Cleaning Day
While cleaning out his parent’s garage he came across a picnic basket, barely used. “Do you want this Mom or should I throw it out?” He asked.
She took it from him not saying a word. Staring at the basket as if it was an old relic that jogged a memory that continued to fade, as she grew older. She opened it, undoing the latches as if it held a bounty of delights waiting to be discovered, shared and enjoyed. Inside she would find everything intact, linens, plastic dishes, a cutting board and memories of dreams that never came to be.
They never took that trip to Italy, they never danced under the stars, and they never had the picnic in the secluded garden where they would talk, laugh, eat, drink and eventually love. Funny how a basket hardly used, kept all of those failed dreams for her. She shut her eyes, trying to hold back the building emotional wave she felt and with that she closed the basket replacing the latches.
“Throw it out.” She said with glassy eyes, keeping her back turned so her son could not see.
~O~
Wow, I used to think I could write!
