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Velvet Notes
by Sara Harricharan 
01/18/08
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I shouldn't have picked it up.

I should've just left it right where it was and not bothered to let it slip under my skin.

After all, I'm not a sentimental person, little insignificant things have little or no consequence on my daily life, so why should I even begin to acknowledge them?

It was her favorite. The little black notepad, with the velvet cover. She'd planned to use it as soon as she finished the blue one.

Our daughter had snatched that one up right away. She'd cried a few tears over it and then offered to help me take care of the furneral arrangements.

It meant more to her than me, so I let her do it, instead, setting apart a mere hour per day to brood over the loss of my dearest soul mate.

The one hour would ravage me from the inside out as I remembered every little quirk that made up the wonderful angel she was.

How her nose wrinkled just before she laughed, the little beauty mark in her right eyebrow, the half-moon scar at the nape of her neck, the many colorful bracelets that jangled when she moved.

In the days that followed, every evidence of her creativity ebbed away into the practical, empty, organized way of my life. The hand-painted wooden blinds were taken by my daughter and replaced with simple, plastic ones.

My son took care of the rest of things, encouraging me to get back to 'normal'.

I didn't know what normal was anymore.

There was nothing left inside of me to protest selling her momentos at a garage sale.

In a singular act of rebellion, I stole the velvet pad.

Placing it upon my desk, I sat in the leather chair and moved the pad until it was in a ray of sunlight.

The only brightness in my home.

My fingers traveled over the soft, fuzzy surface and I toyed with the idea of writing inside.

Gently, carefully, I opened it to the first page.

Tears broke lose from my cemented composure and splattered on the clean surface, mingling with her flowery-handwriting as she declared the notepad her favorite.

My hands found a pen and I slowly scrawled my name next to hers.

Relief flooded me like the peace God sent us on our wedding day.

It wasn't a lot, but it was enough.

Perhaps tomorrow I would write a little more.

Copyright 2008

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