‘I didn’t write these, I am twenty three,’ Meredith shouts, spittle flying from her mouth, reaching out in anger, throwing several books to the floor.
‘We got married Meredith, we honeymooned in St Lucia and bought a house, the house we live in now, and had two sons,’ Roy says, returning the books to the shelves, looking around, waiting for a security guard to turn up and ask them to leave.
‘No! Where is Roy? I have been waiting for him to come home from work all day; we were going to plant the Pansies, the purple ones, the pretty ones,’ Meredith paces up and down, fingers sliding back and forth through her limp grey hair.
‘I am Roy, I am right here sweetheart, come on, look, try to take it in please, you’re were a novelist, here’s your face on the cover.’ Tears make Roy’s eyes feel hot.
‘I never wore my hair like that, it’s a perm, I don’t like perms, I never liked perms,’ Meredith is walking further away, itching her head and Roy needs to stop her wandering off or heaven knows what will happen.
Grabbing her by her hand, he leads her out into the fresh air, gulps hard, and fights back tears. He stands still and tries to stay calm, thinks it’s getting harder and when it is going to stop and he’s losing her to this disease, this wretched disease and he will lose her again in death.
Six Sentence Story, hosted by Uncharted Blog.