2nd Julianna Cook, “The Circle that Never Ends”

The Circle That Never Ends

There was a flash of lightning in front of me. It had been raining for over an hour, and everybody had already left. Water was dripping into my face and eyes, causing the tears to look like rain droplets. The sky was dark and threatening, perfect weather for a horrible day. My sister is watching me from the church window, presumably waiting for me to come inside, but I don’t come in. Of course, I never owned a watch so it could be past 6:00 for all I know. I hear nothing, feel nothing, except the cold metal of our ring against my finger. No use for it anymore I guess. Looking down one last time, I study the headstone; In loving memory of Laura Brawence. Wife of Hunter Brawense. Died 1973. “In loving memory”... such a worthless phrase.

The sun was beating down on my face as the gravestone looms up at me. It is April 21st and spring had come already. Three years have passed since my wife died, and our ring has been on my finger ever since. The metal is worn, and the finger is red and swollen under it. I still never take it off, even if it reminds me of the day when she had passed.

The night before our wedding, we had two rings made. The rings were made especially for the two of us, and they pulsed with each other’s heartbeats. The ring was plain and simple, but elegant no less. It was silver, with a gold band running through the middle, a pale blue stone at the center with a tiny glow, holding the other’s heartbeat. It was a blessing, then a curse when one day it stopped beating. I was stuck in what seemed to be a never ending traffic light. It had been a terrible day at work, my boss laid me off with no chance of coming back, because there wasn’t enough money. Not only we were struggling with finances at home, but Laura was expecting. The light turned green and, immediately pulling away, noticed something felt off. Some crappy rap music was playing and I punched the radio off. Something was definitely wrong, there was something missing, it felt like a presence was suddenly gone. Moving my left hand up to the 10 o’clock position, I saw the ring. Not thinking straight, letting go of the steering wheel the car nearly crashes into a lampost. My mind went blank, all I remember was speeding down highway 48, running every light, just to get home.

The screen door slammed behind me, but my feet had already carried me

through the main floor. “Laur?!” I yell frantically. Taking the stairs two at a time, I stumbled into our bedroom to see my wife lying on the bed, lifeless.

So much has happened since the day my wife and unborn child passed. I found another job, sold the house, and am now living in an apartment downtown. I like watching sports, and keep to myself most of the time. My general focus is on work, and food, and the rest of my time is spent in the apartment. I am 32 years old, and have nothing else to do. I unlock the door to my apartment and collapse onto my single bunk, trying to clear my head. I don’t bother eating because my stomach won’t let me, and there’s no food in this place anyway. My breath starts to slow and become more even, and soon, I fall into a deep sleep.

I bolt awake in the night, drenched in sweat, my heart beating most certainly too fast to be healthy, which is rare because I am a deep sleeper. Later, then realizing, there are two heartbeats in the room. My finger was pulsing, much slower than my own, but still there. My arm hits the water glass on the bedside table as I search for the light, and it crashes to the floor. My fingers brush against the knob and I grab it and turn in on. The lamp casts a warm glow around the room, and I see the ring, producing that tiny light that went out 3 years ago. My body tenses as my mind comprehends what this could mean. Shake my head, pinch my arm...Okay, not a dream. My heart fills, and a shiver runs through my body, but soon the feeling dissipates because of the image that returns to my mind of her body on the bed. This cannot be happening. I have to be imagining things, I tell myself, because I know it’s impossible. Maybe it is broken? No, the ring isn’t a machine. There’s only one possible solution, but I keep myself from getting excited. Although my mind understands this is wrong, my heart has a tiny flutter of hope. I sit up in bed for a long time, looking at the ring, focusing, on that small heartbeat.

After a long sleepless night, I drag myself out of bed and make a pot of coffee like I do every morning. I have now accepted that something has caused the ring to beat again, but what? I don’t know. There are a hundred different possibilities the night brought to my head and my heart’s still racing, trust me, but I still carry on as if nothing’s happened as I go about my morning routine. Take a shower, brush my teeth and look in the mirror. This morning, my reflection startles me. I know that I have certain qualities that some people may see as handsome. Dark brown hair, strong features, and electric green eyes I’ve

had all my life, but today my face is extremely pale, seeming as if my skin is just hanging there with no life. My eyes look older, and my hair is stuck to the sides of my face. I shake my head, trying to forget the image, and rinse my face, I have more important things to worry about. Going into the kitchen, I pour my coffee, take the eggs out of the fridge and turn on the element. Grab the remote and flick on the T.V to CBC news. Just a normal day, but everything is different.

As soon as I reach the church I see that everything looks the same. The church is open, garden just starting to bud with colour, and the cemetery gate is closed. I can faintly hear the sounds of voices coming from within the church, a hymn being played out on the organ. Everybody in that church is enjoying their day, when everything in my world has shifted. I move through the gate, and start down the columns. First row, Second row, Third row. Ninth headstone. Oh, no. I look left; Amelia Johnston. Look right; John Buttle.

The headstone was missing.

Julianna Cook—2nd Place, 11/12 Poetry