#93 Life Beyond Cracked Promises

by Jennifer Rotblatt

Edith closes her eyes tight, leaning against the tree, the sun on her face. The brightness and warmth are fuchsia, teal, marigold, and lime dancing behind her lids.

1 . . .

The colors speak of a dress she wore to Helen’s wedding. The layered skirt swinging as she danced to every song, sometimes alone, often with Paul.

2 . . .

They speak of warm spring evenings, Paul, and fresh-picked nosegays pressed into her hands.

3 . . .

Her hands reach back to hold the bark behind her at the fire of that first kiss.

4 . . .

Soon after, on a sunny day like this one, they peered through cracked glass into a long-abandoned shed in a forgotten meadow.

5 . . .

In this shed, on this day, he lay her down and removed all traces of girlhood. A bit of bark breaks in her hand.

6 . . .

Sweet Paul returned the next day to her door with hand-picked raspberries. They ate until their lips were stained in between kisses that left her raw.

7 . . .

The day she realized her monthly flow had not appeared, Edith walked alone to the shed. She heard a familiar sound.

8 . . .

The dirty, cracked panes could not disguise what she saw. She vomited in the grass and ran when she heard them call her name.

9 . . .

Months later, little Marie was born, bundle of joy to breath new life into a broken heart.

10 . . .

But that was years ago. Edith heard giggles and opened her eyes.

Ready or not, here I come.