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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Adventure
- Published: 08/16/2013
Amber
“Honey?”
She fiddles with her phone. Throwing it up and down. Anxious. Nervous. Afraid. It drops and thuds against the floor. She picks it up in a haphazard fashion. Like she did something wrong. Disturbed something that wasn’t to be disturbed.
Acknowledging the unthinkable. The undoable.
“Honey?”
She turns her head away and her eyes fixate on a musty patch of carpet.
He looks at her. His eyes fixed. His body angry.
She looks at the TV. Nothing is playing on the TV. She is admiring the dust perhaps?
He scoots closer. His eyes fixed. His body angry.
She looks at him quick then looks away. Her eyes retreat to the musty patch of carpet.
“I can’t,” she says.
He rolls his eyes and sighs, heavy and deep.
“You have to.”
“I can’t. I can’t murder.”
“It ain’t murder.”
“Then what is it?”
He scratches his head and a speck of ruby red blood seeps out and plunges into the light carpet. Neither of them notice.
“Things can change. I’m going back to school and all,” she says.
He chuckles and a smile grows on his face. “Business isn’t a place for a woman.”
“Things are changing.”
He looks to the ceiling and shakes his head. “I wish they were.”
She looks at him for a moment and then looks away. He doesn’t notice.
He cracks his knuckles and she winces.
“Sorry,” he says. “Bad habit.”
She nods.
They don’t speak for several minutes. His eyes wander around the room and hers stay on the patch of carpet. He looks at her but she doesn’t notice. Their eyes never meet.
“I love you,” he says.
“I know.”
“And this won’t change that.”
Her eyes close. Perhaps she’s dreaming. Dreaming of money and how it manages to escape them. How it prevents them from the happiness they should have. How if it appeared she would be holding that baby girl. And have that relationship. Unique to a mother and daughter. And what it can do. How it can change you. Make you whole again.
“Honey?”
She doesn’t answer. She’s in her world. With her. Her Amber. Her baby Amber.
He stares at the floor beneath his feet. His socks dirty. Stained with blood from the construction site. The site that gave him a raise to pay the rent, but not for the child. They can’t they said. They only have so much money. They can’t save everybody.
He starts to speak again but the words fumble. Nothing is intelligible.
His eyes well with tears and he wipes them and they start trickling down, increasing with a steady pace as the seconds pass.
She turns away, then back again. Her face weeping. Her eyes dry.
He looks at the picture of them. Him and her. His wife. Her husband. The one that rests on that little wooden desk. The desk she got for her birthday last year. The present that made her scream when she saw it. The present that made her love him more than she should. More than she thought she could. And she was happy. And he was happy. And they thought that’s how it would be now. When you’re happy you stay that way they said. But things don’t last as long as they should.
His tears aren’t stopping and his body is weak. Succumbing to the grief that a child can bestow. The grief of killing a part of yourself. Is there anything more horrid than this? Destroying your very being? What is never meant to be destroyed? What gives your life meaning? What makes you, you? Or is this how it works? How it is? How it will be?
She opens her arms and he falls in. Helpless and frail.
He calms and she strokes his hair and he burrows deeper and deeper into her bosom.
“I was going to … I was going to call her Amber,” she says. She looks at the scuff on the ceiling and then her ill clipped fingernail. “Amber … with her brown hair, blue eyes, and sun kissed …” She looks at the framed picture. The one at Yellowstone. The one that shows them smiling into each other’s eyes. Leaning together for a kiss. Love. How sweet it is. How it does something. Magical. And for a moment she smiles. Like she did in the picture. But it fades. As if it were never there. Never existed. Never happened.
She glances down and reads the writing on the frame, “Love life. It loves you.” And that expression overtakes her face. The one of a life changed for the worse. The unbearable worse.
She looks at the ceiling. Her eyes full of sadness. Regret. Misery.
“Do you remember the ceiling?” She asks. “How white it used to be? Like those snowflakes that fell on my tongue? Those winters in Minnesota?
She looks at the ceiling and can’t seem to recognize it. The marks confuse and astound her. She examines them one at a time. Maybe if she concentrates they will go away. Maybe they will make sense.
She starts crying. The tears like giant balls of hail tumble down. Each one denting his and her soul.
He can’t speak anymore and neither can she. There’s nothing to say. Nothing that will fix this.
They dreamed of this and now it’s gone. They didn’t think things turned out like this. They were different they said. It would work because they wanted it to. Because it had to. Because it was their destiny. But life isn’t like that. And they know. Now they know.
He wants to be alone, but she doesn’t want him to leave. He thinks it’s his fault, but she knows it isn’t. It’s hers. She should have been more practical. She chased something that wasn’t there. She tried to find her soul. A way out of this mundane rut she carved. Not for him. For her. And it was selfish. She forgot about him. And Amber. Amber. She forgot about Amber.
She won’t do that again she says. But there won’t be an again. You can’t age in reverse. You can’t pick money off trees. And there’s only one. One of her. Only one. Amber.
We make mistakes she says. Some bigger than others.
He starts to pull away, but she grasps his hair and guides him back to her bosom. He stays there, now steady. She taps his back like she would for a child. Her child. Her Amber.
She longs to see his face. To look into the eyes that mirror hers. But it won’t happen. He wants to be invisible. And so does she.
It will be okay she says. It will be what we want it to be. Just not right now. “Patience,” she whispers. “Patience!” And it will come. It has to come. Amber! Oh Amber! She will come!
He starts to pull away again and she wraps her arms around him. She can’t let him go. She needs somebody to hold. She needs her child. She needs her. Amber. She needs her Amber.
She sets her mouth against his ear and hesitates. She can’t cry again. She has to be strong. Will them through this. Rescue Amber. Yes. Rescue Amber! Her Amber!
And she doesn’t know what to say. What can she say? And she doesn’t know what to do. What can she do? And it happens. It clicks. It makes sense.
She lowers her mouth, setting it against his ear and whispers what must be whispered. What heals. What changes you. What makes you breathe. What makes you human. Yes. Human. The words that matter. The only words that matter.
“I love you too.”
Amber(Walt Thomas Richard)
Amber
“Honey?”
She fiddles with her phone. Throwing it up and down. Anxious. Nervous. Afraid. It drops and thuds against the floor. She picks it up in a haphazard fashion. Like she did something wrong. Disturbed something that wasn’t to be disturbed.
Acknowledging the unthinkable. The undoable.
“Honey?”
She turns her head away and her eyes fixate on a musty patch of carpet.
He looks at her. His eyes fixed. His body angry.
She looks at the TV. Nothing is playing on the TV. She is admiring the dust perhaps?
He scoots closer. His eyes fixed. His body angry.
She looks at him quick then looks away. Her eyes retreat to the musty patch of carpet.
“I can’t,” she says.
He rolls his eyes and sighs, heavy and deep.
“You have to.”
“I can’t. I can’t murder.”
“It ain’t murder.”
“Then what is it?”
He scratches his head and a speck of ruby red blood seeps out and plunges into the light carpet. Neither of them notice.
“Things can change. I’m going back to school and all,” she says.
He chuckles and a smile grows on his face. “Business isn’t a place for a woman.”
“Things are changing.”
He looks to the ceiling and shakes his head. “I wish they were.”
She looks at him for a moment and then looks away. He doesn’t notice.
He cracks his knuckles and she winces.
“Sorry,” he says. “Bad habit.”
She nods.
They don’t speak for several minutes. His eyes wander around the room and hers stay on the patch of carpet. He looks at her but she doesn’t notice. Their eyes never meet.
“I love you,” he says.
“I know.”
“And this won’t change that.”
Her eyes close. Perhaps she’s dreaming. Dreaming of money and how it manages to escape them. How it prevents them from the happiness they should have. How if it appeared she would be holding that baby girl. And have that relationship. Unique to a mother and daughter. And what it can do. How it can change you. Make you whole again.
“Honey?”
She doesn’t answer. She’s in her world. With her. Her Amber. Her baby Amber.
He stares at the floor beneath his feet. His socks dirty. Stained with blood from the construction site. The site that gave him a raise to pay the rent, but not for the child. They can’t they said. They only have so much money. They can’t save everybody.
He starts to speak again but the words fumble. Nothing is intelligible.
His eyes well with tears and he wipes them and they start trickling down, increasing with a steady pace as the seconds pass.
She turns away, then back again. Her face weeping. Her eyes dry.
He looks at the picture of them. Him and her. His wife. Her husband. The one that rests on that little wooden desk. The desk she got for her birthday last year. The present that made her scream when she saw it. The present that made her love him more than she should. More than she thought she could. And she was happy. And he was happy. And they thought that’s how it would be now. When you’re happy you stay that way they said. But things don’t last as long as they should.
His tears aren’t stopping and his body is weak. Succumbing to the grief that a child can bestow. The grief of killing a part of yourself. Is there anything more horrid than this? Destroying your very being? What is never meant to be destroyed? What gives your life meaning? What makes you, you? Or is this how it works? How it is? How it will be?
She opens her arms and he falls in. Helpless and frail.
He calms and she strokes his hair and he burrows deeper and deeper into her bosom.
“I was going to … I was going to call her Amber,” she says. She looks at the scuff on the ceiling and then her ill clipped fingernail. “Amber … with her brown hair, blue eyes, and sun kissed …” She looks at the framed picture. The one at Yellowstone. The one that shows them smiling into each other’s eyes. Leaning together for a kiss. Love. How sweet it is. How it does something. Magical. And for a moment she smiles. Like she did in the picture. But it fades. As if it were never there. Never existed. Never happened.
She glances down and reads the writing on the frame, “Love life. It loves you.” And that expression overtakes her face. The one of a life changed for the worse. The unbearable worse.
She looks at the ceiling. Her eyes full of sadness. Regret. Misery.
“Do you remember the ceiling?” She asks. “How white it used to be? Like those snowflakes that fell on my tongue? Those winters in Minnesota?
She looks at the ceiling and can’t seem to recognize it. The marks confuse and astound her. She examines them one at a time. Maybe if she concentrates they will go away. Maybe they will make sense.
She starts crying. The tears like giant balls of hail tumble down. Each one denting his and her soul.
He can’t speak anymore and neither can she. There’s nothing to say. Nothing that will fix this.
They dreamed of this and now it’s gone. They didn’t think things turned out like this. They were different they said. It would work because they wanted it to. Because it had to. Because it was their destiny. But life isn’t like that. And they know. Now they know.
He wants to be alone, but she doesn’t want him to leave. He thinks it’s his fault, but she knows it isn’t. It’s hers. She should have been more practical. She chased something that wasn’t there. She tried to find her soul. A way out of this mundane rut she carved. Not for him. For her. And it was selfish. She forgot about him. And Amber. Amber. She forgot about Amber.
She won’t do that again she says. But there won’t be an again. You can’t age in reverse. You can’t pick money off trees. And there’s only one. One of her. Only one. Amber.
We make mistakes she says. Some bigger than others.
He starts to pull away, but she grasps his hair and guides him back to her bosom. He stays there, now steady. She taps his back like she would for a child. Her child. Her Amber.
She longs to see his face. To look into the eyes that mirror hers. But it won’t happen. He wants to be invisible. And so does she.
It will be okay she says. It will be what we want it to be. Just not right now. “Patience,” she whispers. “Patience!” And it will come. It has to come. Amber! Oh Amber! She will come!
He starts to pull away again and she wraps her arms around him. She can’t let him go. She needs somebody to hold. She needs her child. She needs her. Amber. She needs her Amber.
She sets her mouth against his ear and hesitates. She can’t cry again. She has to be strong. Will them through this. Rescue Amber. Yes. Rescue Amber! Her Amber!
And she doesn’t know what to say. What can she say? And she doesn’t know what to do. What can she do? And it happens. It clicks. It makes sense.
She lowers her mouth, setting it against his ear and whispers what must be whispered. What heals. What changes you. What makes you breathe. What makes you human. Yes. Human. The words that matter. The only words that matter.
“I love you too.”
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