March 16, 1958

Her chin-length curls were carefully arranged and gave off a hint of sexy, like Marilyn Monroe. Red lipstick and tight-fitting capris completed her look. I would daydream about the next time I'd see her. Those images kept my mind busy on monotonous days. Thoughts enamored with pictures of her gliding across the rink, more beautiful than a white swan. Her laugh contagious even with the distance of the rink and my rental hut. I spent hours in my hut renting skates but more importantly, admiring her. I looked forward to when she returned them and I could catch another whiff of her L’air du Temps Perfume and all its spicy notes. Spot forty-six belonged to those skates and those skates will only ever belong to her.

“Ok Dear, I’m finished reading to you, ” Charles said setting down his beatup leather journal by the nightstand.

“ I have to go now, Ill be back tomorrow as normal.”

Kissing her soft wrinkled forehead he whispers “I love you.”

“How was she today?” Grace questioned as Charles walked towards the Visitor's booth.

“Not good, it's been weeks since she could remember who I am.” Tears started to swell in his eyes.

“I even read an entry from my journal to see if that would help, but nothing.”

Depressingly, Charles continued through the double doors and out of the nursing home knowing this place would ultimately take his wife.

Now home, he heads straight to the bedroom closet and digs through clothes, containers, and bags until he finds it. He pulls out the oversized shoe box, lifts the lid, and inhales the spicy notes of L’air du Temps.

Painfully sliding down the wall, he grasps the box to his chest squeezing it as tight as a boa constrictor. Tears pouring down his swollen cheeks he stares at the beloved roller skates that will only ever belong to Nancy and spot forty-six.

The dead never stop coming so why would he? Just as reliable as tax season, my double doors widen just enough to reveal Bert, the county coroner in chorus with the rotary clock flipping to 7:45 AM. He snaps the light switch and replaces his black trench coat with a white one.

The refrigerator temperature gauge he checks first, a perfect 36 degrees, then navigates the room with precision verifying the four medical cots are still neatly lined in the corner. He inspects the troughs on all sides of the stainless steel embaling table and makes sure the bucket for drainage is securly attached. His perky eyebrows indicate he’s satisfied. Next, is the autopsy table. He stands tall cataloging each instrument on the cold metal tray. First, the scalpel, then scissors, followed by a mallet, and lastly his hand grazes over the star of the show, the bone saw. All accounted for. He swallows a warm sip of his French-pressed brew, confirming his morning is perfect, then Inhales a long satisfied breath.

Basking in another successful start, Bert mutters “Re-check temps, open emails, call in lunch order.”

Bang! The double doors fly open. Bert stumbles backwards nearly falling over the instrument tray. Detective Spooner leads the charge.

“Holy Shit Spooner”. Bert cries out.

“Bertieee, I need your goddamn attention on this body now!” spouting off orders without consideration.

A sandy-haired paramedic, Tim, follows him into the room pushing a gurney, then parks it near the coat rack like usual. Bert nods at Tim expecting little in return.

“Hey, Tim.”

Tim, usually less social than most offers up an awkward raise of his wrist and a half smile.

“Hi, Bert.”

Rushed for time and patience the detective shooes Tim out.

“Get the van moved and meet me at the front doors!”

Tim stares at the floor then slips out the double doors doing what he’s told.

Today shouldn't have been any different. But today there was an urgency. You were the urgency.

“This one’s fucking important, she's the Mayor's daughter, Bert. They need to know what happened to her and they need it fast.” he barks. He turns to push through the door shouting “You know the fuckin drill, call me with the results.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Agitated and fuming, Bert grunts and stomps his way to the prep station. He grabs a plastic apron, surgical mask, and gloves, then takes a deep breath being careful to take extra time to calm down. Not even Spooner can de-rail Bert from his professionalism. He’s never lost his cool.

Methodically he pushes you to the perfect spot in the middle of the room with the best light making you the center of attention, and he lifts the stained white cloth from your face and chest, then presses the dial on the radio next to the table. The ambiance of Beethoven's moonlight sonata reverberates the mood off my walls as he begins.

He examines your bruised left temple, stopping every 30 seconds to jot down notes and repeating them to himself. Fingers tactfully move down to your chin, lingering for a bit to verify your broken jaw. His hands move with grace onto the purple ring around your neck. Respectfully he moves your chestnut hair behind your collarbone for better inspection. More notes. I can hardly contain myself. I need to know what happened to your beautiful soul.

The blood, dirt, and skin under your fingernails show you didn't go without a fight.

Finally, his gloves, mask, and apron come off indicating a verdict. With depressed shoulders he walks towards the rotary phone on the wall, dialing each number slower than the next.

“I'm finished with my investigation. Spooner” His voice defeated.

“Her cause of death was—

Static over the intercom interrupts Bert's final words.

“Paging Dr. Monroe to I.C.U. Dr. Monroe to ICU.”

Leaning his forehead on the wall, Bert gently rests the phone on the receiver then drags himself to his desk, pulls the chair out, sinks into the leather, and weeps.

These are the days I wish I were the walls of ANY other room.

My nose twitches from the earthy mist while I shiver in the Autumn breeze. Chattering from a blush of robins echos off fir trees. And to think I nearly retracted my original plan to miss such a breath-taking moment. I giggle as his vile blood melts into the forest floor.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

He tiptoes tactfully over take-out containers until squatting beside me. His wedding band caresses swollen cheeks while whispering “I told them no peanuts.” Paralyzed on the icy floor I wheeze, throat constricting. He positions my epi-pen just out of reach and footsteps fade with his last smug words. “Good Luck”

Gooey cheese and grease spill down Mr. Sterling’s chin, but he’s a professional. He dabs it away with his embroidered handkerchief before chomping another Ludicrous bite. “Best damn cheesesteak!” he burps to himself. Wiping his greasy fingers, he tosses the napkin, then check-marks a Five-star review. I squeal through the chef's window.

Today the best food critic eats in my diner, but it was just two months ago Adam and I separated. He always said I had potential, yet assured I’d never make it without him. Now with my winning recipe, I must defrost more of him for tomorrow's special.

You never said goodbye,

because you never knew you left.

I’ve always said it’s okay.

It's okay I haven't seen you

for the last twenty-seven birthdays.

It's okay I never got to share

my first womanhood moment with you.

It's okay I had to figure out

how to pick my first bra.

It's okay you weren’t

at my high school

or college graduation.

It's okay that you never

met my boyfriend

turned fiance,

now husband.

It’s okay that I never got to show you

my first house

that we spent our life savings

to purchase.

And if you don't see

our next adventure.

It's okay

because I forgive you.

I know you couldn't help it

and you’ll continue to love me.

because

I remember you as you were

before your diagnosis—

and It’s okay.

Those memories

will never disappear

from my life

as you have

and that's how I know

It will be okay.

You never said goodbye,

because you never knew you left.

I’ve always said it’s okay.

It's okay I haven't seen you

for the last twenty-seven birthdays.

It's okay I never got to share

my first womanhood moment with you.

It's okay I had to figure out

how to pick my first bra.

It's okay you weren’t

at my high school

or college graduation.

It's okay that you never

met my boyfriend

turned fiance,

now husband.

It’s okay that I never got to show you

my first house

that we spent our life savings

to purchase.

And if you don't see

our next adventure.

It's okay

because I forgive you.

I know you couldn't help it

and you’ll continue to love me.

because

I remember you as you were

before your diagnosis—

and It’s okay.

Those memories

will never disappear

from my life

as you have

and that's how I know

It will be okay.

“Living in the shadows long enough eventually turns a woman cold, so my favorite time of the year is winter. It's unpredictable, brutal, and can be one cold-hearted bitch; All things I love about myself.”

The crackling fireplace contrasts my frozen heart, while the snow glues itself to the corner of the window like an artery slowly clogging up. I help myself to another glass of four roses bourbon, the only flowers I feel I deserve. I swirl it around the glass—eye level, fingers tense. My nostrils flare out to sip in the aroma, then I inhale a mouthful of hate while I pound one back. I relax into my brother-in-law's green velvet chair, legs crossed revealing the right amount of sex while I let Kentucky warm my throat and numb the nerves. I flirt the edges of my empty snifter along my leg. The black stockings perfectly balance my cherry red evening gown while the slit kisses my curves. My breasts look like the main course, not the appetizer they used to be. I adjust the borrowed pearls across my neck like a garnish and tuck my platinum blonde falsities behind my left ear. I only wear the glamor for special occasions, and tonight will undoubtedly be one. The platter is prepared. Now I wait for the guest of honor.

A car door indicates he’s on time—An expected occurrence for a lawyer. I inhale the beautiful stench from his drunken nights of cigars and booze and exhale the lifetime of a jealous sister's hate. It's time I finally got what I deserved—The man who loved me first.

The door opens forcefully, and my lustful eyes turn unsettled when my sister, Ruth appears in lieu of him. She grips a note with angst and slams the door with rage. I thought I had prepared for everything. I guess I was wrong.

I am stunned, but holding my composure I squeeze out,

“You’re supposed to be in Memphis. What happened?”

Her scowl burns a hole through my heart and the tone in her voice stabs it.

“Apparently, I’m right where I need to be!”