And I Just Want to Say How Thankful I Am

When she sat with friends, debating what movie to watch and his favourite came on, the very one he showed her with such joy in his laughter. She didn’t close her eyes, or direct herself away. She no longer directed her attention so fixedly upon the first the thing she saw, whether it was Samantha’s so very red nails, or the fraying threads pulling apart, piece by piece, on her mother’s silken cushions, and the way their stupid, frizzy tassels would bounce from left to right, getting caught in the zip.

When her friends asked how she was doing, whether she was still upset, for the first time she wasn’t fighting the urge to cry when answered. It didn’t matter whether that particular day her answer was a yes or no. For the first time her voice never faltered, never broke. She maintained eye-contact and said, in her usual bouncy voice, plump cheeks grinning, that she felt good. It felt good to feel good.

When the bus passed over the bridge on a pleasant Tuesday afternoon, she didn’t think anything of it. It was just a bridge, it held no special significance anymore. There was nobody lain underneath it anymore, no haphazardly placed bouquets of lilies strung up beside the post, slowly but surely withering away, collapsing under the weight of the fresh rainfall.

When the two year anniversary of that day came round, it wasn’t like the one year anniversary. She didn’t wake up alone in bed, sitting up and quietly contemplating what she had done. What she would never be able to undo, like she had that very same day a year ago. No. On December Ninth two years later she awoke next to her favourite person, in their snuggly bed, just as she did every morning. She sat up, just as before. She had a few seconds to think, to once again contemplate the very event on that bridge which took place two years ago.

But those few seconds were all she needed. She climbed up, out of bed, turning round to lovingly gaze at the man sleeping beside her.

Then she went and fixed up breakfast. And the moment was gone.



Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Sherratt

Leave a Reply!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s