Carl Motten

Carl Motten is 71 years old and today is his and his wife's anniversary. He will prepare her breakfast, like he has done for her on every anniversary.

CARL MOTTEN

BY MITCHELLTIERNEY

 

Carl Motten is 71 years old. He has been married to his wife, Gloria Motten, for 51 years, and today is there anniversary. Carl woke earlier than usual and creeps out of their bedroom. He shut the door gently behind him and he walks to the kitchen. He tip toes to the sink and fills the kettle. He lights the stove, a blue flame licks the metal, quietly heating the kettle while Carl sneaks outside to the garden. The sun has just risen over the surrounding mountains. He pauses for a moment and admires the view. It will never get old, he thinks to himself, unlike me.

He looks down at his garden that he and his wife planted when they moved into the house 32 years ago. The roses die and come back, die and come back. And when they do, the biggest and most freshest white roses always bloom on their anniversary. Carl bends over, his back protests and creaks. He picks the biggest rose he can see and lifts it to the sky. The yellow sunlight splashes over it like warm butter. The white petals glow and Carl feels a tear form in the corner of his old and wrinkled eyelid. The beauty. He watches a large white cloud drift slowly over his small town. He sniffs the rose and smiles. His weathered skin bunches up under his eyes. He walks back inside.

Carl fetches a tray and places it on the table. He places a hot cup of tea with a squeeze of lemon in one corner, just the way Gloria likes it. He places two crispy, golden-brown, pieces of toast on a plate. Two notches of butter sit on the toast, slowly melting. He cuts a grapefruit and places it on another plate, with a sprinkle of salt. The white rose sits in a small vase on the tray, a splash of water in the bottom. 51 years with one woman, the only woman he has ever loved, he knows her better than he knows himself. On every anniversary he makes her this breakfast. Her favourite.

He picks up the tray and heads to the room. She should be waking about now, he thinks, she never stays in bed too long after I get up. It’s the small things. Carl turns the handle and steps into the room.. His eyes bloom open and he almost drops the tray.

‘Gloria?’

Carls wife is staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes have rolled back into her head and the whites have turned yellow. Her mouth is open. Purple lips are left agape, her tongue has lulled to one side and looks bloated. Her skin is pale and spotted with ugly veins.

‘Oh, Gloria.’ Carl whispers, tears fall from his eyes. They zigzag down his face, catching in his wrinkles before finally falling to the ground. He stands in stunned confusion for several seconds. The sun falls through the white curtains and shines across his feet.

‘Oh my dearest, dearest wife.’ He places the tray down and sits on the bed beside her. He pulls her close to him and gingerly kisses her forehead.

‘I love you Gloria.’ Carl wipes his tears away. It was going to happen, he thought. ‘I wished and wished that it had been me before you.’ He whispers in her ear. His hands shakes uncontrollably as he picks the rose from the vase. He lifts it to her nose.

‘I picked it for you, Gloria, my love.’

Her fingers are curled into the palms, rigid and cold. He holds her for what seems like forever. Her body lifeless.

‘Now, if you’re not hungry I’ll just put it over here with the rest and you can eat it later.’

Carl places the rose back in the vase and picks the tray up. He walks over to the corner of the room. Looking down, there are countless trays on the ground. Some are sitting on the bedside table or on the floor. They are scattered all over the room. Dead and wilted roses scatter the ground, flies and maggots writhe over the rotten food. Carl balances the tray on top of a stack of ten, the tea falls onto the floor, he doesn’t bother to notice. He walks to the bedroom door and turns to see his wife.

‘Enjoy your breakfast, sweetie, I’ll be back in one moment. Please, eat before it gets cold.’ He turns and leaves the room.

In the bathroom, Carl opens the medicine cabinet and fumbles with a bottle. He pops the top off and looks inside.

‘Empty?’ he says, ‘I’ll have to get some more at the store later.’ He places the lid back on and puts it back. The date is three years old. He leaves the bathroom and sits at his favourite chair in the lounge room, until the morning, when it will be his and his wife’s 51 year anniversary.

THE END

Author's Note

Twist Ending. Short read. Have fun, please tell me what you think.
thanks.