Stu sat listening to Lola’s breathing. Her skin was ivory wax. Puffs of air escaped through her cracked lips as he strained to hear, adrenaline screaming through him between each inhale and exhale.
Lola woke when the nurse changed out the empty pain pump. Stu grabbed her hand. If he squeezed, surely it would shatter.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, softly.
“What? Who?” Her eyes were glassy, whether with pain or meds, he didn’t know.
“Lola, it’s Stu. You’re in the hospital, honey.” Lord, give me the strength to get through this. For better or worse, I said. This is worse. Give me the strength to give her the peace she needs to get through worse.
“Oh.” Lola looked around, then focused on Stu. She lifted her hand to his face, her wedding band sliding around her emaciated finger.
“Do you remember what Daddy said the night you asked him to marry me?”
Stu smiled. “Hard to forget a night like that. It’s not every day someone tells you you’re too damn young to marry and to get out before they give you a reason to call it a shotgun wedding.”
Lola laughed, then coughed, shattered glass rattling in lungs full of fluid. Stu willed the tears back.
“Was it worth it?” Lola asked.
“What?”
“This,” Lola said. “All of it. Starting with nothing, putting up with me for forty years, and then having my body give out before the warranty was up. You would have done better with Chrissy.”
“It was Catherine, and no. You’re all I ever wanted. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Tears trumped will.
“Not even the dark parts?” Lola asked.
“Especially not the dark parts,” Stu said. “That’s when I learned how strong we are.”
“Not even this?”
“No. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Stu, I’m scared.” Lola’s eyelids looked heavier, and he could tell she was fighting to stay awake.
“Lola. Look at me. Don’t be afraid. He won’t leave you, and neither will I.” Stu gripped her hand more tightly, breakage be damned.
“Promise?” Her eyes drifted closed.
“I do.”
This small scene is part of a larger fictional work in progress. This particular piece was written for Write on Edge, an online writers’ workshop. The prompt: you have 350 words to craft a fiction or creative non-fiction piece inspired by a specific song.
The song I used for inspiration is Andrew Peterson’s “Dancing in the Minefields.” Please, please, please go watch the official video on YouTube. I promise it’s worth it.
So sad. How I’m dreading this moment to come in my own life.
Me, too. Thank you for reading.
Oh Angie, that is beautiful. Can’t wait to click over to the song that inspired it.
Thank you, Cam! I hope you did listen to the song. What did you think? It’s one of my favorites, and the video is beautifully done.
This was such a touching piece and it related so well to the song and film clip. I loved your use of metaphors. I particularly liked the bit about her ring moving on her emaciated finger, it gave such a strong visual. I have experienced this scene numerous times and I was right there in the story. Thanks, Angie for creating such an emotional story.
I’m so glad you listened to the song and watched the video. They paint a tremendous picture, don’t they?
Thank you for reading, and for your kind words.
This is gorgeous. Your details are so authentic, particularly the squeezing of her hand, needing to do that more than worrying about the physical strength she had left. I remember reaching for my grandma’s hand when she was in hospice, worried I would hurt her but wanting her to feel me there. Gorgeous.
I’m beginning to appreciate the WoE word limit for what it does to the paring down of those details to only the most critical ones. I was fighting it there for a while, but I’m beginning to see how it can really tighten a piece.
Thank you for reading!