A Perfect Storm

 

old gravestonePINIMAGE

He’s gone. Finally.

 

We’re putting him in the ground today.

 

Alone.

 

Forever.

 

Only eight people are coming.

 

Most of them never knew him, and those that did, won’t shed a tear.

 

I wonder why it had to end this way?

 

Why did I have to be a part of it?

 

When I met him on that blind date he was charming, and generous- Swept me off my feet, and I wanted ‘out’.

 

A perfect storm.

 

We didn’t date for long and I took him home to meet my parents early on.

 

He was handsome, and flirted with my mother. She liked it. I was proud.

 

The date was set, invitations sent, and presents received, until he lost his temper.

 

I cancelled the marriage.

 

He called every day for a month to say how sorry he was and how he couldn’t live without me.

 

I cried in my mattress on the bunk in my parent’s trailer.

 

I looked up at linoleum tiles covering the ceiling, swatting the flies coming in through the torn screens.

 

I packed a bag and caught a midnight bus meeting him at the station two states away- and we were married, with strangers for witnesses.

 

Strangers for life.

 

Lies had been told. I didn’t know the difference.

 

There was no job.

 

There was no house.

 

We moved in with his parents, who I barely knew.

 

They were very cautious. It would only be years later that I would find out he had done this before.

 

But I was pregnant- and life had begun, through endless job terminations, dubious acquaintances, fits of rage, lies, other women, bad decisions, and fast cars.

 

And we couldn’t pay the rent and I couldn’t keep my girls safe.

 

Eight feet deep isn’t deep enough.

 

 

This piece is part of a writing prompt provided by Indie Chick Lit, which was:
Your husband/wife (that you secretly hated) of 50 years has just passed away. Write the funeral scene.
I found it on the amazing blog Suburbia Interrupted written by the awesome Dani Walker. Thanks Dani!

 




  • Marjie Murter Walenta - Unfortunately, I can relate to this tale to a degree. My story is real, and it is different, but the outcome is the same, and just as sad. Thank you. Even though yours is fiction, it helps me.ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - I’m so glad we can share this Marjie. I’m sticking by my FICTION notation. Maybe someday I’ll write it as fact.ReplyCancel

  • Susan Bonifant - Right out loud I gasped, at this. Very, very powerful.ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - OMG! Such an endorsement! Thank you Susan. I consider that a supreme compliment. Thank you.ReplyCancel

  • Carol Cassara - I’m tweeting this!
    Carol
    http://www.carolcassara.comReplyCancel

  • Kathleen O'Donnell, Author - You know what they say…the truth hurts!ReplyCancel

  • Jane Gassner (@MidLifeBloggers) - Wow, fiction or fact–this is one helluva piece of writing. That, for me, is all that counts.ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - Wow! Thank you. Comments like this are the reason I keep doing what I do. have I said , ‘THANK YOU’?ReplyCancel

  • Sue Pekarek - Eight feet deep isn’t deep enough! Have to tweet and share. Looking forward to the sequel.ReplyCancel

  • Carollynn Hammersmith - Very cool. Does this tie into the photo you shared on Fb the other day?ReplyCancel

  • Alana - Excellent, excellent story. A good friend of mine escaped, with her life and little else, from her first marriage. She had no home and lived in her car.ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - This was my fiction but a fact for someone very close to me. I think these stories should be told! Thank you for stopping by Alana and sharing. I appreciate it.ReplyCancel

  • Melissa Baker - Great piece of writing!ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - Thank you Melissa. I wish I knew how you stopped by- I’d post there more! Are you a writer?ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - Thank you Melissa! So wonderful to see you here!ReplyCancel

  • Mari Collier - I really could not get into a prompt like that. Lanny has been gone for twelve years and it still hurts inside. Not the numbing, red clawing ache of the first two years, but my sweetheart, friend, lover, companion will never be on this Earth again. Forty-five years wasn’t long enough.ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - Oh Marie. I sympathize with you so. You are my mentor. I like you.ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - I know Marie. You’ve mentioned this before. I don’t think the prompt had your name in it. Thanks for stopping by anyways my dear friend.ReplyCancel

  • Rena McDaniel - Absolutely terrific! I tweeted also and g+ fb liked. Really, really good!ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - Thank you Rena! I’ve been out of town with no internet (can you imagine?) and have only just now been able to reply. Thank you again. It’s great to see a new reader!ReplyCancel

  • Diane - Oh my! This is fantastic! Everything that you said in so few words! LOVE it!ReplyCancel

    • Cheryl - Thank you Diane! I’m a woman of few words- NOT!ReplyCancel

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