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"Untitled"
She sits in quiet dissatisfaction, her weathered blue eyes piercing through the window to her left. She surveys all that is around in the scenery outside—a tall Redwood forest, knee-high grass, and a dilapidated shack that used to house various gardening tools. To the right of the shack is a small plot of earth with a small, poorly made tombstone clamoring for attention and care. She looks away briefly and closes her eyes tightly, visibly fighting back tears wanting to form.
She slowly stirs from her chair, faltering only slightly from the effort. She steadies herself once on her feet so she won't collapse. Shuffling toward the porch, she passes several antiquated picture frames with photos of loved ones and friends from her younger days. Days that have long since passed, days when she was young and vibrant and full of life. Days nearly forgotten to time. Sadly she pauses to stare at one of her and a young looking man with a Priest's collar.
“Ten years tomorrow.” she mumbles, her wrinkled hand carefully placing the photograph face-down.
Every step away from the photo she takes makes her feel lonelier and lonelier. All she can think in the back of her mind is how much she misses that man in the photograph. The world has only grown more and more unkind to her as she has aged. It gets harder and harder to get out of bed, harder and harder to even motivate herself to eat and try to care for her yard and garden.
She cries out softly as she falls to her hands and knees, a misstep into some wooden figure on the ground, something akin to a child's plaything. Furious, she grabs it and throws it into the kitchen, letting out a mournful cry.
“Why has God abandoned me?” she mutters, the tears no longer able to hold themselves back as they streak her cheek and stain the dirt covered floor.
She slams her hand down onto the ground as if the action would bring back all the people she misses. Sobbing still, she forces herself to rise to her feet. As she brushes herself off, she hears a sound. She picks her head up and looks ahead to see if she can spot what caused it. Nothing. Just as there has been for the past ten years. Then the sound comes again, back into the kitchen.
Curious, she approaches the direction of the sound and shuffles into the kitchen, her feet barely able to pick themselves up at all. The sound grows louder, stronger with each step she takes. She gulps and tries to say something, but can't seem to find the words. Then she halts long enough to listen for it again. It sounds like a person talking.
“W...who goes there?” she whimpers weakly after finding the courage to speak.
Nothing. She droops her head a little, shaking it as if to be dismissive of the sound. Then it comes again, this time loud and clear.
“My dear Ruth, you should be able to recognize your own husband.” the voices responds softly.
Her heart sank a little bit at the response, the voice sounding very much like her dear, long-departed husband.
“No...please don't play such horrid tricks on an old woman!” she yells almost bitterly.
But it wasn't a horrid trick. Her husband walked in through the kitchen's outside door and smiled at her, extending his hand to hers.
“Come now, don't be so silly.” he replies.
She slowly extends her own hand, not sure of what's going on. This guy looked just like him back in his younger years—when he wanted to become a Priest and was training in seminary, long before he decided to break off the idea to be with her. She gulps and takes his hand rather trustingly, not sure of what's going to happen.
“That's my girl.” he coos, smiling dotingly at her.
Before she can even form a response, she finds herself dancing with him very slowly, as if to a soft dirge. She feels invigorated, happy. She feels young and excited! She looks around and sees she's no longer in her kitchen, but at the small ballroom where they finally realized how much they loved each other. She was no longer old and covered with varicose veins and wrinkles, but young and vibrant again. Her hair was no longer nearly fallen out, but long and wonderfully blonde again.
“Oh Grant...” she whispers, starting to cry.
“Shhh, my dear Ruth. I've heard your prayers over all these years and I've come to take you to a happier place. So please stop crying and smile for me. I've missed you so much.” he says, resting his cheek against hers in a loving manner.
She finds herself wanting to ask what was going on and how they had gotten where they were and what he meant by what he had said, but she knew it would be better to enjoy the moment for as long as it could last. They danced every which way in the ballroom, laughing gaily and like a newly formed couple. The worries that once drowned her mind were gone, the sorrow and the pain were nonexistent. She was happy again and that was all that mattered. She knew she was in a much better place.
She died in the embrace of her ghostly lover while in her young form not too long after, but it was quite alright with her. She'd been granted the only thing she had ever truly wanted since his death and that was to see him again. She was found a couple of days later when a couple of people interested in the land and house stopped by to try and convince her to move to a nursing home. She was buried next to her husband's grave next to the dilapidated shack like she had wanted. Her tombstone read “At home with my husband at long last.”
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