Ashes of a memory
That night would mark another year since her husband was taken away. He had gone to buy cigarettes. The night he disappeared she only found his lighter in the street. It was a gift she herself had had made. It had both of their initials and the date they met engraved on the silver dye. No two were alike.
They had no children and did not spend much time together. They barely spoke or even touched each other, but they where in love. He loved her. That night had just been another twist of fate, he had been taken from her and now he must be dead. “Bastards!” She thought, they hadn’t even sent her a ransom note, not a finger nor an ear. Only the sentence to deny her ever seeing her husband again.
More than once she believed she saw his ghost. He looked very much like the one who used to be her husband, but it couldn’t be him. He appeared with another woman and avoided her gaze at all costs. No, it was not him. Her husband loved her.
That year was as good a year as any to let him go. She was tired of waiting for him to come back one day. After so long the hope was gone. In the absence of a body, she took those belongings he had left behind: a book that had been on his nightstand for years, a couple of photographs, a deck of cards, and some socks. She even went to the store to buy a box of the cigars he used to smoke. She didn’t want the smell she missed so much to be absent that night.
She took the lighter she had given him and burned it all. With the ashes she filled a cup, the one he used to use in the mornings. That was as close to a goodbye as she could ever get. He took the urn and covered it up with plastic wrap. She was going to make a trip to what used to be their corner away from the world.
At nightfall she took the car and drove in the direction of a small pond on the outskirts of the city, it was neither a magical or particularly beautiful spot, it was simply the place where two people who loved each other went from time to time.
On the way she drove through a hole and the car bounced aggressively. So much movement caused the cup carrying her husband to break a little.
The woman was focused on holding back her tears and driving to the place she needed to go to say goodbye to the man she loved. She didn’t notice anything else around her. She had the windows down and the radio blaring. The ash was escaping through the window in small doses.
By the time she reached the pond, there was nothing left. For the second time her husband had been taken away without her being able to say goodbye.
