flashquake Fiction

REMEMBRANCE
by C. E. Staples

After five years of marriage, I know a lot about Rachel. If you enter our apartment and smell ginger in the air, then she’s in a frisky mood. Smell lavender? She’s stressed. She adores the feel of silk against her skin and finds coconut milk revolting. I know she’s sad on Sundays and happiest in the garden. I even know when she’s falling in love.

The seeds were planted long ago right under my nose. When Adam visited, Rachel spent as much time with my brother as I did. His open admiration made her blush and my chest swelled with pride. Now I watch them standing by the window talking softly like lovers do. Light surrounds them, revealing silver strands in his gold hair and red highlights in her brown curls. He brushes away her tears. Then, almost in slow motion, she grasps his hand and brings it to her lips.

He hesitates, glancing in my direction, before he pulls her against his body. I wonder if he will learn to stroke that spot on her lower back that makes her weak in the knees? How long will it take for him to know when she wants to be held and when she needs a little freedom? I would tell him if I could. Maybe he knows these things already, if not from before the accident, then in the six months since.

Rachel breaks away to walk stiffly toward my bed. She watches as the doctor flicks switch after switch after switch. Adam lingers at the window though he was the one to counsel Rachel to end my suffering. There is pain in his eyes, and relief. If I had breath left, I would counsel my dear brother that this is one of those moments when he should hold her.

I would hold her if I could. But now all I hold are the memories.

Her hand briefly covers mine before trailing slowly up my arm. Her fingers tremble as they move over my face. Before she lowers my eyelids for the final time, I see Adam move to her side. He slips his arm around her waist.

He is learning.

Copyright 2003 by C. E. Staples

HOME | Contributors | Archives | Contact | Guidelines