Short Story
                          
                                                                                          by
                                                        Mary Jane Mattal-Kruty

 

Ben and I celebrated our fifty-seventh wedding anniversary two months ago. We ate dinner at the little restaurant with that good homemade lasagna and splurged on a bottle of red wine. The kids sent cards with their best wishes and were sorry for not being able to attend the “party.”

           
That night, Ben complained of heartburn and took antacids to alleviate the pain. In the morning, I suggested he go see Doc Peters, but Ben said the doc would only prescribe medicine and Ben was tired of taking pills. Two days later, Ben was dead. Doc Peters said it was a massive coronary. He said if Ben had called when I asked, it wouldn’t have mattered, because he was already beyond any help Doc could have given him.

           
The kids came for the funeral and we buried Ben up there in the little cemetery on the hill. He always said he liked the view, but I wondered what he would see when they lowered him into the ground.

           
Greg, Brian and Melissa said they were sorry their dad died, but could only stay a day at the most and then had to get home. As they drove off I waved goodbye and then went back into the quiet house. Ben’s old gray sweater hung from his chair, and tears brimmed in my eyes at the sight of the missing button I promised to replace.

           
I stripped the beds and began the wash, glad to have something to do. While I waited for the last rinse cycle, I washed the dishes in the sink from the kids’ on-the-run breakfast, and then dried and put them all back into their proper places in the cupboard.

           
Halfway into bed making, I found a white lace bra of Melissa’s on the wicker chair in the corner. How could something so sheer support anything? I could see how fragile it was when I held it up to the light. It looked very expensive, and I thought it strange, how she never had money and always hinted for some of mine. The label suggested hand washing, which I did, then hung it over the bathroom rack to dry.

Neighbors brought a wide selection of food and desserts for the funeral, and I wondered who was going to eat it all? I needed to call the homeless shelter and let them come and get it. I spooned out some potato salad, then scraped it into the garbage pail. I found I had no

appetite.

The phone rang and my friend Margaret said she was just checking to see how I was going. She offered to come and keep me company, but I said I was tired and would soon turn in. We chatted about nothing in particular, then hung up with our promises for tomorrow.

           
I brushed my teeth, put a robe over my nightie and then roamed through the house. In the study, I picked up the family picture Ben kept on his desk. As I cried into the smiling faces of our young family, I tried to hold onto the memory of those precious times together. I cried, but no one was there to hear me. When Ben died, I lost the melody of my life and now there was no music.

           
I set the frame back where it had always rested and turned off the desk light. The house was dark except for the light from the bedroom down the hall. Ben wasn’t in his usual place and now the bed looked alien to me. Was this the way my nights would be? Alone, in a quiet, dark house filled with only memories? How unfair, after all our years together, when I need you the most, you leave.

           
Doc Peters gave me pills to help me sleep and my nights were dreamless, for which I was grateful. I imagined the children were busy rushing around in their own lives, and forgot to call. I could fill the days okay, but the nights were the worst, long and frightening. I jumped with each creak of the house and waited for that someone outside to break and enter. Kind neighbors called to check on me and offer invitations, but I couldn’t accept. I felt so incomplete without Ben at my side. Time passed the same each week and then I fell and broke my hip. I remember that time only as painful confusion. The hip was replaced and off I went to the nursing home for rehab.

           
During my hospital stay, tests revealed I also had a major heart problem and I would now need continuous skilled nursing care. Greg, Brian and Melissa sent get well cards to cheer me, but I knew in the end, I would die among strangers.

 

                        END

Mary Jane Mattal-Kruty, a world traveler, currently resides in Hemet. Also an actress she has appeared in various plays including Picnic and Gin Game. A previous selection, “Tango Lesson,” appeared in Straitjackets Magazine February 2008.