Twenty-Six

Memoir

Twenty-six and dead.

 

Staring at the obituary, the words 'died unexpectedly'. Lost in a black and white still-life face staring back and I know it so very well.  Alive, in color, my inner reel-to-reel projects him.  Alive again, and fractions of an inch from me, nose to nose, watching his eyes close, mouth drawing closer and the heat as his lips invade mine.  The rush of surrender leaps from the time capsule locked in my sacral core.  His hand with skin so hot against my neck, how can I still feel it?

 

“I’ve missed you,” I say silently.

“I never left.” He replies in my secret ear.

 

Twenty-six and dead.

 

I look up, my family before me.  My husband smiles, my daughter plays in her cereal, and I smile back.