Lightning in a Mason Jar

by Catherine Mann

Changing my identity and leaving behind everything familiar should have been difficult. Traumatic, even. Except it wasn’t. Because from birth, we women aren’t tethered to our names.

In the silence that followed came a soul-deep realization. Phillip intended to keep me institutionalized forever and take what was mine for himself.

They say secrets don’t make friends, but in my opinion that wasn’t the case. Sometimes they make best friends, the necessary sort.

There had even been a short mention of the tragic death of his first wife in a drowning accident and how after seven years, she—I—had been declared legally dead.

Sometimes the best way to pull yourself back together is to help somebody else.”

“You’re worth the wait,” he said. “You’re my lightning in a bottle, that once-in-a-lifetime event. Difficult. Challenging. And exciting beyond belief.”

“We’re in the South,” I reminded him. “So that should be lightning in a Mason jar.”

Goodbyes were hard. But they were all the tougher when saying farewell to nothing but a tombstone.