I sigh as I put away the last of the decorations. Something catches my eye so I move aside the objects blocking it, and reveal a collection of faded decorations hidden underneath the new meaningless ones. I run my fingertips over the neat pile, leaving a tingling echo as I close the musky box. I slide it back where it belongs. The bottom right corner portion of my heart is caught on a protruding angle and slips away with the box. I slowly walk toward the window as a flashback projects onto the backs of my eyelids. I close them, and watch quietly. I see balloons and streamers lining the walls and ceiling. A brightly covered tablecloth is backdrop to a brilliantly colored cake concealed by row after row of candles. I wince as I walk closer and see my name scrawled on top in fancy cursive along with “93,” I whisper to myself, breaking the silence. My eyes focus to the peachy swirling clouds that hover above the setting sun, begging him not to leave the lonely twirling fluff that desperately needs him. “Stay with me, please,” they beg him. Though they plead the distance between them deepens, and I melt back into my reverie. I look around the room, scanning the faces. I examine my grandchildren.Paul glances at his watch as Emma takes her phone into the kitchen. Mike stares blankly at the wall, as Marie shifts uneasily, again. Alice stands against the wall with a fake smile plastered on her face. A knot tightens inside my heart, and a rock forms in my throat as I think of past birthdays. I walk around, and glance at a picture of the man who haunts my abandoned heart, Henry. I turn the picture face down as tears swell in my eyes. Next to him I look into the eyes of my deceased children. Resolutely I numb my emotions. I slam the door in its surprised face and feel nothing. I am pulled back into reality just in time to notice the tip of the sun descending into the mysteriously threatening unknown, and the sky beginning to darken. “Goodbye,” I breathe.
Next to these evocative photos my best friends Betty, Mary, Nancy and I stand posing together while visiting Paris. This sends a hollow ringing down my heart, and I feel the returning rock in my throat threatening to shake sobs through my ancient frame. I rein my emotions in but not before a single tear escapes and runs down the wrinkles lining my face. I notice all the blue has left the sky, and the first star has made its entrance. “Night”, I murmur as the corners of my lips raise a little. The vision picks up again.
The room dims. The floor is solid expensive oak and the walls are intricately carved marble that steals your breath the first time your eyes admire them. It reminds me of the Titanic, and I feel proud to be one of the few invited. I am wearing my favorite silver flapper that I am very affectionate about, and the long string of pearls Henry gave me earlier in the evening. I have rich brown hair that is coiled at the nape of my neck with the front curled into deep waves. I have crimson red lips, a white powdered face, and large dark eyes. I spent a lot of time in the mirror perfecting the person I saw looking back at me. I see Henry and me dancing to the beat, laughing, his face beaming into mine, and me returning the look. I feel the warm glow of love bubbling in my heart, and I knew he loved me too. I feel a smile creep onto my face. We are good together, I am young and pretty, and Henry is such a handsome man. I turn my head. “Henry,” I call “Remember…” I begin but leave the sentence hanging in the air. I remember and the thought drowns me. I look back to the sky. The stars are blurry, and I wipe the tears away.
It is darker now and all the stars have come out. I am pushed into another yet another memory. It is the Thanksgiving of 1956. I am in my apron and wearing the standard housewife’s dress. My children are grown and have their own children. My daughter Anna is helping me stuff the turkey in the kitchen. We laugh and share memories as we work. Henry is sitting in his chair with Clara, and Mike on his knee, listening to the time he was in the bank while it was being robbed, and how he single handedly eluded the thieves. Alice is lying in her crib fast asleep. My son Tom and his wife Margret are sitting on the couch keeping an eye on the kids, and talking with Anna’s husband, James. It feels like this deserved to be added to the book of fairytales sitting on our bookshelf.
Once again I am ripped from my happy memories and back into my sad pathetic reality. If only good didn’t have to leave and bad step in. Life was hardly worth living when the ones you love aren’t there anymore, and you find that the earth moves around you but you are in a bubble away from it all. I sit here alone all day trying to figure out the questions I have spent my whole life wondering about yet this only creates more questions. The pain is too much and I let out a loud sob. My mask is broken as I pull my hands to my face, and feel the depression seep into every part of me until I don’t recognize any part of myself anymore. My life is slowly starting to sizzle out, and I am ready for this all to be over. Suddenly I feel a dull pressured pain, as if something is sitting on my chest. My arms began to prickle, and I find it very hard to breathe. The squeezing in my chest increases, and I know this is it. Living to an old age isn’t all it is cracked up to be. I glance one last time to the sky. The full moon is shining a brilliant yellow. I smile, and embrace the darkness that overcomes me. “I love you Henry,” I mutter my last words.
I sigh as I put away the last of the decorations. Something catches my eye so I move aside the objects blocking it, and reveal a collection of faded decorations hidden underneath the new meaningless ones. I run my fingertips over the neat pile, leaving a tingling echo as I close the musky box. I slide it back where it belongs. The bottom right corner portion of my heart is caught on a protruding angle and slips away with the box. I slowly walk toward the window as a flashback projects onto the backs of my eyelids. I close them, and watch quietly. I see balloons and streamers lining the walls and ceiling. A brightly covered tablecloth is backdrop to a brilliantly colored cake concealed by row after row of candles. I wince as I walk closer and see my name scrawled on top in fancy cursive along with “93,” I whisper to myself, breaking the silence. My eyes focus to the peachy swirling clouds that hover above the setting sun, begging him not to leave the lonely twirling fluff that desperately needs him. “Stay with me, please,” they beg him. Though they plead the distance between them deepens, and I melt back into my reverie. I look around the room, scanning the faces. I examine my grandchildren.Paul glances at his watch as Emma takes her phone into the kitchen. Mike stares blankly at the wall, as Marie shifts uneasily, again. Alice stands against the wall with a fake smile plastered on her face. A knot tightens inside my heart, and a rock forms in my throat as I think of past birthdays. I walk around, and glance at a picture of the man who haunts my abandoned heart, Henry. I turn the picture face down as tears swell in my eyes. Next to him I look into the eyes of my deceased children. Resolutely I numb my emotions. I slam the door in its surprised face and feel nothing. I am pulled back into reality just in time to notice the tip of the sun descending into the mysteriously threatening unknown, and the sky beginning to darken. “Goodbye,” I breathe.
Next to these evocative photos my best friends Betty, Mary, Nancy and I stand posing together while visiting Paris. This sends a hollow ringing down my heart, and I feel the returning rock in my throat threatening to shake sobs through my ancient frame. I rein my emotions in but not before a single tear escapes and runs down the wrinkles lining my face. I notice all the blue has left the sky, and the first star has made its entrance. “Night”, I murmur as the corners of my lips raise a little. The vision picks up again.
The room dims. The floor is solid expensive oak and the walls are intricately carved marble that steals your breath the first time your eyes admire them. It reminds me of the Titanic, and I feel proud to be one of the few invited. I am wearing my favorite silver flapper that I am very affectionate about, and the long string of pearls Henry gave me earlier in the evening. I have rich brown hair that is coiled at the nape of my neck with the front curled into deep waves. I have crimson red lips, a white powdered face, and large dark eyes. I spent a lot of time in the mirror perfecting the person I saw looking back at me. I see Henry and me dancing to the beat, laughing, his face beaming into mine, and me returning the look. I feel the warm glow of love bubbling in my heart, and I knew he loved me too. I feel a smile creep onto my face. We are good together, I am young and pretty, and Henry is such a handsome man. I turn my head. “Henry,” I call “Remember…” I begin but leave the sentence hanging in the air. I remember and the thought drowns me. I look back to the sky. The stars are blurry, and I wipe the tears away.
It is darker now and all the stars have come out. I am pushed into another yet another memory. It is the Thanksgiving of 1956. I am in my apron and wearing the standard housewife’s dress. My children are grown and have their own children. My daughter Anna is helping me stuff the turkey in the kitchen. We laugh and share memories as we work. Henry is sitting in his chair with Clara, and Mike on his knee, listening to the time he was in the bank while it was being robbed, and how he single handedly eluded the thieves. Alice is lying in her crib fast asleep. My son Tom and his wife Margret are sitting on the couch keeping an eye on the kids, and talking with Anna’s husband, James. It feels like this deserved to be added to the book of fairytales sitting on our bookshelf.
Once again I am ripped from my happy memories and back into my sad pathetic reality. If only good didn’t have to leave and bad step in. Life was hardly worth living when the ones you love aren’t there anymore, and you find that the earth moves around you but you are in a bubble away from it all. I sit here alone all day trying to figure out the questions I have spent my whole life wondering about yet this only creates more questions. The pain is too much and I let out a loud sob. My mask is broken as I pull my hands to my face, and feel the depression seep into every part of me until I don’t recognize any part of myself anymore. My life is slowly starting to sizzle out, and I am ready for this all to be over. Suddenly I feel a dull pressured pain, as if something is sitting on my chest. My arms began to prickle, and I find it very hard to breathe. The squeezing in my chest increases, and I know this is it. Living to an old age isn’t all it is cracked up to be. I glance one last time to the sky. The full moon is shining a brilliant yellow. I smile, and embrace the darkness that overcomes me. “I love you Henry,” I mutter my last words.