This will be posted in three parts. I told you more was coming!
I don’t have a title for it yet, but this was a fun little way for me to work on writing from a female perspective, something I haven’t done before. No J. Edgar Hoover-esque shenanigans ensued ; so sorry to disappoint.
I don’t want to thank God. Or anybody else. I got through another week, that’s it. Plain and simple.
Plain and simple, like me. I watch life. That’s what I do.
Have done, even. It feels like years since Sam died, but it’s been months and I’m still here. Still here, still alive, still watching everybody else’s lives because they’re in motion, passing me by.
I still have the necklace he got me. It’s a little box. He called it his Little Sammy treasure chest; he was always a little funny like that.
He said, “Kaye, keep that treasure chest safe. It’s got something very important to me in there, and if pirate marauders were to swing in and take you away, they’d be stealing my heart…” he paused, and grinned. “and then they’d plunder your booty.”
I think about that day and a little smile cracks my face, as my fingers dance on the treasure chest. I don’t smile much anymore. Don’t have a reason to.
I give this one to the mirror, because it’s the only person I can give it to without feeling like a mannequin.
The necklace only comes off when I shower. For fifteen minutes a day, it lays there.
I turn the faucets off, and step out of the shower. My curly hair is a wet clump on my head, and it clings to my body. I used to have a little pouch down there, right below my stomach. My body is lean now – not from exercise or from starving – but just is.
My body just doesn’t feel whole anymore. It’s like he took the jiggle of my butt with him.
What does make me feel a little better, though, is watching. My neighbors, for one. They don’t know they’re my neighbors, but they’re across the street, they leave their shades open a lot, and I can see what’s going on most of the time. I watch how they joke and play with each other. I see them have fights, and I see them make up. It reminds me of the way things used to be, and I feel a little warmer.
And then, there’s work. I walk down the street and serve people coffee at a place called Mabel’s. I give them a little warmth to drink, they give me cold bills and change. Once in a while, one of the guys buys a latte and thinks that comes with a side order of Kaye’s number. Some of them, you just wish they’d go away, and go after some other barista. But none of them come close to Sam.
Well, maybe one. His name’s Paul. He’s a sweetheart, and comes in every Friday. Same time, same silly order. The first time he came in, he ordered a venti blueberry smoothie, and when he got flustered, it was really cute. He was a little out of it, and thought Mabel’s was the Tango Juice around the corner.
Every week since, he comes in and orders it, pretends to get mortified, and settles for my recommendation – which is a cup of Earl Grey. Then he asks me about my week. The usual, I tell him.
I think, aside from that, the thing that makes me happiest is the time right before bed, when I can’t think straight and I don’t feel empty inside.