1. Goodbyes
Her face stared back at her from the flat plane of the mirror. She leaned close, the better to see the lines at the corners of her eyes, the deep troughs that ran from her nose to her chin, framing her mouth in smiles. She was inches from the mirror as she subjected each feature to the utmost scrutiny. This was another year, and she was not displeased by what she saw. Her face had seen many terrible days in the past year, but it had seen moments of joy, too.
She stepped away and pulled her hair back. She squared her shoulders and studied resolutely the effect of the plain black dress. It was severe, as she had intended. Her face was purposefully nude. Had the day been any different, she would have felt naked preparing to leave the house without the slightest hint of mascara or at the very least some tinted lip balm. Instead, she faced the mirror and set her mouth into a firm line. As she left the bathroom, she tucked a few tissues into her clutch and flipped off the light switch.
Outside the bathroom, the hallway was empty. Faint, piped-in organ music played overhead as she walked deliberately toward the open door at the end of the hall. She paused in the doorway. The man in the charcoal suit and silver tie saw her and came forward to meet her, taking her hand with both of his. He spoke in a low, baritone voice that was deep enough to comfort and appropriately gravelly. He gestured into the room and she nodded, stepping past him.
The space in front of her was filled with flowers. Set on varying pedestals, the arrangements were of myriad sizes and compositions. Peace lilies seemed to be a favorite, and she paused to examine the note attached to one.
She could avoid it no longer. Her feet brought her to the edge of the world. Her eyes traveled everywhere but where they ought, going from right to left and jumping back to the flower arrangements. She let them settle on their own in front of her, on the face resting gently on the silken pillow. The golden warmth of the oak wood was a sharp contrast to the faintly gray visage resting, eyes closed, upon the pillow. Her hand reached out of its own volition and lightly touched the hands folded neatly on the chest. Her fingers drew back instinctively at the coolness, at the unnatural stillness. She looked on the face of her husband and closed her eyes in farewell.
Her face stared back at her from the flat plane of the mirror. She leaned close, the better to see the lines at the corners of her eyes, the deep troughs that ran from her nose to her chin, framing her mouth in smiles. She was inches from the mirror as she subjected each feature to the utmost scrutiny. This was another year, and she was not displeased by what she saw. Her face had seen many terrible days in the past year, but it had seen moments of joy, too.
She stepped away and pulled her hair back. She squared her shoulders and studied resolutely the effect of the plain black dress. It was severe, as she had intended. Her face was purposefully nude. Had the day been any different, she would have felt naked preparing to leave the house without the slightest hint of mascara or at the very least some tinted lip balm. Instead, she faced the mirror and set her mouth into a firm line. As she left the bathroom, she tucked a few tissues into her clutch and flipped off the light switch.
Outside the bathroom, the hallway was empty. Faint, piped-in organ music played overhead as she walked deliberately toward the open door at the end of the hall. She paused in the doorway. The man in the charcoal suit and silver tie saw her and came forward to meet her, taking her hand with both of his. He spoke in a low, baritone voice that was deep enough to comfort and appropriately gravelly. He gestured into the room and she nodded, stepping past him.
The space in front of her was filled with flowers. Set on varying pedestals, the arrangements were of myriad sizes and compositions. Peace lilies seemed to be a favorite, and she paused to examine the note attached to one.
She could avoid it no longer. Her feet brought her to the edge of the world. Her eyes traveled everywhere but where they ought, going from right to left and jumping back to the flower arrangements. She let them settle on their own in front of her, on the face resting gently on the silken pillow. The golden warmth of the oak wood was a sharp contrast to the faintly gray visage resting, eyes closed, upon the pillow. Her hand reached out of its own volition and lightly touched the hands folded neatly on the chest. Her fingers drew back instinctively at the coolness, at the unnatural stillness. She looked on the face of her husband and closed her eyes in farewell.
