Feet In Socks
by Amy Guth
genre:
Literature & Fiction
description:
Short fictin nominated for a Million Writers Award.
chapters
chapter 1:
Feet In Socks
Feet In Socks
chapter 1
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updated 08/05/08
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1274 characters
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1 person liked it
My husband is dissolving, really, and I have nothing left but to watch him go.
A moment ago, I lit Chanukah candles in the window where he could see them – well, no, not lit them so much as plugged the thing in. His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened and he gasped for breath and I watched the light fall on his wrinkled face and carve out the lines deeper than before. Foolishly, I thought he was dying. Which he is, of course, just not today. I will admit, only here and only to you, that I began to feel relief when I thought death was on the other side and something about dying in candlelight seemed melodramatic but comforting because it wasn’t just any light but... intentional light. Meaningful light. The same light I first saw him in when we were children.
In any case, my husband was just gasping for breath because I had startled him with the lights. I startled him because he had forgotten I was sitting beside his bed and I’d jumped up so quickly. But this is what he always does. You know that. You work here, you see him just as much as I do. He had forgotten I was sitting there, waiting for him to die, and he had forgotten to even recognize me.
(Entire work can be read here.)
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A moment ago, I lit Chanukah candles in the window where he could see them – well, no, not lit them so much as plugged the thing in. His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened and he gasped for breath and I watched the light fall on his wrinkled face and carve out the lines deeper than before. Foolishly, I thought he was dying. Which he is, of course, just not today. I will admit, only here and only to you, that I began to feel relief when I thought death was on the other side and something about dying in candlelight seemed melodramatic but comforting because it wasn’t just any light but... intentional light. Meaningful light. The same light I first saw him in when we were children.
In any case, my husband was just gasping for breath because I had startled him with the lights. I startled him because he had forgotten I was sitting beside his bed and I’d jumped up so quickly. But this is what he always does. You know that. You work here, you see him just as much as I do. He had forgotten I was sitting there, waiting for him to die, and he had forgotten to even recognize me.
(Entire work can be read here.)
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