So, I know it's been awhile since I've posted any stories. I suffer from chronic uncertainty and a feeling that my writing is subpar -- which is typical for all writers. But I'm determined to push past that and continue to put myself out there.
In that vein, here's a 750-word story I wrote earlier this year. It's Covid-related, which might be a huge turnoff for you, dear Reader, but it's relevant and timely and I wanted this terrible virus to make it into one of my stories. So here it is.
Going On
“Mrs. Jacobs, your blood work looks great. You have the antibodies to fight Covid-19. Of course, masks are still a good idea, particularly if you’re in an enclosed area around other people. But you’ve done your part to be protected.”
Inside my car I remove my mask and apply hand sanitizer liberally. It still feels wrong to be out, but I sit for a moment and breathe. It’s fine. I’m fine.
My phone rings and, as always, I let it go to voicemail. “Hey Valerie, it’s Sue. I was wondering if you’d like to meet for lunch tomorrow, at the new farm-to-table place with the patio seating. It’s been so long and I sure would love to see you.” A long pause.
“Val…I really miss you. Please call me.”
I delete the voicemail and let my thoughts drift. Losing Matt last year had been the worst thing I’d ever faced. Not having a funeral because of Covid concerns had seemed unthinkable, but truthfully, it had been a relief to grieve in private. I existed on auto-pilot, answering the door only for deliveries, mindlessly binge-watching Netflix, returning phone calls with texts. Over time, the texts became fewer. I built my cocoon and built it well.
I may have never left that cocoon but for my sister Lara. Even though we lived 3,000 miles apart, we were always close. A warrior, Lara battled breast cancer twice. But the second time, cancer won. She died a couple months ago. Again, there was no funeral. I didn’t get to give her one last hug, to tell her goodbye, to let her know how very much I loved her. Damn Cancer. And Damn Covid.
Then, last month, out of the clear blue, I got a letter from Lara. Turns out she’d left it in a file of instructions upon her death.
Dear Val,
Fingers crossed this letter never finds its way to you, because I hope – and PLAN – to tear this letter up and tell you this in person. Someday. When the world tilts upright on its axis again and regains its sanity.
I am so sorry I wasn’t there to help you after Matt’s death. I can’t imagine the pain you’ve gone through…and knowing you’ve been all alone breaks my heart. I hope by the time I’m finished with this course of treatment that things will be opening up and getting back to normal. If everyone does their part with getting vaccinated, surely it won’t be much longer. Then I’ll come for a long visit. We’ll make popcorn and drink hot cocoa and watch old Gilmore Girls episodes. We’ll look through old pictures and I’ll make fun of your hair and you’ll make fun of my glasses. We’ll talk until dawn and sleep until afternoon (no Mom to yell at us that we’re sleeping our life away, lol). Being together will heal us. You of your grief and me of my ductal carcinoma. I can’t wait.
But…if you’re reading this, that means we didn’t get to be together…didn’t get to do all the things. Instead, it means that I get to ask you One Big Thing. My final request, if you will. And you are obliged to do it, Big Sis (I know…you hate it when I call you that). So here goes.
Valerie, you have to promise me that you’ll GO ON. That you’ll get the vaccines and get back out in the world. That you’ll open yourself up to friendship, to life, to love. I know you too well, and while you can survive in a vacuum, you’ll never thrive. And you, my dear sister, were meant to thrive.
So promise me now, Val, right this very minute. Because if you don’t I swear to God I’ll come back and haunt you. I’m not even kidding.
I’ll love you forever.
Lara
When I first read that letter, I fell to my knees and wept, for all the times that had been and for all the times that would never be. And, just as she’d known I would, I promised my little sister I would do it. For her, I would go on.
That was the day I made the appointment for my first vaccine. And called my old friend Sue, apologizing for being distant for so long and telling her that once we were both fully vaccinated, we’d get together for sure.
So now, I press a button on up my phone. “Hey friend, it’s me. Yep. So, what time is lunch tomorrow?”
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