To Close The Book

c1b3b9b0She let the phone ring and ring. No answer.

She sent text after text. No response.

As the waves crashed nearby, she fought the tears, the heartbreak, and the stress of her confusion.

He was pretending they had never happened.

And she needed to close the book.

So she did.

 

Au Revoir: A Tiny Fiction Series
Written by Jennifer Fifield
Image by Unsplash

the view, the feel, the moment

photo-1445964047600-cdbdb873673d“I’ve been here,” I whispered.

“You’ve been here? When?” he asked.

“In my dreams. I’ve been dreaming of this place for years. I never knew where or what it was,” I said.

I slowly absorbed each detail. How surreal to be somewhere for the first time, and the fiftieth time. The view, the feel, the moment – they were all the same as every dream I had ever had. And it was him, this wonderful person standing next to me, who had brought me.

Au Revoir: A Tiny Fiction Series

Written by Jennifer Fifield

Image from Unsplash

Let’s do this

photo-1428677361686-f9d23be145c9This was the last time, he promised.

This had to be the absolute last time. He would land this one and this would be it. He just needed to get through it one more time. And it would be the very last time. Ever.

The excitement of this thought pulsed through him. He had to make this one count.

He realized that his shoulders were sky-high, so he dropped them, and took in a deep breath – the diaphragmatic kind. The kind they say you should do when you are flipping the fuck out.

He clicked the back button of his iPod to find what he needed. The initial melody always made him think he had picked the wrong song. But when the piano ended, the words he needed were right there.

This time would be different. It would be exciting. It would nourish him. He would try harder. He would remember the others. He would remember the struggle.

The lyrics began to seep deep inside of him, Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity, to seize everything you ever wanted. In one moment, would you capture it, or just let it slip?

He pushed “up” on the volume button so that he could belt the words. So that he could slip into his state of readiness.

There was no way he was not getting this. This was all his.

He screamed, You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go, you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime.

As he approached, he bellowed the last – and his favorite – part, Success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not.

Let’s do this.

 

 

By Jennifer A. Fifield

Italicized song lyrics by Eminem, Lose Yourself

Image: Unsplash 

Life in Colors

art floral vintage rainbow  background with astersVictoria painted every day now. Creativity and emotion seeped from her skin after losing her husband.

But she would have given anything to be less creative again. To have him back. To see his face. To touch his hand. To watch him walk. To hear him laugh. To listen to his voice.

With each brush stroke on the canvas she thought about life, and about it’s strangeness. Some days the painting calmed her. Some days she could not be calmed by anything.

She chose different colors for the moods that she was in. Dark gray and blue for days when she felt that life was just a bit too harsh. Bright yellow and orange when she missed him terribly and wanted to feel his warmth and cheer. Deep green and red when she wanted to scream at the world through vibrant color.

She felt weak, but wanted to be strong. Life had dealt her so much. Breast cancer at age 44. Breast cancer again at 51. And the health issues of her beloved husband. She had fought a hard fight, and at times painted in various shades of white, a surrender that seemed easy and painless.

For how was she to go on?

Now alone, a young woman. She walked the beach each morning, picking up a shell for each time she thought of her lost love. Thirty nine years they had spent together. She knew of nothing else. No love as great as the love they shared.

She spoke out to him. She felt close to him here. The ocean, so vast and open. She knew he was out there. She knew he was watching. She knew he was listening.

The waves rolled back and forth and wet her bare feet. She collapsed to the ground and released the shells from her grasp.

“Where have you gone?” she cried out, over and over.

Today she would paint in dark gray and blue.

Jennifer A. Fifield