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- 01/17/2017
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Prompts by HB - 1. Prompt #548
Use the following words in a story – Cold wind, blue sweater, bald man, postcard, and a gift.
Gusts of cold wind rattled the window pane and the blowing snow made it impossible to see the few yards from my front window to my driveway.
I used to love snow storms. I’d turn the fireplace on, make some hot chocolate, and curl up on the sofa under a blanket to watch the world turn white.
Now it just felt cold.
I guess that happens when you don’t have someone holding you to keep you warm.
Boxes littered every corner of my house—our house, that was now just mine. No one could say that I didn’t try. I tried every single day of the past year, waking up alone, moving through the rooms that were once filled with laughter, eating at an empty table, and then crawling into a cold bed. Every day, I did this with a fake smile plastered on my face. I didn’t want to do it anymore.
In the bedroom, my closet was half packed. All that remained were the winter clothes I was still wearing for the season. The two outfits I needed before moving day would go into a carryon and the rest would end up in boxes for the movers.
When I opened the carryon on my bed, it wasn’t empty, as I had expected. In the mesh lining of the top flap, there was a rectangular piece of paper—a postcard from Hawaii. It was the last vacation we took together.
Sunny beaches with ocean water lapping at our feet. Him with his silly wide-brimmed hat because he was so pale and always afraid of getting sunburnt. Grains of sand lodged in uncomfortable places after a particularly exciting morning spent rolling around in a dune.
We had meant to mail the postcard back to his parents before we left. But we’d forgotten; and it had been forgotten.
I debated about throwing it away. I had enough stuff to move already, and I didn’t need another piece of paper to keep track of. But my fingers couldn’t let it go, even as my hand hovered over the garbage bag. I stuffed it back into the carryon where I found it.
Sweaters first; I just need two. I grabbed the stack from the closet and put them on the bed. The two I wanted were on top. And right underneath them was the blue sweater, a gift from him.
Hand knit with the softest cashmere yarn. It had taken him more than a year to make, and by far the most ambitious project he’d worked on. He usually stuck to hats—a bald man could never use enough toques in the winter, he said.
I used to wear that sweater all the time, especially during snow storms like today. But I hadn’t touched it since he died, because if I wore it, then I’d expect him to come up behind me, rub his cheek against my shoulder and purr at the softness of the wool. And what would I do now when that didn’t happen?
The wool still felt soft under my fingers. Against my better judgement, I brought it up to my cheek. If I concentrated really hard, I imagined I could still smell him on it.
No, I would not cry. I’d cried enough tears this year—buckets full of tears. Deep breath, count to ten, and let it out to another ten second count.
Branches from the backyard tree scraped against the window pane, reminding me of the blizzard outside. Maybe one last time—just for old times' sake.
Slipping the sweater on over my head felt like I was traveling back in time. Back before the accident, before the hours of waiting at the hospital, before sitting at his bedside praying for him to wake up.
It took me back to a time when the wind howled outside, and the snow fell. I sat curled up on the sofa with my hot chocolate, warmed by a blanket and the fireplace. He curled up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, rubbing his cheek on my shoulder and purring like a cat.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s time to let go.”
Use the following words in a story – Cold wind, blue sweater, bald man, postcard, and a gift.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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