I have been taking a Creative Writing class and I find I am quite enjoying it. I’m not quite sure how creative my writing is, but I am being forced to take a stab at fiction. You get to suffer the fruits of my labor.
Dames Point At Night
Sophie was strong in ways others struggled with. Always able to remain in control during a crisis, perpetually working hard to stay above water financially, doling out advice to the dozens who constantly sought her opinion or approval. Many times, she felt she missed her calling to be a Life Coach. This is probably why she’s my best friend. I need all the life coaching I can get.
Before the cancer diagnosis, Sophie had finally reached a point in life where she felt happy and optimistic about growing older. She left the desire for youthful perfection behind and embraced the extra few pounds, the greying hair, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. It was a fair exchange for the anxiety and self-criticism she experienced in earlier years. As fate would have it, the newfound self-acceptance was cut short and replaced by regret. Sophie spent the better part of the last year battling cancer and thinking about all the things in life she wished she had accomplished when she had the chance. But now her body is tired, her heart is exhausted, and she no longer has any worries about things like never buying a house on the river or taking a monthlong trip to Europe. None of that matters now. She just wants peace. Peace, and one last trip down the river at night.
She hadn’t been able to get out of bed for two weeks, so we were all surprised when she woke up today and asked to go for a boat ride tonight. We had to figure out the logistics, but it all came together. David, her husband who adores her, and I carried her down the dock to the boat. It struck me like lightning during a summer thunderstorm how she weighs next to nothing now. She insisted on sitting on the bow instead of in the seats at the back of the boat. She said she likes riding on the bow at night because the lights from the bridge twinkle on the water like fairy lights, and you can see it best if you sit up front with your legs dangling over the edge. She isn’t strong enough to sit up here on her own, so I’m sitting behind her, my arms tightly around her waist while she leans back against me, our legs dangling over the side. I feel kind of special because this might be the first time in her life that she’s allowed herself to lean on anyone, literally or figuratively.
It’s hurricane season, and the weather has been violent the last few days. But tonight, the river is like glass and the air is just warm enough to feel good against the skin. The boat is gliding across the water like a bird soaring in a gentle breeze. David is at the helm, taking care to visit all the spots he knows she loves. Every now and then, he slows to an idle and says, “Remember the time…?”. Each time he finishes recounting a memory, she nods her head and says “Yes, that was a good day.” We went on like this for about two hours before Sophie turned her head towards me and said, “See? Isn’t it pretty?” A moment later, in barely more than a whisper, I heard her say, “Today was a good day”. I felt her body go limp against mine as she took her last breath. She was right. The lights twinkling on the water do look just like fairy lights.
REEL LIFE YARNS 