The Mourning Surprise

It was a frigid January morning. Bitter. Everything was cast in that blue gray haze that is typical of the dead of winter. Leafless trees and old, dirty piled up snow. And there it was. That obnoxious noise. Every morning at 6am it came to end the peace that Vera only found in her dreams as of late. She blinked to focus her tired eyes. A sliver of light seeped through her curtains. As usual, the idea of staying in bed and hiding from the world passes her mind. She pulled the blankets over her head, and thought she might give it a try. After all, John was on a business trip. It was her day off too. As she prepared to drift back into dreamland, she felt the pressure or four little paws land on her back. Her dog Pepper was not having it. He was up and he wanted breakfast. And with that second wake up call Vera was up and reaching for her robe and slippers.
She was glad she didn't have to worry about fixing herself up that morning. John didn't like to see her in her robe. Or in sweats. Or without makeup. He thought she looked sloppy and he would quickly remind her that he could have any woman he wanted. She couldn't really argue with that. He was handsome. And successful. She “married up” as he would say. Vera looked at Peppers adorable little Muppet face and immediately felt better. Sometimes she felt more of a connection with him. “Let's go baby, time for breakfast.”
As they made their way down to the kitchen Vera's mind wandered again. Pepper was like her baby. He might be as close as she ever got. She desperately wanted a baby. But John didn't. Or at least not now. He told Vera he would let her know if or when he was ready. She poured Pepper’s food, and poured herself some black coffee. Her eyes drifted to the sugar. And the creamer. She contemplated adding some to her coffee this morning. Just a little. She finally decided to do it. She was on a diet. Only black coffee.John recently told her she needed to lose five pounds. She was down three. She wanted to at least lose one more before he got home.She felt a small sense of excitement at her morning of rebellion. No makeup, good coffee with sugar, and an extra thirty minutes of sleep. She usually got up at 5:30 to get John's things ready and go on the elliptical. She needed to get it done early so she could make his breakfast. But no elliptical this morning. This morning Vera wanted to paint.
She loved to paint. She used to be an art teacher. She loved giving kids an outlet to express themselves in an uninhabited way. Even for just a short part of their day. It was something she still cherished for herself. But, John told her he needed her to stay home and take care of the house. He was old fashioned. He wanted regular meals, a clean house, and someone there to make his daily routine work like a well oiled machine. Vera understood. She made “chump change” as he called it compared to him. He was a lawyer. He thought her career as an art teacher was a joke. Her time was better used making his life easier.
When they first got married, he said he wanted to treat her like a princess. He wanted to be the provider and give her everything she ever needed. He loved her that much. Her mom died when she was 13 and she was kicked out when she was 16. Her stepmother didn't like her. To have someone say they loved her so much and wanted to give her the world meant everything to her. She would do anything to keep that. So she did.
Vera dipped her brush in deep crimson red paint and began to craft a rose petal. She couldn't remember the first time. It began slowly. John would say she had on too much makeup or her skirt was too tight. He would yell at her, or call her a w***e. He once ripped the heels right off her feet and threw them out of the car window on the way home from a party. He accused her of cheating out of nowhere. She never even thought of anyone else. She loved him too much. He did cheat on her, but he said that was okay. He said men had needs and it was just sex. Vera said she wasn't okay with that. He slapped her across the face. He said she should be thanking him for all he provided her. She would be nothing without him. She realized he had split her lip only when she looked in the mirror hours later. She never felt it. Her heart hurt too much to notice a split lip.
Vera came back from that memory to realize she had mixed all the colors on her pallet by accident. She went to the sink to rinse it out. She looked out to the empty driveway. They only had one car. She had to ask John's permission to use it. She also had to ask his permission to use his money. He took her phone away when he was away on business too. He said she only needed to talk to him, so he would call the house if he needed her.
As Vera began to wash the dishes, she touched her swollen black eye gently. He gave it to her just before he left. She had left a few plates in the sink overnight. She had the flu and was too tired to finish them that night. She knew she was stupid and lazy to do that. She knew he would be mad. She should have just done what she was supposed to do. She knew he only hit her when she made him mad. She was determined to do better when he got home.
Vera looked at the clock. 8am. John's flight to Colorado was at 7. He had left the night before to stay at a hotel with his partner near the airport. Or so he said.
Vera flipped on the TV to fold some clothes. She had been folding for only five minutes when she saw a red band appear on the bottom of the screen. Flight from Boston to Colorado crashes...more information still to come. Vera's stomach dropped. She dropped the towels right to the floor. Could that be John's flight? How many were going from Boston to Colorado that morning? She wanted to text John but he took her phone. She grabbed the house phone, but stopped herself. She didn't want to call him yet. If he was on a business call he would be mad if she bothered him. She kept her eyes on the screen. 15 minutes pass. American Airlines Flight 230 departed Logan at 7:30 am this morning...we are told there are no survivors.
Vera dropped the phone right out of her hand. She couldn't breath. Her ears ringed, her chest tightened, her throat burned and her eyes filled. The room began to spin, and she stomach churned. She ran to the bathroom and threw up coffee and bile. Her husband was dead!? John was dead!? She couldn't get her mind around it. She just saw him yesterday. He was healthy, young, now he's dead? A plane crash. Of all the planes and all the people in the world, him? Her mind raced. She panicked. What about his parents, his sister? What about her? What would sge do? Her husband dead. The man she was supposed to spend the rest if her life with. The one she planned to grow old with. She loved him. She loved him? Her mind raced to all that he had done. What their relationship devolved into.
The control, the insults, the hitting. The beating she would get. She could work again now. She could dress how she wanted and go where she wanted. She could call her mom again and see her friends. Suddenly her dispare turned to excitement. It started as a small unfamiliar feeling in the bottom of her chest and grew to a feeling of hope that radiated all over. She felt free. She grieved for John, yes, but as you would anyone who lost their life. Not as a husband. Not as someone you will truly miss. She had grieved that person long ago. Her chest felt so filled with the sudden gift of freedom and liberation.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It must have been someone to notify Vera of John's death. Vera composed herself and prepared herself for what she was about to be told. She fixed her hair, closed her robe and walked to the door. Her chest pounding so hard she heard it in her ears. She pulled the door open and came face to face with John. Vera grabbed her chest and fell to the floor.

Author's Note

This was inspired by the short story "The Dream of the Hour" by Kate Chopin in Vogue in 1894. I read it when I was 14, and the twist always stayed with me.

Reviews

[JoeM]

Why don't pricks die when you want them to?
Great story, you told it well. I felt for her, and that was your skill of the portrayal.

[Jesse J Downey]

This was actually excellent, and honestly enjoyed reading it. Only thing I did not care for was the use of "huge" in the beginning, but the rest of the writing was wonderful. You might want to reformat the paragraphs, the size made it a little hard to keep my place. Anyways ,other than those two things, I thought it was amazing and worth the read.