She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.
*
She set the porcelain plates down on each end of the dining table. She smiled at the warm reaction she felt from her husband. She hated cooking, but loved making his favourite meal—beef stroganoff and steamed vegetables. She sat in her chair, the peppery aroma inviting her to pick up her fork. As she stuck her fork into a pasta spiral, she smiled and asked “How’s the food, sweetie?” No response. She imagined him shoveling the food into his mouth like a savage, looking down; she shook her head and chuckled.
She was a woman in her golden years. With deep wrinkle lines that carved a map on her face and thin lips that cracked whenever she smiled. Her thin, pale skin speckled with age spots
that? stretched when she spoke. She used to wear make-up for her husband, but gave in to the passage of time—baring her timeworn face to the world. Not really—she didn’t go out as much. She went out with her husband. A lot. Travelling, walking, folk dancing, wine-tasting. She loved it. She loved him.
He was a poet, a man of words. He left his mark all over the home—writing on the walls in magnificent calligraphy, brainstorming sonnets on the kitchen table. He often looked toward quotes for inspiration, his favourite being “(insert stimulus)”. She never understood it, despite his numerous explanations.
Ohhh I love this. I'm enjoying this so so much so far!!!A gentle, lilting voice filled the room. “Thanks for calling, sweetie, I’ll see if I can find that pearl necklace for you”. She smiled as if her daughter was next to her. She picked up her walking stick, and hobbled to her room, a thud accompanying her every step. She stood at the entrance, pencil markings up the doorway, accounting for the growth of her children over the years. She shuffled to her closet and pulled open a drawer, revealing a beautiful, antique jewellery box, embroidered with small metallic flowers and a silver filigree on the crown of the chest. She unlatched it, revealing the fine, scarlet velvet upon which her best jewellery lay. She smiled when she saw it- a thin silver necklace, with white pearls adorning it. She carefully picked it up and laid it on a stool next to her. Beside the small box, her blush and red lipstick stood. She smiled, reminiscing of her date-nights: when despite copious amounts of make-up, her wrinkles stood strong but her husband still complimented her.
She turned to leave when a glimmer caught her eye. Her eyes wondered to a heap of clothes from the back of her closet. Rummaging through articles of clothing, she finally found the source of that which sparked her curiosity.
I'm just not sure that "rummaging" is the right word - if something is sparkling it must be close to the surface, and rummaging just seems a bit too rough? it makes it seem as though she's digging too deep, when I think it's more likely that she's just shifting back the collar of a shirt or something small like that. It's a small detail of course, but it's worth looking into. She gasped. With tremulous fingers she picked it up. Clink! It fell to the floor. A sunray caught the lustrous metal and a glimmer of colour lit up the black and white room.
I still really like this link back to the first sentence. A ring. HIS ring. She carefully picked up the irreplaceable metal. Moving her wrist slightly, she looked at the golden band on the finger that connected to her heart. She looked up, and a handsome, familiar face gazed back at her. She looked at her hand once again: the blemishes and freckles and wrinkles were gone: she was looking at a youthful, more radiant hand. She looked up once again.
He was gone.
Once again, she looked at her ring finger. The golden band reminded her of her purpose. The day she trained for. The day she lived out what she was born to do. She slowly lowered herself to sit on her bed and studied the ring. Looking up, she whispered, “you were gone 367 days”, and closed her creased eyelids.
She slid the symbol of marriage off her finger, placing both rings in her slightly shaky palm. The two circles formed an infinity—and immediately she was reminded of their interminable journeys, interminable promises—their interminable love. She looked up, as her eyes scanned the room. A photo frame with the 2 of them, laughing, their eyes creased with joy, a child’s drawing of 3 figures holding hands, and finally, the quote “(insert stimulus)” in his handwriting. She looked at what began as an expectation, a fulfillment of a role, to a partnership that exceeded all expectations, because it was filled with love.
YESSS, "Fulfillment role, filled with love." YESSSS.As she sighed lightly, a short, red ribbon caught her eye. She reached over and held the thin, silk cloth. Taking a deep breath, she laced both rings through the ribbon—“clink” and tied a small bow. “Till death do us part”, she whispered. Seeing the two hoops together made her feel weightless, and filled her soul with swelling symphonies. They were finally side by side—where they belonged. Closing her palm, she held tightly onto the rings, hobbling over to the cabinet without her walking stick. She placed a small kiss on her hand, hovered her fingers over the jewelry box—and released the rings. She sighed—a sigh of relief rather than resignation.
She picked up the tube of red lipstick next to the box. She removed the lid, placing it next to the jewelry
jewellery* box. Hobbling over to the small oval mirror, she grimaced. Meticulously, she made up her face. For the first time in a year, she smiled at her reflection. She glanced at the calendar, which was hung next to the mirror. Today’s date was circled and a big red heart drawn next to the small ‘02/02’. “Well, we almost made it to 50”;
New line for this dialogue she smiled and looked up. For the first time in forever, she strode out of her home alone with her walking aid and smelled the fresh, earthy scent left after the harsh rain. She looked up to see colours hovering in the sky—and felt a warm embrace.