when Weed wandered off down the street.

***

About a month ago, Weed was strolling through the local mall along with his son, Baby Doug.

As they lingered near a kiosk adjacent to the food court, Weed spied Gordon sitting alone at table.  There was a newspaper in front of him along with a cup of coffee.  But Gordon wasn't paying any attention to either item.  He was just staring straight ahead with a forlorn look on his face. 

The food court was very busy at the time.  As people passed, Weed said his view of Gordon was occasionally obstructed.  But each time Gordon reappeared, he was holding the same distant and morose posture.

Weed said he looked like a statue.

*** 

Big Doug returned to Gordon's house with a mesh bag filled with golf balls.  He extracted one, inspected it for a moment and then retrieved a different one.

"I don't want to be throwing any of my Titleists around," he said curtly.

Finally satisfied with his choice, Big Doug looked around at the gathering of Sack residents.  "Okay," he said with authority, "whose got a good arm?"

Maxwell stepped forward immediately with an outstretched hand.  "Give her here," he said with confidence.

***

Maxwell, of course, couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. His first two throws sailed harmlessly past Gordon's Ball. And his last effort lofted over Gordon's tree and almost hit a second floor window.

As others clamoured for a throw at the ball, Weed suddenly appeared.  He carried a toy missile launcher in his arms.  It looked very much like the one owned by young Doo.  The missile launcher had not been seen around the Sack since last summer.  That's when the boy scored a direct hit on Big Doug's arse.

Ignoring the throng of potential golf ball-throwers, Weed cranked the air compression lever on the toy and then took aim at Gordon's Ball. There was a lengthy silence as he adjusted his position.

Weed scored a direct hit on Gordon's Ball with his first shot.

***

The ball fell from the clutches of the upper branches and landed loosely in the bottom level of the tree.  Big Doug used his telescopic golf ball retriever and easily swept the ball to the ground.  Oscar picked it up and presented it to Gordon.

Gordon was ecstatic about the matter.  He clutched the bright orange ball against his chest like a championship trophy.

***

For the next few hours, the gathering was transformed into a celebration on Gordon's porch and front steps.   Oscar and Little Doug were dispatched to the old coffee cathedral. They returned with an array of coffee and pastries, including the requisite supply of maple sugar donuts.

Gordon's mood had lightened considerably.  He was smiling and talkative.  He seemed to relish the company of this motley crew of neighbours, including the presence of Maxwell.  At one point, Maxwell promised him that Cutlass Supreme Painting was prepared to offer a heavy discount on his interior painting needs.  Gordon listened respectfully, extended his appreciation for the offer and then politely declined.

Throughout the informal gathering, Gordon sat with the bright orange ball tucked securely between his feet.  If I'm not mistaken, he took it in the house with him when the affair ended.

***

The next day, your agent and Mrs. Wonders ventured out of the house for a short walk.  The Sack was alive with activity.

Gordon's garage door was open.  His lawn mower was on the driveway and the grass looked freshly cut.  There was a bucket of water beside his SUV and a mound of outdoor solar lights sat on the grass beside his vehicle.  Gordon was bent over the small flower garden near his front porch.  He was pruning the branches on a small bush.

As we walked past, we returned Gordon's friendly wave. That's also when we heard the sound of classical music emanating from the open windows of his home.  Although we had no idea about the identity of the piece, one thing was abundantly clear.

It was a comforting sound, indeed.

***