“Fancy meeting you here,” she whispered, tears already beading up at the corners of her eyes. She took a knee slowly, reverentially, and placed flowers on the granite slab. She barely muttered a, “come here often?” before the tears started in earnest. It has been two years since the crash, but the scars remained.
There wasn’t a say that had passed that she couldn’t smell the burning rubber. There wasn’t a day that had passed where she couldn’t taste the iron on her tongue. There wasn’t a day she could forget the feeling of the impact in her bones. She wanted to hate the other driver, but in truth, she couldn’t remember enough of the accident to form a clear picture in her mind. Hating the other driver made about as much sense as hating a cloud.
She couldn’t even recall most of the ambulance ride to the hospital, but she knew it must have happened. For all the blurred lights, sounds, and shooting pains, there was one thing she could never forget. She said they were cousins for fear of being outed. Hot tears of shame ran down her cheeks.
“The love of my life was dying next to me, and I couldn’t even claim her as my own,” she said under her breath.
Silence hung in the evening air. It might have been deafening, if not for the gentle wind at her side. The breeze kept her grounded, though she wished it would carry her away.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” she continued. “We were supposed to go as wrinkled old hags, riding a morphine drip into the sunset.” She balled up her fists, holding back the urge to scream. The last thing she needed was another scolding from the groundskeeper. As much as she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, she was really just alone.
She rubbed at the discolored locket her mother had given her. Though they hasn’t spoken in years, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. It helped her remember the good times.
With a deep sigh, she pulled her phone from her pocket. No missed calls. Of course. She has lost count of the number of calls she had made to her partner’s parents; none of them were returned. If she needed any more proof that they never really supported their relationship, this was it. Putting the phone back in her pocket, she drew out her only other constant companion: a bottle of pills.
The bottle opened with a quiet pop. She dug her free hand into the grass, pulling up a mound of dirt.
“I’ve been numb for so long, baby. You’ll forgive me if I don’t visit for a while, right?”
A moment later, the pills were buried and she was walking back to her car. This wasn’t a new beginning; far from it. It was a chance, though, and she intended to take it before she ended in her own grave.
Word Count: Approximately 500
Author’s Notes:
- I wrote this one back in 2018; it feels like a lifetime ago. I originally penned this work as a writing sample to get into a workshop at a local college. Though the teacher seemed to appreciate my enthusiasm, the gesture ultimately proved unnecessary because the workshop was open to the public. While I am no longer attending this particular workshop due to COVID-19, I look back on that time fondly. One of the things I’d like to do in 2022 is reconnect with a group of writers to share feedback and support. Beyond that, the genesis of the story was imagining what it would be like if I lost my partner.
Made me cry😢 Very moving piece.
On one hand, I’m sorry to make you cry. On the other hand, I’m glad the story hit the right emotional beats. Hopefully it was good, cathartic cry! Thanks again for your comments. I hope you are doing well.