The six o'clock Wheel of Fortune program played on the television. It was just how it had always been, their favorite show playing as the lamp on the end table produced a soft glow, just enough to read by. Jim sat in his recliner with his hands resting in his lap and his bifocals perched on his nose. Pat called out another letter for Vanna to show on the board, and the crank of the spinning wheel echoed throughout the room. Jim wasn't watching, though. He was staring at the couch next to his chair, right where his wife had sat for the past forty-three years. She wasn't there right now, which saddened Jim. The loss weighed heavy in his chest. They had always watched together. But she would be back. She always was.
The program played for a half hour until the next show began. After the final spin, shortly before seven-thirty, Jim clicked off the television with his remote and took off his glasses. He pulled himself up and grabbed his cane from the wall. Turning off the light, he shuffled to his room. When he got there, his wife, Ellie, was on the bed.
"Oh. Hi, Jim," she said. She was already in her leopard pajamas, her slippers next to the bed. Jim smiled and sat next to her.
He said, "You missed the program. You never miss the program." He was hurt. She smiled sadly at him.
"You know I couldn't be there. Things are different now." She turned to the side a bit and patted the bedspread where Jim slept. The sheet didn't crumple.
He moved around the bedpost, careful of his step at the rug. It was new. His son, Jerry, had put it there yesterday before he left, saying something about stains. It didn't matter, though, not while Ellie was there.
As he sat, he leant his cane against the wall and pulled his legs up to lie down. "They're not different," he grumbled. "The only thing different is that you avoid me and Jerry is trying to trick me."
"Jerry wouldn't lie to you. He loves you."
"Well, it sure doesn't seem like it. He and the kids keep telling me stuff. I don't like it." He frowned and looked at the doorway. Ellie didn't respond. When Jim looked back, she wasn't paying attention. He sighed and rolled over, and he turned off the light. He fell asleep, too tired to notice how cold the bed was.
YOU ARE READING
A Not-So-Distant Memory
Short StoryA man mourns his wife, and in his (fictional) longing and denial of grief, he imagines that she is still there. His actions hurt his family and threaten to pull them apart.
