She couldn’t breathe because to breathe would be to remember that all her breath has been stolen from her a year ago. A year ago to the day. This day.
Her husband has been her life. And now, he was gone. Stolen by a large wave and a slip of his foot on his surf board. He’d loved the water and surfing had been his passion. She’d often that he was too old to be surfing and he needed to stop before he broke a hip and nearly drowned himself. She never in her wildest dreams thought it would ever come true. He’d shrugged it off, refusing to believe 34 was too old for him to indulge in his life’s passion. If only that had ended up being true. As it turned out, his life had ended only two months after picking up his hobby again. And now she was alone.
Time is supposed to heal all wounds but it only served to open hers. The year that passed did nothing to lessen her grief. Her friends and family tried to break her spell of loneliness but nothing helped. She finally dealt with the pain by remembering him. Every night was filled with dreams of him-the time they’d skinny-dipped at her parents’ house in the small pond in their back yard. Her parent’s came outside and he threatened to walk up on a nearby sand bar and reveal his nakedness. She’d begged him not to do it but he headed for the bar and got to waist-level water before plunging back into chest-level water to her relief. He laughed at her shock. He enjoyed messing with her like that. She wanted to strangle him then. She only wished he were still alive to be strangled.
On this day, the anniversary of his death, she wandered the house, wishing she could have him back once more but she knew that was impossible. She’d even packed up every last memory of him, hoping that not seeing physical reminders of him would somehow heal her pain but to no avail. Now as she walked from room to room, the smooth polished wood floor sticking to her feet as she traveled, absorbing the slow tread of her feet and marking her path in tears.
She finally found herself in his closet, the hangers bare and hanging above the boxes which held all of his possessions. She fingered a corner of the box, wishing she could bring herself to open it but every time she tried she was gripped with an overwhelming sense of grief and dread. She couldn’t bear to see his old pictures, touch his old clothes, knowing that it would do no good, would not bring him back. She collapsed against the box, crying uncontrollably. Her back trembled with the force of her sobs, breaking her and causing her knees to give way. She slid down the boxes and landed in a heap on the floor, still crying, her hair covering her face and getting drenched with her tears.
She cried until she nearly made herself sick, her tears slowly subsiding until she stopped crying altogether, completely exhausted. Her breathing slowly returned to normal as she continued to lay on the floor. She moved her hair away from her face, slowly wiping away her tears. As she sat up slowly, she leaned against the boxes. As she felt herself drifting back to reality the scent of Cool Water engulfed her. She stiffened, suddenly fully awake. Cool Water was John’s favorite scent. He never walked out of the door without dousing himself in it. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, letting the scent wash over her and soothing her. She then felt the soft brush of fabric against her cheek. She opened her eyes in time to see a pure silk turquoise shirt slide it’s way down her breasts and settle into her lap. Surprised, she sat up, looking around her quickly. She looked back down at the shirt, her breath catching in her throat and threatening to end her life as quickly as her husband’s. This had been his favorite shirt. How did it get here?
With trembling hands she touched the shirt. It was warm as though it had recently been worn. Her hand recoiled involuntarily. “How-“ she began, but her mouth snapped shut on the rest of the sentence. Even if there was an answer, she didn’t want to know.
She sat staring at the shirt, afraid to even move. Tears slowly welled up in her eyes again and slid down her cheeks, still she didn’t move. The shirt lay still as if watching to see what she’d do.
She reached out and picked up the shirt as if in slow motion. Somewhere inside her she knew that something wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t care. She rubbed the shirt against her face furiously, hoping to rub the scent into her skin, keeping it there forever. No matter how much she rubbed, the soft fabric could never hope to catch all of her tears. As she inhaled the scent of her husband on the shirt mingled with his cologne, she felt the combination start working on her. Her nipples slowly came to attention, pushing against the thin fabric of her t-shirt and causing a tingling sensation between her thighs. As if in slow motion, she slowly began to disrobe, imagining the shirt was her husband. As she disrobed she didn’t think about the fact that her husband had been wearing a shirt just like this one the day he’d died. He’d changed just before going out to surf and had left the shirt on his bed. Seeing it there, she’d slipped into it and nothing else, waiting for him to return, already wet with the delicious scent of him on her bare skin. Wearing his shirt was like being in his arms again.
She slowly caressed the silk, her hands drifting down her body and securing the fabric against her skin, causing goose bumps to pop out, nearly pushing their way through the fabric even more than her nipples were now doing. She flattened the fabric against her breasts, lightly pinching the nipples before allowing her hands to continue on down her stomach to rest between her thighs. Her breath deepened as she slid her fingers down the lips of her pussy, remembering how her husband used to do this. He would touch her until she would explode, only to stop and watch as she squirmed with desire, begging him to continue. After a moment longer he always would, his fingers light and delicate, working her most sensitive spot wit ht he skill of a surgeon. She would always orgasm explosively. As she thought about him, she quickened her caress, flicking her clitoris and rubbing her breasts, pinching the nipples. As she worked herself into a frenzy, she dug her toes into the carpet, screaming loudly as she came, her body rocking and shaking with the effort of her orgasm.
Spent, she leaned against the boxes, her legs shaking, thighs drenched with her own juices. As good as it had felt to cum, it wasn’t the same. She began to cry again, soft quiet sobs which gently lulled her off to sleep.
Hours later she was awakened with a start. She looked around, afraid to move. Everything was quiet and she could tell it had grown dark outside. She shivered with sudden cold, startled to see her breath. Shaken, she woke fully, gathering the thin silk shirt around her, as she stumbled to her feet. She grabbed a blanket as she walked out to her room, making her way to the french doors which opened out to the beach.
“Funny, I don’t remember opening these doors,” she said to herself, reaching to close
The door when she caught a glimpse of the moon. Her hands froze on the knobs, transfixed by the sight. She grasped the knob, leaning against one of the doors as she became hypnotized. She and her husband were both moon lovers. It was the main reason they had bought the house in the first place. All they needed in the world was each other and a clear undisturbed view of the moon. They could spend hours just watching it. They both would swear if they watched long enough they could actually see it go through its phases. Though they knew this was impossible, they’d still tried. At this thought, she did a double take. She could have sworn she saw the moon change! A chill ran through her and she pulled the blanket around her tighter, absently shutting the doors behind her as she stared transfixed, at the moon. The more she watched, the more it disappeared. In all of her recent daze, she’d missed all of the reports of this night’s eclipse. How her husband would have loved to see this!
As the moon slowly disintegrated to a sliver, her eyes dropped to something on the beach. She couldn’t quite make it out. It seemed to be shining. Her eyes went back to the ever-diminishing moon as only the slightest remains of the moon still showed. Her eyes fell to the beach once again. Something was out there. In spite of herself, she decided to find out what it was.
She started toward the beach, her feet dragging along the sand but not stopping. She felt propelled toward the object glimmering on the dark beach. The blanket fell away from her as she kept moving, tears streaming down her face as the object slowly came into view. “It couldn’t be...” she thought as the object slowly took shape as she closed it upon it. Above her the moon slowly continued to slide into nothing. As she got closer, she started to run, the sand biting her feet and ankles as she ran on, oblivious to the cold bite of the wind against her skin as it flew by her as she made her way down the beach. As she reached her destination she slowed, her heart, which had been beating uncontrollably suddenly stopped.
The air around her stilled as the moon above disappeared completely. There was an eerie silence all around her as she stood face to face with her dead husband, looking as alive as the day he was born. She blinked several times, trying to wake up from what she felt had to be a hallucination. She tried to focus on something to wake her, but their was nothing. Nothing moved, not even the ocean, which lay stock-still, unmotivated to produce tides with no guidance from the moon. The air was heavy with silence as she stood staring at him. He was just as beautiful as ever. His face still had that round boyish quality she’d always loved. His big brown eyes glowed with life as his eyes devoured her. His lips well full and just slightly up-turned-perfect for kissing. At this thought she broke the silence by bursting into tears.
“Why am I doing this to myself?” she cried, turning her face to the moon which held its pace, dark and silent.
“You’re gone. I should just let you go, but I can’t,” she sobbed, falling to her knees. She jumped in surprise when she realize she never completely made it to the ground. She stopped crying in shock as she felt strong arms around her. She looked up to find her husband looking down at her with a concerned look on her face.
She tried to pull away but he held her firmly. She relaxed into his arms, burying herself against her chest and holding him tightly.
“Don’t be afraid Janice,” he said, kissing her hair and rocking her gently. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered again, tears of his own slid down his cheeks and into her hair.
“But how...” she began.
“Shhh...there isn’t much time to talk. I just wanted to see you one more time.”
“One more time? What...”
“Shhh...” he said again, drawing away from her to place a finger on her lips. “No questions. We’ve been granted this one last chance to be together, we can’t waste it asking questions.”
“But I just wanted to make sure I’m not hallucinating.”
