Shelf Life

Finally, you managed to disconnect it, a triumphant, yet somewhat heartrending moment. Carefully you hold it in front of you, stretching your arms out to admire it in the light. Something so familiar now seems alien. Over time, its been worn; aged, yet it still holds its beauty.

The hint of sadness tugs as you realize there is no turning back. It’s over. You’ve worked so diligently to free it, several hours of intricate labour, sweat pouring from your brow and what a mess you’ve made. Later will be spent toiling in the garage cleaning this up. Now you take a final look before you finish taking it apart.

You study each angle turning it slightly to the left then right. Small pieces. That’s what you will need to fit it in these boxes. You sigh deeply, grab it firm and tuck it under your arm as you pull some tools from your toolbox.

You whittle and scrape forming gaping holes, making it look hollow and soulless. A knife slice here and there. You place all the parts along your workbench and clean each piece spotless before storing them away.

Lastly, the hard part. Finding your wife’s old lawn chair in the corner, you take a seat. With a tight grip, you pry each tooth from her lifeless head. It’s a tedious task but you’ve marked each box carefully; one for her teeth, one for her ears and one for her eyes.

You smile knowing that her shelf life will be endless, unlike her life before. Eternity. She’ll have eternity.