"What Is Love"
by Alyse Jones
"Christ, Mom. One of these days, I'm going to throw that
damn chair right through the window."
Cara walked to the front door past her mother, still shaking her head at
the aging woman waking from yet another night spent in the living room.
Teresa
looked out the window at her daughter, mounting a dented motorcycle. As the young woman sped away, the mother
turned in the dim light to stare up at the portrait of a man, his lips curved
in the fashion of a smile, though his face was lined with pain. He sat in a blue armchair, its fabric
shimmering in the camera's light.
"Look what she does to herself, Rusty. That fiancé of hers got himself killed on that
bike, but she takes it out everyday. I wish I could burn the damn thing. Maybe then she'd move on, find a new
boyfriend, be happy." She rubbed at her sagging eyes, trying to face the
picture for a little longer. "Lord, at least I got thirty six years with
you. She only knew him for what, maybe four?"
The
woman paused as her back creaked in an attempt to adjust her seat among sagging
cushions. She absently pulled several
blue threads free of the strong arms.
The material no longer shimmered, but the woman could still feel the
indent of her husband within its structure. She chuckled to herself, snuggling into
the frame.
"You're
right, Rusty. It must have been love."