Ellie coiled herself in her blanket as her alarm buzzed relentlessly. She turned to look at it. She frowned. The snooze button had broken off. She’d just wait for a minute to pass, and the rusty thing would shut up, she thought.
Her phone vibrated, and she caught a glimpse of a text from Marge before the light went off. She sighed as she turned to face the window. The grey painted skies taunted her. Marge was wrong. She didn’t spend all day doing nothing.
“Oof,” she rolled out of bed.
There’s an important job she’d been doing every morning. She shuffled her feet on the ground as she approached her closet. It was almost empty. She pushed what was left away revealing marks on the side. There was a piece of glass at the bottom. She picked it up and crossed out the four lines she’d marked before.
276 days.
She shivered as the window flung open. The wall of trees surrounding her house were almost ripped from their roots. She latched the window and stared at the open spot on her bed. She wondered if she should go back. She remembered Marge’s text; it could be important.
It’s time you resolved it in your heart. Its time you get out of the rain. Its enough for me to watch you for 276 days and I won’t have it. You can’t give in to isolation anymore. What happened was indeed tragic but my heart breaks seeing you like this; I miss my friend. Come by the shop at noon. I’ll be waiting.
I set the phone down and went downstairs. I poured myself a glass of water. My throat was glad, and my body revved back to life like an old car that just got a new engine. I hadn’t been eating well, and hydration felt like a chore. Marge was right. I knew what I had to do but I’d been looking for strength. 276 days later, I’m still here.
I miss the feel of the cold air, and the sweet smell of barley every morning when I went to tend to it. Tom would always be warming up the engine of the truck. I would nag him for spending too much time on it instead of getting ready.
I looked around the kitchen and saw myself dancing around in my tomato-stained apron. The counter covered in flour. I baked bread everyday and sent a loaf with some beef stew to Tom at the mill. That’s all he’d have everyday for lunch. I swiped my fingers on the counter and rubbed the flour between my fingers.
I was about to clean it but I had to leave. I hadn’t bothered to clean it after that day. I didn’t have a reason to make bread anymore. I noticed a drop of water then I felt my face; it was a tear. I wiped it away and laid my face on the counter.
“Stop,” I laughed as I avoided him. “You know I’m ticklish.”
“I gotta go to the mill anyways.” He sighed in disappointment. “Mwah.” He kissed me on the cheek. “See you at lunch!” I said as he got out the door. “Can’t imagine if I don’t.” He smiled and shut the door.
I can, I thought.
I moved to the living room and dumped myself on the couch. The sound of the wind whistling through the tiny spaces in-between the windows was unsettling. Lucky for me there was some wood left on the fireplace. I threw a lit match on the wood, and it birthed a small explosion. Better the sound of crackling fire.
I embraced the newfound warmth. If only it could reach the center of my chest but then I hadn’t been there for a while myself. It’s no use now; I’m sorry Marge, it’s too late. I slowly began to drift to sleep or tried to.
“You know what I want to do when I grow up?”
“What?” I chuckled. “Come on, I’m serious.” He closed his book with his finger in the middle. “What?” I asked. “I want to grow old in this chair.” He smiled. He looked like a little boy who’d just discovered his dream.
“That’s nice.” I smiled. “Yeah?” He said. “Yeah.”
“There’s just something unseen about the time I spend sitting on this chair by the fire every night―with you.” His brown eyes glimmered in the light of the fire. “I don’t ever want to leave.”
“You’re not going to. You can stay here as long as you want, and I’ll always be here.” I smiled.
“I’m glad. But if I ever do, I want to take this moment with me.” He said. I stared at him for a while. He would always talk in this manner, and he knew I didn’t like it. I didn’t care how true it was; it’s not the right time to talk about this.
I stared at the burning embers, and my gaze led me to the floor where a pile of books lay scattered. Some were flipped open. A bare 41-inch bookshelf was all that was left of my fit a while back. I looked at the empty blue wingback chair beside the shelf. I slithered down the floor like a serpent on a quest.
I felt goosebumps on my arms; I probably should’ve worn long sleeves. I almost chuckled at the thought seeming that I hadn’t had a change of clothes since day one. I felt the heat of the fire as my head popped from under the coffee table―a shortcut I devised―I turned towards the chair and used my arms to pull myself up as I leaned on it for support.
I sat there thinking of nothing while I thought of everything. My face steadily laid on the soft, cozy chair. No wonder he wanted to take the moments he spent in it with him. I wanted him to take me with him. Why does this feel worse than death?
I turned to face the fire because my back had grown hot.
“Even then, remember―”
I gasped “Tom?” I heard those words as if we were in the same room. A tear fell from my cheek, and I retreated to the safety of the chair cushion.
“Promise me you won’t lock yourself away from the world.” He said. I scoffed. “Ellie? Promise me.” He placed his book back on the shelf. “I promise,” I said, and he looked relieved but he wasn’t prepared for what I was about to say next.
“I promise that’ll follow you wherever you go. Because living without you is worse than death―I wouldn’t be able to bear it anyway.” He looked concerned and disappointed. He let out a heavy sigh before he stood to leave. “You know Ellie, there’s a great big world out there, and I’d love to see you go and experience it.” I looked down. “Nothing would make me happier.” All I heard were his footsteps up the stairs. I couldn’t face him. How could he say that?
“Nothing would make me happier.” Tom’s words echoed in mind, and I let them bounce around. He’s always thought about me but who’s thinking about you, Tom? I’d always ask. I stood and glanced at the counter.
Laughter reverberated in the room as I slammed the oven door. “I don’t think airplanes need a side mirror.” I smiled. “Come on, you’re not even giving it a chance.” He cried. “Tom,” I wiped the counter. “Okay, how about this one? You should open your own bakery.”
I froze. “Huh,” I proceeded to wipe. “Your bread is great! The guys at the mill love it! People would kill for your bread.” He said. I chuckled, “Come on, you know I can’t do that?” “Why not?” He asked.
“Well, because―”
He stared at me as he waited for my excuse. “Who’s gonna make your bread?” Oh goodness, I heard the words as soon as they came out of my mouth; ridiculous. Tom must’ve thought so too because he let out a howl of laughter. “Ellie bear that’s. . .I don’t even know how to―” I cut him off. “I just don’t have time for that now.”
“That’s not true. I could help you; we could totally do it!” He exclaimed. “This is your dream. Mine is just taking care of you.” I wringed the cloth in the sink. “You’re right but it could be our dream and think about it this way, through taking care of me, you’ll also be taking care of everybody else, isn’t that better?” He beamed.
“It’s just bread, you know?” I teased. “Come on, it’ll be like our baby, you know? Something to remember me by.” He said. “Oh, Tom.” I shook my head.
I looked at the front door and started to slowly walk towards it. I was pushed back and lost the grip on the door knob as it opened and slammed on the wall. I stepped out and turned my gaze to where the truck’s parked. The Jade 1985 Ford looked lonely and empty―just like my heart.
I got in the truck and shut the door. The open windows made a helicopter-like sound each time the wind blew. I held the steering wheel and began to cry again. I sniffled as I pressed the heel of my wrist up my nose.
“You know what to do.” I heard. This time I was pretty sure it wasn’t in my head. I turned to see Tom sitting on the passenger seat. I looked away. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real. I am just experiencing a mental breakdown. Yes, that’s right. “You’re not real so go away.” My voice trembled. “You spent all day wishing I was back, and now that I’m here you want me gone?” He said. “I know you have something you want to ask me.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” I said not looking at him. “Then let me say this. I’m sorry.” He said. I slowly turned. “I’m sorry that it wasn’t forever.” I stared at him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t bring our dream to life.”
“But you still can.”
“I can’t. Look at me; I’m a mess!” I sobbed. “I’m talking to my dead husband.” I shook my head. “I’m not dead Ellie.” I looked at him in disbelief. “I’m very much alive―in your heart. All these memories we had together, tell me Ellie, are they real?”
I didn’t answer for a bit. “It’s not the same.” I managed to say. “You’re right. It’s better.” He said. “I want you here―with me―at our home.” I said. “But I’m not here. You’re going to have to accept that.”
“Resolve it in your heart, Ellie.”
There, those words. I’ve heard them before. Trying to remember stopped my sobbing. I gasped when thunder struck. Marge―it was in her text.
“You can’t bake bread by watching the dough.” I looked at him. “Remember how you use to tell me that?” He smiled. “You’re strong Ellie. All those days locked in the house. You weren’t trying to find strength. You were just afraid that if you went out there and lived again; it’d get ripped from you.”
He was right. Every word. I’m not gonna be able to bear another round of this. It’s heart-wrenching.
“But you’re ready now.” He said, and I looked at him. “What?”
“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be in this truck planning to go to Marge’s.”
“I don’t know if I can do it.” I said. “All you need to do is start the truck.” He said. I felt the keys on the ignition―after I drove home from the funeral, I didn’t take them out.
“All you need to do is start the truck.”
The words echoed and faded-out. I looked at the passenger seat, and he was gone. The windows made another helicopter-like sound, and I shivered. I knew it was just a figment of my imagination. Maybe like Marge, my mind was tired of living this way, and this little stunt was just to ensure its survival.
Either way, there I was backing up my driveway and heading to Marge’s shop.
It’s time I stopped wrestling myself. Tom was gone, and I needed to get used to living without him. I didn’t want to. I’d lost the fight before it even started. I didn’t want to figure out how living without Tom was like. I didn’t want to bring his drea―our dream to life without him.
But as he would say, “through taking care of me, you’ll also be taking care of everybody else, isn’t that better?”
“It’s just bread, you know?”
I chuckled at my words. When I remembered the zeal, he had in his eyes for a bakery that wasn’t even birthed yet―I smiled. It felt good. It felt like he was still there as if I’d just found a long, lost childhood friend.
I stopped the truck right by her front door. It was pouring down now with occasional lightning flashes. I could almost hear Tom say the words ‘go’. I stepped out of the truck, no raincoat, no umbrella. I was instantly drenched and felt a fever approaching.
Tom was right. There is a great, big world out there, and I can’t wait to share our dream with everyone. It would be something to remember him by. Marge gaped as she opened the door, and I shrugged and smiled at her.
