Mirror to the Soul

I've been quite busy with a newly published novel and another in the works, so some of these shorter stories are on tap for the LIT fans until it's less hectic.

I've read many of the 750-word projects related to the contest lately and have enjoyed most of them. Many were very creative. I've resisted that temptation too, until now. I never saw myself as very good at writing a story THAT short.

But then, while waiting for a client in a restaurant, I noticed something a few booths over that has always intrigued me -- perplexed me, is more like it. I hope you like my attempt. Let me know in the comments. So, minus this intro, and title, here's my 750-word story.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

I'd just finished the sports section of our local paper and was scanning the tabletop for the local section. The place we normally frequented was being remodeled. Glancing to my left, I caught myself in the full-wall mirror across the room from our table. What I saw was so disheartening it shocked my senses.

There, I saw my wife Connie of thirty-two years, sitting across from her husband, Dean. That's me. She was busy reading the entertainment section.

We've all seen it. That couple sitting in a restaurant or other public place, completely ignoring one another. How long had it been? I asked myself.

Almost two years ago, Connie, then 57, had made a dreadful mistake. I, 61 at the time, didn't see it as a mistake, though.

The short version was that Connie and three of her co-workers had arranged a little afternoon delight at a hotel on the other side of town. One of her cousins happened to be there and caught her just entering the elevator, talking her out of it. Screaming and embarrassing her was how I heard it actually went down.

Connie confessed, said she was feeling old and unwanted. She begged. I held off on divorce, not wanting to have to give up half of my life savings. I adopted a 'cheaper to keep her' mentality. That didn't mean I had to be kind or even talk to her -- much.

Our sex life consisted of once every other week. I'd say it was mechanical and just two people trying to get their needs met. We never cuddled at all.

Fly fishing had become my hobby and distraction. It was so peaceful out there away from the rat race my job had become. Away from a long-term wife hellbent on making things up to me.

I'd gone through to entire range of emotions and five stages of grief, then landed on indifference. Sadly, I'd determined I could not forgive her. She didn't go through with it, but she certainly would have, if not for fate.

On the river, I'd dream of retiring soon -- one day. It was only a matter of how to do it while maintaining some of the money I'd accrued and my dignity. It sucks to fail at something you've been doing for over thirty years.

But that couple I'd always sworn to never become was there -- in the mirror -- mocking me.

Was I really going to my grave like this? I internally asked looking at the man staring back with a determined look on his face. No fucking way!

In an instant, my mind was made up. "Do you have the front page there?" I asked my wife, folding what was in my hand.

Connie stopped dead, her eyes slowly finding mine over the printed pages. She closed and folded her section too. Still staring at me, her mouth formed a half-smile. You know things after all those years. She was both elated and dreadful.

"Welcome back, Darling," she said cautiously. "Are we talking about our future or divorce?"

"The latter," I said with little emotion.

Connie's eyes fell and filled with water. "Alright," she nearly whispered. Then with a heavy sigh, "Anyway, I'm still proud of you for making a decision. I won't fight you."

She seemed to wait for me to respond. When I didn't, she continued. "That is if you'll spend the rest of this Saturday talking with me like we used to. We can take a walk in the park, and maybe have dinner tonight at The Crab Shack. Will you do that with me, Dean, for old times' sake?"

I didn't mind that she was bargaining once more. It would be the last time, and I knew it would be cathartic -- for both of us. Now that I'd gotten my head on straight, it was the least I could do after a year and a half of treating her like a roommate.

She folded the papers and reached for my hand across the table. With tear-stained cheeks, she said, "I'm truly sorry for what I did to us, Dean. I'll forever regret it, and I hope you find someone who makes you happy. Now let's get out of here. I don't want to waste another minute of this day."

I paid the check and we walked out, hand-in-hand, into the light of day, and a brave new reality.

I was going to need to update my collection of lures. Who knows, maybe even a small boat?