Memories on a Bench

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

This story portrays an older woman speaking about some memories she has had with her husband.

"To think that just the other week we sat here on this exact bench, no talking, just letting the moment speak for itself."
She gives a small chuckle.
"You never did say much when we sat on this bench did you? You never said a lot at home either for that matter. But that's what I loved about you, whenever I talked, you were always there to listen."
Leaning back against the back of the old bench, breaking and warped by the years of being out in the sea air. She lets out a small sigh, the only sounds that can be heard are the gentle movements of the waves coming onto the beach, and the faint sound of laughter in the distance. Seeing a young couple holding hands on the beach and laughing, she closes her eyes as a sad smile spreads across her face.
"That used to be us remember? Holding hands while walking down the beach, splashing through the water in our bare feet. Oh those were the good. The simple times..."
She lets her hand fall to the seat of the bench, slowing moving it back and forth. Letting her fingertips move over the surface now smooth from years of people sitting on it.
“50 years. Can you believe that?”
She takes in a shaky breath.
“It feels like it was only yesterday when you showed up to my house for our first date, and nearly ran off just as fast when my father answered the door.”
She opens her eyes as the sound of laughter rings out again. Looking down to the shoreline, all she can see is two silhouetted figures outlined in the deep red of the final minutes of light.
“I can still remember the first time you kissed me.”
She says as tears start to well up in her eyes.
“We stood on my porch, you reached up and placed your hand on the back of my neck, gave me such a quick and soft kiss that I could barely feel, and ran off. the thing is, that was the first time I knew that we were meant to be.”
As she speaks, she brings her hand up, gently placing her fingers on her lips. Lowering her shaking hand to her neck, she wraps her hand around a small silver sparrow.
“One day we will meet again my love. We’ll sit on our bench again, and smile at each other until our faces hurt. Goodnight my love.”
And as she speaks, the last sparks of light go out, and she closes her eyes, still grasping the sparrow. Leaning back on the old bench, and letting a single tear fall down across her face.

Submitted: January 10, 2014

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