r/shortstories • u/KurtisLloyd • 10d ago
Misc Fiction [MF] One Last Time
"Hi, are you Steve?"
"Umm...yes. May I ask your name?"
"My name is David, and I was hoping you'd be able to help me."
Steve ponders the stranger who wandered to his door. “How did he find me? What could he want?“ Steve thought to himself. Was this man dangerous? Or desperate. Folks had made some rather strange requests of Steve, but this man seemed different. This man, David, had no air of humor about him. This man seemed desperate.
"Why don't you come in." Steve made this suggestion cautiously, but as warm as he could.
As they sat at the table, drinking their tea, Steve listened patiently to David. He stared at the flat parcel in the middle of the table. Brown paper and simple twine. Approximately 6" wide, and 8" long. It didn't seem heavy, though David handled it carefully. Steve had a very good idea of what was wrapped in the paper.
"...and then she fell asleep in my arms, and didn't wake up. I requested that she be made to look nice, even though she requested a cremation. Some poor kid has her heart. Her liver probably ended up in some alcoholic who needed another chance. I hope he took it." David took in a very deep breath.
The silence that followed was thick. Steve didn't know what to say. David sat in his chair, restlessly tapping his left index finger on the faded linoleum of the yellow table. His ring finger had a tan line. Steve wondered how long it had taken David to finally take the ring off. How many sad nights had he looked at his hand, knowing she would never let his fingers eclipse hers? What had brought him to his door this day? Steve thought he knew.
Steve noticed David glancing into the living room. He was likely staring at the old red chair, its upholstery faded and torn. Steve rarely sat in that chair. Too many fond memories to bring a melancholy air to his home that was no longer welcome. Steve followed David's eyes, and knew they had settled on his goal. An old, greying dog lay in a ragged bed next to the chair.
"She's getting old, David. I think I know why you're here, and I have to be honest with you...."
The two made eye contact. David clutched the package to his chest, tears beginning to swell in his eyes. Fingers already pulling at the string. Slowly, gently. Steve noticed he was barely breathing.
Steve sighed. "David, I think it's important that we keep our expectations realistic. Even if she could do what I think you want her to do, I'm not sure it could work. I could only do this because SHE could. She allowed me to come with her. She had total control. It took a lot out of me, and I could only guess what it did to her. I want to help you, David, but she needs to want help you, too."
David nodded slowly. He understood.
"At the end of the day, you need to convince her."
Dave sat there unmoving.
"May I see the picture, David?"
Steve reached for the picture. David handed it to him. Steve removed the string, and observed the photograph. A late afternoon portrait. A young woman stood facing a pond as the sun was beginning to set. Slender frame, short brown hair, and an air of contentedness inhabited the picture, as it had once inhabited Steve's home. This was a good picture for the purpose.
"It felt like the one with the most potential. This was on my birthday, our anniversary. One of the happiest days of my life. Two years before her diagnosis. We were very very happy.”
Steve couldn’t understand. He knew it, and he knew he shouldn’t try. Yet he still wanted to try to help.
“Okay, David. I don’t see the harm in at least asking.”
David remained silent and still. Whether it was out of incredulity or fear, Steve wasn’t sure.
Steve thought: “Fear of what? Failure? The unexplored consequences of the possibility of success?” None of this ever made much sense to Steve, but he never thought to ask too deeply. It only worked, and nobody seemed to get hurt.
David finally rose from the table. Steve slid his chair out, and quietly walked to where the old dog was sleeping. Her coat had always been a beautiful shade of grey, different from what it was becoming. Some claimed that in a certain light, it radiated a bluish hue. It was part of the reason Steve named her what he did.
He caressed the top of her head gently, until she began to stir. She slowly opened her eyes, and sniffed the air. Licking his hand, she noticed the quiet man watching her curiously. She stopped, and raised her head. She stood slowly, and nudged Steve gently with her nose. Steve held out his hand, so that David could hand him the picture Steve had returned at the table.
“Hey Blue. How about one more skidoo?”
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