THE WIDOW: A CHARACTER SKETCH

THE WIDOW: A CHARACTER SKETCH

She sat patiently waiting on a park bench. Blue as a sapphire, bright as heavenly light, her heart felt heavy with memories of the past. She leaned slightly to the right, finding comfort on her own fist as her head rested on four right fingers, her arm resting on the side of the bench. Her eyes gleamed as the sky reflected into them, she had to take her sunglasses off to get a better look at the clouds, nighttime was approaching.

Rolling by she looked for familiar shapes - something she used to do with him, something she used to do with him on this bench, this very bench. A bunny formed out of two cumulus clouds - a white pile of cotton balls made the face while two rolls of cotton candy clouds came to resemble two ears. She starred at the bunny until it faded away, hundreds of miles into the upward sea.

She liked to think in opposites since he left. Half of her life twisted out of her control, she maneuvered the elements and manipulated her thoughts so at least the other half of her life could make sense. That way she figured, there would be no sadness, just an understanding - a mathematical equation of grief. She’d calculated the future because she wanted no more disappointments, no more surprises, no more anticipation. Just beginnings and just endings.

A mother jogging with a dog swept by her feet, bringing the wind with her, followed by mounds of leaves - red, green, brown, and orange. The season showed itself more clearly as she was forced to clasp the buttons of her blazer he’d purchased for her this time last year. She felt silly that morning as she’d put the blue blazer on but she had no other, that being the reason he’d bought it in the first place. She knew the woman was a mother because of her face. The wrinkles aged this beautiful jogger. The lines around her lips and the indented curves around her eyes gave it away. Her matronly exhaustion was evident.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on the bench this day but knew she wasn’t ready to get up. Her cat would be there waiting for her when she returned home, no doubt waiting in the window for her to return. He’d then scamper over to the bowl awaiting his next meal. The bought the food bowl together, they fed the cat together. Sometimes it was difficult to look at the cat. Sometimes she wanted to kill the cat. So she’d stay a little while longer at the park, delay the pain a while more.

Patiently she sat, as if waiting for something or maybe someone. Peering down the path she noticed there was nearly no one in the park at all. That maybe, she was here alone. That didn’t frighten her as the blues and purples began to show on the horizon, indicating it would be nightfall soon. She enjoyed the solitude, away from hounding family, snooping friends and blackened memories.

She plugged her headphones into her iPod, adjusting the hold button to cover the red, taking the machine off hold. With one click she was gone, into her own transcendental world of melody. The fab four comforted her, “once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home.” Now, the tears would come - away from prying eyes. One by one they filled her eyeballs as they overflowed releasing like two floodgates unhatched. She wanted to scream, she wanted to fall to her knees, beg her love to return, beg her God to return him to her. “Now,” she’d yell, “Today,” she’d beg.

But, it was no use, her prayers would go eternally unanswered as she’d wait in limbo for the rest of her life, hoping one day he might return. She was deranged this way, completely unattached from real life and relationships. It was possible she had convinced herself that he might return. She hadn’t met a single new person in the 11 months, 12 days and 2 hours he’d been gone. And she couldn’t stop counting. 11 months, 9 days. 11 months, 10 days. 11 months, 11 days and then today. Another day, no different, reminding her it was almost a year.

She didn’t bother to stop crying, she felt her emotions fall down her face and collected her own tears in her hands, cupping them around her cheeks, embracing the moisture and allowing it to seep into her pores. Every part of her could leave her at this moment, moments like these, and she’d be left with what she has now - nothing, her life totally swallowed by loneliness.

Habits remained. She ate the same as she had before and dressed the just the same, too. She continued working at the library, dusting books and directing children. She enjoyed the familiarity without being consciously aware she did. Her home was very much the way it was one year ago - empty, empty ever since he left. She didn’t have too many belongings anymore and after 11 months and 12 days her apartment looked devoid, almost vacant - without a spirit.

When she was a teenager she wanted to see the Beatles live. Her mother wouldn’t let her but that didn’t stop her from trying. Her mother was afraid of everything - from the slightest touch to the most “radical music.” She didn’t understand teenagers, she didn’t like the Beatles and she especially did not like the creative mind her daughter was molding for herself. Work was important to her mother - order, civility and dedication her favorite words. But, they lived in New York City. The whole world outside her door seemed to totally contradict what was inside. In 1964 she went to JFK airport to greet The Beatles and watched them that same year at on the Ed Sullivan show, much to her mothers dismay.

Now, the boys were promising her “it’s alright,” but, the sun had already set and as she looked back on the last year of her life she realized she had very little memory of the time. Had she sleepwalked through the funeral, the banks, the social security forms, the last year of her life?

Sometimes, she’d tell herself “he is dead,” just so she’d remember. Sometimes she’d forget and come home expecting him to be there. Sometimes, she’d put two servings of rice into the bowl, forgetting she only needed one now. Sometimes, she’d wait for him, alone on the porch, until very late at night, when all the clouds had subsided and all the stars were out. And when it seemed everyone was sleeping and there was no more noise to be made, she’d remember him. His voice was the first to come, following by the slight touch of his fingers along her back and her shoulder. She’d rock back and fourth on the porch next to an empty rocking chair, her eyes gently closed, her mouth slightly open, relaxed, and she’d wait for him, wait to feel his breathe behind her. Sometimes the wind was enough to excite her.

She remembered him and she missed him, and that’s how it was going to be, forever. Forever a widow, forever alone, forever on the bench in the park, forever feeding her cat from his bowl. Forever til the next day and then until a year. She’d always wait for him until he appeared.