“This is Jamal from Omega Stone Works.”
The voice sounded friendly enough, but I’ve been fooled before. I took a breath, steeling myself. “What is this concerning? Because if you’re selling, I’m not buying.”
“The monolith,” he said. “It’s ready.”
“Oh.” I stepped back and collapsed into the nearest chair.
“Are you… the wife?”
“Yes.” The word stuck in my throat.
“When will Mr. Richardson be in?”
“Hard to say. I can take the message.”
Jamal cleared his throat and spoke his words with care. “Mr. Richardson mentioned it was a gift. I hesitate only… well, in case it was a surprise.”
“No, I was aware of it. I just didn’t expect… well, I’d forgotten.”
Doug’s monolith.
The trend of monoliths popping up in national parks had inspired Doug. He wanted one in our yard as a conversation piece. I can still see the mischievous glint in his eyes as we discussed it. What could be more cool? Think of it as an anniversary present, he said by way of a selling point. I wanted a cruise for our 25th. Although skeptical, I went along with his idea of the monolith instead. He ordered a tall sculpture to be created by a local stonemason, just weeks before life got complicated.
Jamal’s voice jolted me. “According to my paperwork, the concrete pad was set months ago. Everything is paid for. We can do the installation next week.”
“I can’t.” I shut my eyes tightly. My calendar was open. It was just too soon. “How about the 7th of next month? That would be the perfect day.”
After a rustle of paper, he spoke. “We can do that, ma’am. We will be there around 10 am.”
I dropped the phone on the cradle and took a cleansing breath. I had expected yet another call about selling my home, medical insurance upgrades, or solar installations. I had not been prepared for this gut punch. I glanced at the straw-colored dog curled up in a basket bed on the other side of the room. Doug’s dog. My companion.
“Hey Sweet Pea, come on over here, girl.”
Sweet Pea lifted her head and gave her tail a half-hearted wag before dropping back to sleep. I sighed. Why would I expect her to respond differently?
I rolled my eyes and tried for a moment to avoid the clutter surrounding me: the lumpy plastic bag of belongings heaped up against the wall; the work desk with small trays of half-repaired watches and disassembled remotes for a broken TV; eyeglasses abandoned on a windowsill; a vase of flowers with dried, stiff heads downcast; a loose-built tower of insurance forms and mostly paid bills on the dining table, some of which had cascaded onto a vacant chair; a fleece draped over a black plastic box with a white sticker on top, set by itself on the floor by the fireplace. Everything in this old, quaint house was firmly embedded in the landscape, from the inherited furniture on the pitted hardwood floors to the walls covered with eclectic art.
My thumb toyed with the gold band around my right pinkie. Even that was now a part of me. I said I’d safeguard it for a short time, now long past. And, like everything else in my surroundings, I didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.
I screwed my eyes shut and wrapped my arms around my sides, fighting off the desire to scream as I wrestled with grim emotions. I was a caged animal with no hope of escape.
A moment later, a gentle weight on my thigh pulled me out of the darkness. I opened my eyes to see sympathetic brown eyes gazing up at me. Sweet Pea rested her chin on my leg.
I managed a smile and scratched her gently behind one ear. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that? I’m glad Doug saw that in you.”
Sweet Pea, Doug’s rescue dog, was a mutt with a bit of pit bull in her DNA. I made a promise to take care of her. I’ve tried. Like the monolith, getting the dog had been Doug’s idea. And here I was not wanting either but saddled with both.
I fingered the warm, soft velvet of her floppy ears. I wanted to embrace the vitality of her presence, to drown in the feeling of another warm body next to me, but she was definitely Doug’s dog and shied away at contact. Still, she was all I had to make up for the cold pillow next to mine on the bed.
A crushing weight pushed down on me as my throat tightened and I blinked away tears. I glared at the dining room chair next to mine. I kicked at it, hard. The shock knocked over the accumulated papers, and they tumbled to the floor like spent leaves.
The morning of the 7th dawned with storm clouds looming overhead. It was just before 10 am when I uncovered the black plastic box and picked it up. The weight surprised me, I don’t know why. I should have remembered it would be heavy. I hugged it to my chest and felt the heft, consumed with longing for a vibrant moment of bliss; but the box was hard and cold and hurt my chest as I clung to it. No amount of wishing would restore what had been lost.
I carried the box into the garden and approached the concrete pad at the top of the yard. Dried leaves littered the structure; some had fallen into the hole in the center where the monolith would be seated. I placed the box on the ground and knelt down to gently pluck the leaves away.
“You wanted this,” I whispered. “Let this be your resting place.”
The lid gave a sharp snap as I opened it for the first time. Inside was a thick plastic bag filled with gray ash, twisted at the top and secured with a looped metal wire. I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand. Air sucked around it like a dying breath as I lifted it from the container. I laid it on the ground, untwisted the wire, and looked inside.
I saw bits of black char and white slivers. Bits of him. My husband.
“Happy anniversary, Doug.” My shoulders shook as I sobbed. “I miss you so much.”
A cloud of dust rose and settled as I dumped the ashes into the hole. Left holding the empty bag, I gave a rueful smile. “Yup, that about sums things up.”
A large truck equipped with a crane rumbled up the street at 10 am, as promised. On its back it carried a column of black polished marble about a foot wide and over six feet tall. A shuddering sigh trembled in my chest as I watched from the porch, sniffling. They hoisted the column and planted it in the hole, entombing Doug’s ashes. As they secured the monolith to the base, the rain started.
I went into the house and performed my own little cloudburst, tightly gripping Sweet Pea’s fur and sobbing into her side.
I didn’t look out into the garden for days. I… just… couldn’t.
Sweet Pea needed time outdoors to do her business, and that got me out of the house and away from the constant reminders around me. When I called, the light-colored mutt gamboled up to me, tail wagging. We stepped out the front door together into the morning.
As I stood on the porch, right thumb unconsciously playing with the ring on my pinkie, something seemed different about the garden; perhaps it was the presence of the new yard art or the promise of spring. The early light played off the newly sprouting leaves on the trees. Pools of purple clusters from grape hyacinths and paper-white narcissus dotted the damp earth. Finches sang their lusty spring song. I stood for a moment to breathe in the fresh air and revel in the rich colors and sounds around me. My lips creased into a smile, the first in a while.
As I looked at Doug’s monolith, sunlight glinted off the marble and revealed little golden flecks in the stone, something I had not noticed before. Mesmerized, I walked up the path into the garden to have a closer look. Sweet Pea ran ahead to sniff out God-knows-what beneath the rosemary bush.
The sensation of the cold marble sent shivered signals to my brain as my fingertips lightly stroked the side of the monolith and slid to the front, where they touched a tacky surface, like gelatinous flesh.
I pulled my hand away. “Eww!”
Sweet Pea’s head shot up at attention. “Sorry, girl. Didn’t mean to scare you. But this…” I pointed at the stone column, “is really… gross.”
I gave it a quick poke with my finger. The front of the monolith looked like a shimmering layer of fresh black tar, viscous and warm. The surface bobbled like a fluid-filled bag of plastic, but there was no trace of tar on my finger. A prickling sensation raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and screamed a warning. I rubbed my eyes and blinked hard before looking back at the monolith. The sunlight caught movement, a sort of turbulence that reminded me of rainbow swirls of surface tension on a bubble.
I picked up a small stone and flung it at the front of the monolith. It broke through the surface and disappeared, leaving behind a series of ripples.
“Huh.” I looked at the dog, who was busy investigating a gopher hole. “You’re no help.”
A moment later the face of the monolith trembled. Something flew out, landed on the ground with a dull thud, and rolled on its side before stopping at my feet. It was a pine cone.
“OK, this is just freakin’ weird.”
Pine cones are one of Sweet Pea’s favorite toys; I had to secretly dump the saliva-coated cones she carried home after her walks with Doug. When this pine cone landed, Sweet Pea was right there. Before I had a chance to examine it, she scooped it up in her jaws and stood at attention, head swiveling right and left while her ears perked up. She ran up to the monolith, dropped the pine cone, and scratched at the base of the column.
“What is it, girl?” I knelt down and laid my hand on her back, and for once she didn’t pay me any mind. Her head cocked as she stared into the viscous surface, listening. I grabbed her collar and tried to pull her away. “Whatever is going on, I don’t like it. We’re going back inside.”
Sweet Pea barked, a short, sharp sound, and pulled backwards. The webbing of the collar slipped over her head and she dashed away.
I tried to grab her but she sidestepped me. I lunged and tumbled to the ground. She picked up the pine cone and dove, tongue lolling and tail spinning, through the front of the monolith. The iridescent black tar swept around her as she slid between the rigid sides. The surface bobbled for a moment and grew still.
“What the hell!” I scrambled to my feet. Clinging to the side of the monolith, I thrust my right arm through the surface, ignoring the disgustingly warm and gooey sensation.
“Sweet Pea! Get back here!” I scrunched up my face and pushed myself in as far as my shoulder. The tarry surface enveloped the side of my head. Panic surged through my body. My sobs were muffled, as if I were underwater.
My hand broke through a barrier on the other side and I felt sunlight and… something else.
I gasped and stopped moving. Warm flesh. The rough texture of fingers as they interlaced with mine. They manipulated the ring around my pinkie and toyed with the loose gold band around it. My heart pounded and I panicked.
“Leave my ring alone!”
I tugged, but whoever was holding it didn’t let go. They pried open my hand, and I felt the gentle tickle of mustached lips kiss the center of my palm.
A wave of cold swept over me; if I hadn’t been wedged up to my shoulder, I would have collapsed. Doug used to do that, in moments of tenderness.
“Doug?”
He squeezed my hand and released it.
I had just started to cope with life without him in my grief journey. Now that progress was obliterated.
He was there. I had to be with him, wherever it was, no matter the cost. I wanted to see him once more, to feel the warmth of his arms around me, to hear his soft voice tell me that he loved me.
“Doug, pull me in!” I waved my arm, trying to grasp his hand, but my searching fingers caught nothing. I heard muffled barking and Doug’s voice calling out. But he wasn’t calling me. He was calling the dog.
“God dammit, Doug! It’s me! Forget the dog!”
Tears burned my eyes. My body screamed in pain as I tried to squeeze my way through the opening and the sharp edges of the marble cut into my skin. I felt his hand on mine, closing my fist and holding it tightly shut. Then he pushed against me, forcing me back though the tarry fluid. He gave a hard shove and I fell onto the ground, in my garden, surrounded by the fragrant scent of rosemary. I jumped to my feet, both fists balled in fury.
“How dare you… Geezus, Doug! Don’t do this to me! I’ve already lost too much!”
The surface of the monolith gave a wheeze and solidified. I pounded my fists against the cold marble and heard a familiar metallic clink. The ring – his wedding band – remained on my finger.
features poems about disconnection, misconnections: the loss of friendships and identity, our voice, our purpose. At its core, it is a collection of elegies railing against and dealing with toxic relationships, from fair-weather friends, controlling mothers to narcissists. These poems invite the reader into personal experiences, public observations and the price we pay, positive and negative for our interactions with the media, our global and local conflicts, environmental challenges, the pandemic, the Me Too and Black Lives Matter movements. She writes about the dark underside of our lives with a sense of danger, humour and of hope for reconnection in the future with our community and our world.
C. David Guerra’s lifelong love of writing has birthed a dozen novels, multiple skits, short stories, and a musical. David’s life experiences—as a print journalist, Registered Nurse, teacher, missionary, artist, LGBTQ ally, caregiver, and widow—color her writing.
After a varied career, Linda Mikolayenko now has the privilege of being a witness to the wonders of creation, taking her camera with her whenever she goes for walks. She was surprised and pleased that one of her iNaturalist observations was used in a scientific journal.
A wonderful exploration of grief with an unexpected science fiction twist at the end. I loved it and found it very mooving.