Unexplained

Nothing.

Drip.

Nothing.

Drip. Drip.

John needed to fix the faucet.

Nothing.

She stood calmly. So calmly. Outside the sun was shining. Another person murmured something to her. She nodded. Graciously. That’s what she had been taught, that’s what she had always done. A gentle smile. The slow eye closure. The head nod. She felt herself planning them. Focusing on them. Little things glared, grating on rawness. Why hadn’t John fixed that faucet? Was that lady really wearing Chanel No. 5? She hated Chanel No. 5. The carpet seemed to press into her feet. There was dust in the air- why hadn’t they dusted? Someone should have dusted. In the corner she heard someone softly, “We have to go. Yes, I know… it’s sad really. I wish I could stay- but it’s his tenth birthday party and we really need to make sure we’re there to greet the guests.”

Tenth birthday.

At ten he would have been playing little league. Little league ran in the family. Everyone on John’s side played. She would have preferred soccer- the games were shorter, but there was something about the idea of he and John in the front yard- playing catch. Idyllic. Green grass. So much green grass, he would have gotten it all over his uniform. She wasn’t very good at getting out grass stains. Why did they always wear white pants?

Oh. Thank you for coming. Gracious nod.

His Easter suit had white pants. It was adorable. When his father had complained, she had pretended to compromise. Let him wear this now, and I’ll let him pick the clothes when he’s capable of making style-conscious decisions- like when he’s five. They had laughed about that. And then she had made John go put on white pants too. They were twins! John said they couldn’t possibly be twins. But they had the same dimple on their chins. It went in just so, and all soft and rosy, kissable. She loved kissing them there.

How very kind of you. No, no, don’t worry about the dishes. Gentle smile.

Kisses. He was learning. He would be a good kisser. Some girl would… prom, the first dance. He would have groaned when she made him pick out a corsage. Boys hate that. None of them know how to do it. Do their mothers not teach them? She would teach. He would open the car door, and stand up straight, his blonde hair combed over, despite his protests. Except when he was eighteen. She might let him do his own hair when he was eighteen. Ready to graduate.

Yes, thank you, we appreciate your prayers. Close eyes slowly. Breathe.

Graduation. He would have gone to an Ivy League. When she told John this he had snorted. Ivy League. Doctor. Lawyer. He was smart. He was going to… But now he... Gone. The carpet. The dust. Smile. Nod. White pants. Thank you. Breathe. Dimples. Don’t understand. Kisses. Don’t think. Breathe. Why?

“Yes, really, it was quite unexpected… Well, what I understand is the doctors thought it was just a cold. I know! Makes you scared, doesn’t it? Anyway, they took him in and twelve hours later… well, you know. Poor thing. I know- so young- still a baby, actually. I believe he was 13 months. Was that right? Yes something like that…”

Why?




(rough draft)