Young Love
“Come on, Em, share!”
Emily laughed as she painted jam on her last quarter of toast, then waved it in front of Denny’s face before cramming the whole piece into her mouth. As she chewed, she rose from the table, dancing around until she swallowed the last of it, just as the toaster popped.
Still dancing to a tune only audible to her, she wiggled her way to the counter, plucking two slices from the machine. She did the Charleston on her way back to the table. Swaying her hips, she set the toast on her plate. She applied butter, followed by jam, then cut four perfect triangles before setting the plate in front of Denny.
Denny’s eyes had followed his new wife in her joyous romp around the kitchen. He grinned his appreciation, biting into her offering.
“See,” Emily said, leaning over him to kiss his jam-lined lips, “I always share.”
Denny reached for her, but she skipped back, laughing. “Shift over.”
Denny obliged, making room on the bench that served as seating at the back of the table. Perfect for the kids they would one day have. Toast forgotten, they lost themselves in the wonder of new love.
As the memory dissolved, Emily returned to reality. Looking down through tear-filled eyes at her uneaten breakfast, she sighed. No use crying over the past. She took hold of her walker, placed the toast on its seat, then shuffled over to the garbage. She didn’t seem to have much appetite these days.
After a quick call to her son George to make sure he was on his way, she dressed slowly and carefully. She had to look her best for Denny, though most days he didn’t remember her anymore. Maybe today would be a good day and they would laugh together as they had in their youth.
Emily didn’t like Denny seeing her use the walker. She clung to George’s arm as he supported her through the door to his father’s room. Denny, frail in his wheelchair, lit up as he took in her dress. “I remember the first time you wore that Em. You’re still beautiful in it.”
Today was a good day.
As I sometimes do, I took a prompt from a contest for this story. In this case, it was Furious Fiction. The story had to start with a four-word sentence, something had to be shared, and the words paint, wave, toast, and shift had to appear. I hope you liked what I did with it.
I love comments and prompts. Please feel free to leave either or both!
A touching story on the frailty (and speed) of life.
Accepting that growing older is a gift not granted to everyone, a gift to celebrate every day, I also accept that I will change. How wonderful that we know there will still be good days, days to add to our memories. Good days with family, good days with friends. I really like this one. Thank you, as always, my dear friend 💕