My White Swan

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.