A short story

This post is different than what you’ll usually get from me, but since I don’t really have any other place to share this, I hope you’ll indulge me. In the process of going through my Mom’s house (as well as my own) and weeding through what is and isn’t valuable to keep in this big move, I’ve made some fun discoveries. This short story is one of them. And, I think it touches on some things that color my writing and current lived experience.

I wrote this in a small notebook on January 23, 2011. I don’t have the notebook anymore, but I had the foresight to tear these pages out of that notebook and kept the story with other keepsakes of mine. I have no recollection of writing this. I don’t know what prompted it. I don’t really know where it came from. But, twelve years later, I’m really proud of this piece of writing. Creative writing has never been of interest to me, but somehow, this came out of my head and onto the pages.

Enjoy.

Fifty-two years after watching her walk down the aisle, he watched her slowly fade away in the warm embrace of her new journey. He loved her in the last lifetime, and would love her in the their next, but the loneliness that settled upon him after her departure from this lifetime crept up on him quickly and lingered.

Their house, rich with memories, brought him both solace and longing. The first happy summer they spent as newlyweds; sleeping under the stars in their freshly mowed backyard; bringing home their daughter after five years of hoping; the Christmas that brought panic over the arrival of his in-laws (all of them); even the year of agony spent remodeling the kitchen to her exact specifications, down to the copper pots hanging above the center island - their life together came in flashes, bringing him comfort and a desire to join her.

But the memory that kept coming back was one he had forgotten until after she was gone.

She had convinced him during a quick trip to the store to get a pedicure with her. Begrudgingly, he sat in the chair, exposing his unkempt feet to a stranger.

It was the most blissful hour of his life.

Of course, he didn’t tell her that, and she never pressed him to join her again.

He only remembered that day after a trip to the very same store and had happened to glance in the direction of the nail salon. A wave of loneliness struck him hard enough that hardly without thinking, he made his way into the unknown territory.

He cautiously greeted the employee, bracing for the laugh that was sure to come as soon as he asked for a pedicure. The woman merely smiled and indicated to an empty chair. Slowly removing his shoes and socks, he looked around, and for the first time realized he was the only customer. He relaxed ever so slightly, not having the pressure of staring strangers.

Placing his feet in the warm, jetted water brought a smile to his face. As the technician worked, he sunk deeper and deeper into a sense of calm that he had not experienced since his wife’s passing. Before he knew it, his pedicure was over. Shyly, he asked the woman how often most people came in for pedicures. In her halted English, she told him every two to four weeks. He thanked her, paid, left a generous tip, and walked out the door with the resolve to come back again - so long as the place was empty of any other customers.

His preconceived notions of manhood prevented him from telling his daughter about his new monthly excursion, but he liked having one secret all to himself. The more he went, the better he felt, and the less self-conscience he was, so much so that he didn’t balk when other customers started showing up while he was still there. He became acquainted with the employees, and learned a little about where they came from.

The loneliness of his wife’s passing faded a little and he was able to think of their life together with less longing. As the years passed, he continued to get a pedicure every month.

When old age finally hindered his ability to care for himself, he moved in with his daughter’s family. The first time he tried to sneak out of the house, his daughter caught him and demanded to know where he thought he was going. Lowering his eyes to the ground as if he were a child, he mumbled that he was going to get his monthly pedicure.

His daughter looked at him, smiled, and said, “I’ll get my purse. I need one too.”

And so a new tradition started, and every month he and his daughter went to get pedicures. During their time sitting side by side, they shared memories and hopes and dreams. When he fell ill, his daughter learned how to give him pedicures at home, and while it was not the same, he appreciated it nevertheless.

One day, he felt better than he had in several months, so he bribed his grandson into driving him to the nail salon.

Shuffling in, he was greeted like a long lost friend and was the given the star treatment. All of his worries and fears and doubts where washed away, and he experienced the bliss like had that first time.

That night, as he slowly faded into sleep, he knew when he met his wife again, he would have freshly pedicured feet.

Thanks for reading this short story. For some reason, it brings tears to my eyes each time I read it. It even made my partner tear-up a little. I would love to remember what inspired this story, but it’s lost to time and distance now. I do find it so interesting that this story is really about loneliness, something that I see so prominently in my Mom right now. I wish that she had a secret joy after my Dad died. Maybe she does. Maybe she’ll find one after moving in with us. I hope so.

We all need our secret joys.