Word Count: 352
An elderly woman prepares for her death by doing everything she wanted to do, not leaving loose ends, or adventures only imagined.
She’s cleaned the house as if for a holiday dinner. The floors have been waxed, the baseboards and door trims all dusted. She’s gone through the pile of magazines on her side of the sofa, stops herself from tearing out recipes she’d surely have saved if not actually tried. She’s cleaned out the refrigerator, scrubbed the ice cube trays and refilled them. Down the basement the shelves once stocked with cans from supermarket sales are low in supply but the labels all neatly face front.
Over the weekend she weeded and deadheaded the garden, pushed Ned to trim hedges and mow the lawn. Over the past months she bought a pink jacket, spent an afternoon at a matinee movie, ordered whole-belly clams at the diner they went to on Friday nights. She was hesitant but opened a bottle of wine her niece gave them last Christmas and served it for two Sunday dinners with prime rib.
She looks around, assuring herself that everything’s in proper order. Dust-free and sparkling clean. She smiles in a sad, crooked way, as if satisfaction and anticipation are warring. Past years collide with the loss of the future.
She hears him asleep in his chair, full and tired after a good meal and the last of the wine. She makes a half pot of coffee, cuts two slices from the freshly baked apple pie. Wonders if she’ll have time to clean up the dishes. Hates the thought of someone finding them left on the table.
She sighs, prepares for the one last thing she needs yet to do. A promise they made to each other when they were first married. When he said he couldn’t imagine living without her and she, being stronger, must promise not to leave him alone.
She puts extra sugar and real cream in their coffee. Hopes he won’t notice the slight bitter taste. She takes a deep breath, kisses his forehead, and gently wakes him up for dessert.
When I first started reading this, I wondered whose death she was preparing for–her own or (in thinking of your dark tales this summer I thought perhaps…) someone elses. I didn’t know you’d give double the punch.
Another great story, Susan. I can’t wait to see what you post next.
Oh Linda, I love that you read it that way! I honestly hadn’t thought of that and it would be a sad twist, that she too felt she could not live without him.
Yeah, this is a wonderfully told: you really captured the essence of time, which passes in such a special way, because it’s coming to an end, or meant to anyway. Double suicides have often captured my imagination. I don’t understand suicide at all, I’m just not the type I suppose, too optimistic (which is a serious hindrance when it comes to the darkest secrets and topics), but when couples do it or try to do it, the relationship dominates the death. That is interesting from a writing point of view. So well done, especially that celebration of food in the last paragraph…