Imogen's Gift

This is another romance that will probably not be to everyone's taste. That's life. This story is about courage and love, so please, if you want to criticise it, show a bit of courage yourself and don't hide behind the 'Anonymous' tag. CM

*

The first time I saw Imogen it had a profound impact on me. "Hey Simon, come here." Scott should have been working on his computer but was instead looking at YouTube. I got up from my desk and walked over to his. "Have you ever seen anything so amazing in your life?" I wouldn't have gone that far, but it was pretty intriguing. She sat on a high stool that had a back support on it, her waif-like body barely creating any contours on her thin floral dress, in place of hair she wore a bandana tied around her head, and her thin legs were held from the floor by her sandal clad feet on the foot rest. That image was intriguing enough, but what really attracted me was her voice and the song she was singing. In a clear but soft voice as if the effort of getting through the song was almost too much for her, she sang a slightly altered version of the Gloria Gaynor hit, 'I will survive'. It was no longer the disco hit that the original was, it was no longer about a woman getting over the man who was cheating her. In her now folk version, it was an illness that she was fighting. I willed her with all my heart to finish the song, and the final 'I will survive' soared clear and pure and abruptly stopped. There was no fade out, no giving in to the inevitable, she was strong to the end. There was a moment of silence, and just before the image dissolved, the guitar seemed to slip from her hand, it was only the hand holding the neck that prevented it from falling to the floor, and she stood for a second or two, holding the stool for support.

"Who is she?" I had never seen such a gutsy performance.

"I don't know, but what I do know is that this is going to go viral. In the twenty-four hours it has had nearly a hundred thousand hits."

"We have to find out who she is, this could be one of the best human interest stories of the year." My mind was already on my fame and fortune, if I could find her before anyone else could, I could jump on to her publicity band-wagon, possibly even lead it. My job, if you could call it that, was to spot new talent for a community FM radio station that played mostly Indie bands and singers. We had a good following and each year we put out a CD of the top acts of the year. I was one member of the selection panel for this project, and the CD always sold well. We were not a commercial station, and relied heavily on CD sales, public subscriptions and donations to keep us in operation.

It took time and perseverance, but Scott and I managed to track her down. She lived in a small cottage at Leura in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. She answered her phone on the fourth ring. "Hello." The voice had the same clarity as the video, but there was a quality about it that worried me, it was quiet, almost weak.

"Miss Ferrier, my name is Simon Porter, I'm with OriginFM in Sydney. I'm ringing because I saw your YouTube posting and I'm impressed with what I saw and heard. I'd like to come and talk to you about it. Would that be possible?"

"I don't think so."

"Please, hear me out. I'm not so much interested in promoting your song, you seem to be doing pretty well on your own, and it's just that I think that there's more to this than just the song. Don't worry, while I'd like to do a story on you, I will not publish anything without your prior approval. It could be a great human interest piece and, I could be wrong, but I'm thinking that you have a motive behind your posting of the video on YouTube, you want it to be seen as a message of hope to other cancer sufferers."

"How did. . ."

"So you are suffering from cancer, I wasn't sure, although the bandana should have been a dead give-away. This makes it even more imperative that I meet you, I believe that I can help you to really get that message of hope out there."

It was a typical winter's day in the Blue Mountains, it had been trying hard to snow, resulting in a steady drizzle of bitterly cold rain pushed along by the strong wind, layering the roads with the last of the soggy late autumn leaves. The house was set back from the road behind a garden full of English flowers (not so many flowers, they had given up until spring) and shrubs, its weatherboard facade newly painted. The impression that I got was of an ordered existence. She had, at first, sounded reluctant to let me come and interview her, but on my promise of not publishing anything without her approval, she relented, and here I was. I mounted the front steps and pressed the door bell. "It's open, come in." That small voice just managed to penetrate the door. I pushed it open and stepped into a darkened room. I could just make out her shape seated one of those old over-stuffed sofas, with a rug over her knees. "You'll have to forgive me for not getting up, and for the darkness of this room, but the light hurts my eyes."

"I understand. I'm Simon Porter from OriginFM, but you already know that."

"I'm Imogen Ferrier, but you already know that." I could just make out a smile on her face.

"I asked for that, didn't I? The reason I wanted to speak with you was about your YouTube posting. It really moved me, seeing you there singing that song, it looked as if it took a great deal of emotional as well as physical effort just to get through it."

"Yes it did, but I had to do it. If you've done your research, and I assume that you have, you will have already discovered that I have Leukaemia. My doctors have given me six months, so I decided to put what little time I have left to good use. I wasn't going to lie in bed and allow this to sap my physical as well as emotional strength, I am going to fight it every millimetre of the way. When I eventually go, I want to be still fighting, I will not surrender to this."

"I know you won't. I could see that in that video of you singing 'I will survive', that was the voice of a fighter, and I made the decision that I just had to help you fight and survive."

"The survive part of this isn't going to happen, I'm resigned to my fate, I know that there is no cure for me, but my fight is to help those who come after me to survive and hopefully allow me to live on through them."

"I think that I can help you there, I know that I can help you. What I want to do is to help you set up a charity, you can mention it on your Facebook page, we'll set up a Web page so that we can put your song out for people to download, and we will play your song as often as we can, and mention the charity each time we play it. With a little luck we can raise enough money towards Leukaemia research to help find a cure."

"I don't want to limit it to Leukaemia research, I want the money to go to research into all forms of cancer. For some reason cancer seems to run in my family. My mother died of breast cancer three years ago and I came here to live with my aunt. She died six months ago from cervical cancer, and now I have this. I was diagnosed just before Aunt Celia died."

"How has your father taken all of this?"

"I don't know, I haven't heard from him for the past ten years."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What gave you the idea for the video?"

"Would you believe it was seeing all of those talentless fools becoming famous on YouTube, I figured if they could do it, I could. I wasn't trying for sympathy, although a little of it won't hurt, I just wanted to do something to help others in my situation. Believe me it's not something that I'm looking forward to, but if I can not only do something, but be seen to be doing something, then the pain won't be so bad, I hope."

"What you're trying to do is a wonderful thing, and I promise that I will support you in any way that I can. This is going to sound funny, but I don't feel sorry for you, don't get me wrong, I fully understand what it is that you're going through, but you are too strong to need my sympathy, that's a negative attitude and you don't need negativity at this time of your life. I promise to be strong for you no matter what it takes." I had moved over and sat next to her, and took her hand in mine. "You are tougher than I could ever be."

"No I'm not, that's just a front to stop me feeling bad about myself." She squeezed my hand.

"Can I make you a cup of tea or coffee?" I asked to change the subject.

"I'll make us a cup of herbal tea, I seem to drink a lot of the stuff but I have to warn you, it's an acquired taste, you mightn't like it." She stood and I followed her to her kitchen. The sunlight penetrated the thin fabric of her dress and I realised just how desperately thin she was. She filled the kettle and switched it on and then spooned leaves into a plunger. When the kettle boiled she poured the water in. "It takes a few minutes to steep, would you like something to eat, I have muesli cookies, I make them myself and I think they taste nice."

"I'm sure that they do, thank you."

She pushed the plunger down and poured the tea into a couple of mugs and handed me one. I sipped the liquid and my mouth almost rebelled at the taste of it. "It may take a while before I acquire a liking for this, and I'm sure that it's doing me some good, but, yuck." I took a cookie and bit into it in an effort to rid my mouth of the taste, Imogen was laughing at me. I took another sip, it wasn't that bad while the taste of the cookie was still in my mouth. "Actually I could even get to like it."

"You should have seen the look on your face when you first tasted it."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting it to be that bad." Another sip and my mouth gave up its protest and I settled down to almost enjoy it. "Getting back to your singing, it would seem that you've had some musical training."

"Yes I was studying at the Con, (Sydney Conservatorium of Music) but I've had to give that up, the commute was getting too much for me."

"Have you recorded any other songs?"

"Yes, I've done a few, they're mainly classical pieces, 'In Paradisum' and 'Pie Jesu' from Faure's Requiem, Gounod's 'Ave Maria', stuff like that, but people don't want to listen to that, it's too morbid."

"But that's the thing, it's okay to sing I Will Survive, but that smacks of denial, those other pieces are beautiful in their own right, but they also show that you are at peace with what lies ahead, a reality check if you will."

"I never thought of it that way, I look on them as my admitting defeat."

"That reminds me of a joke I heard, 'I'd like to go in my sleep like my grandfather, not yelling and screaming like his passengers.', I have no fear of death, and like you, I want to live as long as possible, but I would like to think that I can accept that, when my time comes, I will know that I need to give in to it and go in peace."

"You amaze me, first you tell that joke and then come up with that deep philosophical outlook on death."

"It's not all that deep, it's just a rationalisation on life. Birth, amazing as it might seem, is the first step in the journey of life. This journey takes us through many different phases in our lives, our first love, the birth of our first and subsequent children, the death of a loved one, until, finally we reach the final phase, our own death. This can take many forms, it can be as the result of an accident, of war, of disease, whatever form it takes, no matter how long it takes, it is inevitable that it will happen. I would like to think that, if I were in your shoes, I would have the courage to resist that inevitability, and make the most of the time that I have left, before I go with as much dignity as I can muster. I just hope that I will not surrender and lose all dignity. Having said that, I don't know how I would react if I had been diagnosed with cancer, I'd probably fall to pieces."

"I don't believe you would, you seem to be a strong man."

"I have lived a sheltered life compared to you, my strength is yet to be tested."

"Enough!" She stood up and took my hand and led me back into the living room. "Sit." She switched on her TV and the DVD player and the screen burst into the same light as her YouTube video, this time she was singing the 'Pie Jesu', her clear voice reminded me of a boy soprano singing 'a Capella' in a cathedral, the sound seemed to have the same acoustic quality.

"Wow." What else could I say, I was blown away by this woman's obvious talent and the emotion that she could impart in the words sung without accompaniment of any kind. This song was followed by the 'Ave Maria' in the same acoustic tone, this time with a softly strummed guitar backing. It would be a heartless bastard to not be moved by this, and I'm not one of those. I sat beside her with tears streaming down my face.

She leaned over and kissed them from my cheeks. "Now I know that I want to work with you. Until a couple of months ago I had a boyfriend who, when I told him what I wanted to do and achieve, didn't get it and left. I was shattered, and it took a while to get over that." I wanted to hug her but didn't, fearing that I'd break her, she sensed my reluctance and hugged me with surprising strength. "Don't be afraid to hug me, I'm not that fragile." I hugged her, tentatively at first and increasing the pressure in response to hers.

"You have an amazing voice, were you born with it or is it something that you've had to work on?"

"I seemed to have been blessed with it. I do have an inspiration for this style of singing, but without the voice I'd have no chance of emulating the sound." She walked to a cupboard and extracted a vinyl album which she placed on a turntable. Soon the room was filled with a voice not unlike hers singing a similar arrangement of the 'Ave Maria'. "This was one of my mother's favourite albums from the 70's." She handed me the album sleeve, it was a self titled album from someone that I'd never heard of, an Australian singer, Kerrie Biddell. I could understand Imogen liking this album, it was brilliant and when she got to Carole king's 'You Need a Friend' I was hooked, it was nothing like the music that I listen to day after day.

"That could almost be the theme for your charity, if you'd like I'll contact the Copyright holder and see if we can get permission to use it."

"I sort of thought of it but didn't want to go through the hassle of getting permission, but if you can, I'd appreciate it. You and I, we're on the same page on this, aren't we?"

"I'd like to think so, I thought that there could be a connection between us from the very first moment I saw that video. What I would like to do is to work with you to produce an album, the radio station could produce and release it, unless you already have a recording contract, I'm sure you'd sell well."

"I don't know if I have the strength to do this."

"We'll take it slow and not overtax your strength. I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know you won't, your motivation is not all about money and fame and fortune, it's about me and my plans to help people like me."

"Look, I have to get back to work and it's a bit of a drive, so I'd better leave. Work'll be wondering where I am."

"Come back soon, please." She put her arms around my neck and kissed me.

"I'll be back and soon, trust me."

If it wasn't for work I would have spent the whole weekend with Imogen. I was knocking on her door at eight on Saturday morning and she was ready for me, opening the door and, no sooner was I inside the house than she had her arms around my neck and was kissing me. "I've missed you so much."

"It's only been three days and we've spoken on the phone every night." I saw the look on her face realised that I'd missed her too. "I've missed you too, do realise how much of an effort it was to get here at this time in the morning after having spent most of last night listening to second rate garage bands who all think that they're the next good thing?" I kissed her to stop her responding to that, I realised after I'd said it that she would have had to make a similar effort to be ready for me. "That was insensitive, wasn't it?"

"Yes it was, but I forgive you, after all this is a new experience for you."

"I've been giving some thought to the album, I think it should be called 'Imogen's Gift' and the charity should have the same name, after all your voice is your gift and you are using your gift and giving it to those less fortunate."

"That sounds perfect. I've been working on another song, listen to this." She placed a DVD on the player and her image lit up the screen. She sang an arrangement of the Beatles' 'Help' that amazed me and it fitted so well with what we had planned.

"What we should do is to record each of the songs, and I'll send them all to the copyright holders with a letter asking permission to use them and requesting that they waive royalties on the understanding that all proceeds go to the charity. They can listen to your treatment of all of the songs and realise that you have a strong and cohesive project and not something that has been cobbled together. The letter will have a short bio of you and a run-down of your plans. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good, you've really been giving this a lot of thought."

"That's not all." I took a folder from my bag and spread the contents on the table. "What do you think of these, we need to choose which one we'll use?" She looked at the designs I'd done of letterheads and business cards and even the title page for a newsletter that we'd use to send to those interested parties. The newsletter had an article that I'd written giving a short bio of Imogen and outlining her dreams and aspirations.

She read through the article. "I don't know whether I can live up to this hype."

"It isn't hype, it's you and as long as you stay 'you' it won't be a problem. Another thing, I've been talking to a friend who's a music producer and shown him your YouTube video and he's interested in producing an album for you and, here's the good part, he's doing it for free, and," I paused here for dramatic effect, "he's arranging for some friends of his to provide whatever backing you need as well as the use of a studio with the Sound Engineer thrown in. What do you say to that?"

Imogen didn't say anything for a long time, her lips were otherwise occupied. She'd thrown herself at me and I found myself sprawled on the sofa with her on top of me and I could feel her tears of happiness on my cheeks. She removed her lips long enough to say "I love you" before resuming her kiss for several seconds to the next "I love you". This went on for several minutes until she stopped. "Simon, I want you to make love to me." Her hands had found my hard cock. "He wants you to make love to me and my moist pussy wants you to make love to me."

"Whoa there! While I admit that you have turned me on, do you think this is a good idea?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea. Let's face it, when you have only a short time to live shouldn't you live it?"

"I can't argue with logic like that, but I'm afraid of breaking you."

"You won't, and do you know how I know that you won't? Because you are you and I know that you won't hurt me, you'll never hurt me."

"Are you sure that you're twenty-one?" She had straddled me and I was admiring her almost pre-pubescent breasts that seemed to have doubled in size under my gentle caresses. My cock was deep inside her and I could feel her tensing her muscles and squeezing it.

"Do you want to see my Birth Certificate? Of course I'm twenty-one." She bent down and lay on top of me and I could feel her warmth along my body. "I'm not a virgin, as you've probably realised, and I know that I like making love, but with you I love making love. I am giving myself to you, totally and unconditionally."