What's Left Unsaid | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: What's Left Unsaid | Previous Challenge Entry
By Zacharia Fox
02/04/15
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I smiled, pretending it was the pigeons that made me happy. Reaching into the seed bucket, I brushed Marilyn’s knuckles before tossing seed to the concrete, which put the vagrant birds in a frenzy.

Marilyn smiled, face wrinkling in patterns organic as tree-bark. “They’re so easy to please. Funny little creatures. Aren’t they, Ira?”

At her voice, my heart fluttered like the pigeon’s wings as it had when I wore a letterman jacket and her a gingham dress. Back then, I’d taken her for granted. A thousand charming responses ran through my mind, but as usual, I settled with what was comfortable. “Yes.”

I peeked at her as a warm breeze played with her curls. Though the skin around them hung loosely, her sky-blue eyes retained the vibrancy I’d always associated with her.

She sighed heavily before she said, “It’s a nice day for April. Do you think the snow’s gone for good?”

I glanced at the clouds, recalling the Farmer’s Almanac prediction I’d read and reread. “Could be.”

Marilyn nodded, turning back to the pigeons. She reached into the bucket, but withdrew quickly as I reached for the seed. Tossing seed to the birds, she said, “I’ve got to finish an afghan before my granddaughter comes to town. I’m going to head home, Ira.”

As she leaned toward the edge of the park bench, my chest tightened, and I prayed desperately for the courage to say what I’d, for so long, left unsaid. “Marilyn. I’m sorry about Jack.”

She sat back and studied me curiously. “We had a good life together. It’s been a hard year, but I’m happy he went peacefully.”

“Me too.” I swallowed hard, trying to hold her eyes.

“You know, it’s funny, Ira. I didn’t always want to be the wife of a tailor. Before the war, I saw my life going quite differently.” She fiddled with the seed in the bucket, still bathing me in her gaze.

My breathing quickened. Tracing the rim of the bucket, I imagined my fingers interlacing with hers. “I liked you,” I said quietly, before looking away. Her hand kissed mine, and I turned back at her.

“And I liked you.” Her eyes were gentle, as she angled toward me.

Her finger glissaded over my hand. Goosebumps rose to my arm. “Why did you choose Jack?” I asked.

She smiled, looking away. “I waited for you, Ira. God knows how many times I hoped you’d say something. But you were lazy about it.”

I felt naked and strange, so I withdrew my hand. “Jack was a good man.”

Marilyn nodded, but her eyes were cold. “Jack told me how he felt for me. Eventually, I felt something for him.”

There was something I wanted to say, but when I went to talk, all that came out was, “These pigeons are nice.”

Marilyn stared distantly into the park. “Yeah. Well, I’ve got to finish that afghan.”

I grabbed a handful of seed and pitched it to the birds, who scurried frantically.

Marilyn stood slowly and looked at me. “Thanks for the company, Ira.”

When she turned to leave, my heart leapt in panic. “Marilyn.” She turned and graced me with her striking blues. Tears stung my eyes as I fought for words I’d left unsaid. “I love you.”

A tear spilled from the corner of her eye. “Ira,” She said softly, smiling with more pain and more happiness than I’d ever seen a person wear. “Same time tomorrow?”

I nodded, as tears tumbled from my eyes.

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