…that it is true and it shall be so.
He tipped his hat as he picked up the bouquet of red roses.
“Thank you, miss. Have a good day,” he bid the florist who waved back, mouth clamped around an errant ribbon and one hand trying to form a masterpiece out of a floral arrangement.
He stepped out into the sun and he paused to peer up at the sky. Bright beautiful day as always. A typical summer afternoon.
Children squealed and laughed, playing in the street whilst bicycles chimed their bells as they whizzed past down the busy lane. He made his way slowly, inching past couples newly in love who were too busy gazing at each other to move faster on the pavement. Yes, a beautiful day. Maura would love these roses. For sure.
He mumbled a rehearsed speech under his breath.
Oh, no no, Maura. No real special occasion, my dear. I just thought that you would enjoy these roses. Awww, thank you, sweetie. Now, what say you and I break open this bottle of wine and have an impromptu picnic on the grass, eh?
He adjusted the basket that hung from the crook of his left elbow. A short loaf, some cheese, cured meat, and a nice sparkling juice. Easy to pretend it was wine and besides, Maura could never really hold her drink.
Ah, there she was. Always in the same spot, smiling her sweet smile as she sat behind the fence on the grass. He stood in front of her and she looked upon him and smiled some more. That gorgeous smile.
How are you, darling? Here, I thought you might enjoy these roses…they’re fresh today, so says Katie. She just cut them this morning from her greenhouse, she did. Isn’t she just delightful?
He sat himself down on the grass next to her and started laying out the basket. Maura never turned down a picnic on a fine day like this. In fact, she would usually be the one dragging him out instead. He usually preferred to sit on his front porch with a good book and his pipe but she has been a good influence on him. More fresh air and less of that gunk of a pipe, she would say as she wrinkled her nose.
He poured two slim champagne flutes of sparkling grape juice. One for him, one for her. And he clinked his flute gently with hers and took a small sip.
Morning, Tom! How are ya today? Just having a picnic with Maura here. Gotta make the most of today! Its brilliant, isn’t it?
He waved at his neighbour from across the street who was walking past the fence. Tom replied in kind and apologised. Off to the butchers today. Barbecue in the evening and would he like to join?
He shook his head gently.
Thanks but no thanks, ole’ fella, but I gotta keep Maura company here.
Tom hurries off and he talked to Maura about how the sunflowers were really in bloom last week and she missed out on the 7 foot tall growth of one of them. And Rory, little dear Rory, was selected to play Little League for his school. The boy did really well and even scored a goal. Maura should have been there to see his face when the ball went in the net.
You’ve missed out quite a bit last week, Maura.
He paused.
To hell with you missing out, I miss you. I miss you a lot.
And he tipped his hat a little lower over his brow to hide the brimming tears as he avoided her eyes that seemed to peer into his very soul. He did not want her to see him cry. So he looked straight ahead, into nothingness.
And there they sat, for the rest of the afternoon, in quiet contentment, him with his hat low over his face, a picnic basket parked beside the grey tombstone bearing a picture of his wife with an untouched champagne flute of sparkling grape juice.
***
I thought about writing short little stories but this came out a bit longer than I wanted. Oh well. I was really inspired lately by a man who was challenged to write a story in six words. SIX.
So what did he write?
Baby shoes for sale. Never worn.
Now THAT, my friend, is powerful.
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