Got a Minute?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A beautiful story about an old man, his dead wife and angel son.

Submitted: November 03, 2011

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Submitted: November 03, 2011

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Wallace Stanford lost his wife in a car accident on Christmas Day. He walked away from the crash with out a scratch, while his wife bled on the passenger seat. Wallace, up to this day, hasn’t been able to recuperate from the shock of her death. In his mind, it was his fault. He was the one speeding. He was the one who started the argument.

He was the one who caused it.

He lost control.

When his wife was taken to the ICU, the doctor had told him that she may have a slight chance to live. The nurses advised him to pull the plug; because he was hurting himself by hoping for her to live when it was evident she wasn’t going to. But there was a slow heart beat, and a steady breathing. Apparently, that was all the hope he needed; for her to keep breathing. Sometimes, while he slept on the plastic chair outside of her room, he dreamt of her. He dreamt that Mrs. Stanford would wake up and call his name, and assure him that everything will be fine. Other times, while he sat in that same plastic chair, he waited.

After a year of desperate hope; he pulled the plug.

Today he stands in front of a headstone by the name of Mrs. Stanford, on Christmas Day. The snow is coming down heavy, fat snow flakes fall from the sky. A weeping willow, far off to the left imitates his mood. As he moved his head to look to his left, he was started as he saw the young man standing not far from him. Wallace stared at the young man; he didn’t look more than twenty one. The young man stared back at him, his blue eyes intensive; his shaggy black hair, whipping back and forth on his face blocking his sight. When Wallace looked away and back to the headstone of his beloved wife, he heard movement but when he looked back to where the young man stood, he was nowhere in sight.

Taking out a cigarette and lighting it up, he inhaled and exhaled, taking in the harmful nicotine into his scarred lungs. She wouldn’t have approved Wally, he thought. He didn’t care any longer, about his health. He couldn’t wait to leave this hateful world for the peace in the arms of a woman who held him at night when he was lost. Now he felt lost and she wasn’t there to hold him. Wallace remembered the first time he met her; at a flower shop. Her hair silky soft and dark like night. He fell in love with those blue husky eyes, and the red of her lips. Wallace remembered....

“Got a minute?”

He whirled around, one hand to his chest afraid his heart might bust. His breathing came rapid and plausible, he hands shook. And when he could finally see, he saw the same young man. Trying to calm himself down, and trying to speak, he stared. Something about this kid reminded him of someone.

“Do I know you kid?” he asked the shivering young man.

“Nah, we haven’t had the chance.” He stared at Wallace, waiting for a response. But all Wallace could do is stare at boys’ familiarity. He was sure he knew, somehow, this young man.

“Are you lost?” he asked instead.

The young man took his time to answer, and when he did, it only ignited fury in Wallace’s chest. “Can I have a cigarette?”

“No. They’ll kill you.” Wallace threw his to the snowy ground and stomped on it. Now looking back up at that familiar face, he saw a smug grin wide on his flawless face.

“Yeah, like it’s killing you old man?”

Wallace stood silent. He thought that if he didn’t respond to this kids’ taunting he would leave him alone to his misery. But as he stared at the young man, he smiled more broadly, and pointed at his wife’s gravestone.

“She fought for you, y’know?” now staring at Mrs. Stanford’s headstone with a sorrowful face. His eyes became watery, and tear tracks marked his beautiful wintry face. And then he said, “She fought for us all.”

The old man stared, bewildered by the emotion this young man showed. He couldn’t register in his own mind what he meant by what he said, so he asked an obvious question and by face expression the young man had, he expected it.

“What does that even mean boy?”

His face became sterner like, more furious. His lips thinned, his eyes squinted against the snow. And when he raised his head, looking away from the headstone to Wallace, his face fell into sadness. “Look at me.” When Wallace looked stupefied, he repeated more aggressively, “Look at me!”

Wallace did look then, and what he saw scared him. No, he thought, it can’t be. When the young man saw that in the face of the old man was recognition, he smiled. Wallace couldn’t find the right words, and didn’t seem to be able to speak, the shock was too much to handle. How could he have missed it? The same blue husky eyes, the same raven black hair, the pale wintry skin. Wallace’s body shook with sharp tremors, tears ran down his face, and a smile blossomed. He walked towards the young man while he met him halfway to be embraced in a warm and caring hug. They both shook. They both cried.

Wallace remembered the slow heartbeat, the movement in her body as breathing. Nobody told him, nobody checked. Because the woman who was his wife lying in a coma for over a year, was pregnant with a baby. A son.

He kept her alive for a year.

He kept her there for him.

He was a father.

“It’s time old man.” The young man whispered to Wallace’s ear. Nodding, and before he let go of their embrace, the young man kissed Wallace on the cheek. That kiss took away the cold, the fear, the loneliness.

A bright blue light shone from the sky, as they both looked up and levitated towards it. They heard voices, whispers, and singing. They felt at peace, and finally they felt loved.

Down below, in front of Mrs. Stanford’s headstone, lied the body of Wallace Stanford, the man who waited to be with his beloved wife...and son.


© Copyright 2017 Luna Hades. All rights reserved.

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