The Anniversary

by Sean Hastings

Maureen's fingers crackled as she twisted the tie around the top of the plastic garbage bag. She winced, but managed to get the bag closed. She picked up another bag and with small careful steps and the help of a cane she made her way outside and down to the curb. The trash man waited patiently. He always offered to come to the door, but she always insisted on doing it herself. Sometimes he would even let her heave one of the heavy bags into the truck by herself with only a strong young hand on her shoulder for support. It hurt, but it was worth it.

She watched as he activated the mechanical jaws of the truck and it devoured her contribution. The skull and crossbones on the box could just be made out through the translucent material of the trash bag and she watched as it disappeared. She waved and he honked the horn as the truck rumbled away.

She hobbled back inside and went to work on the kitchen. She wiped the flour from the table and rinsed the bowl of frosting. The place was spotless when she finished and she made her way into the dining room, taking the cake with her.

She set the table for two, dimmed the lights and lit a candle.

"Harvy, I made your favorite. Chocolate cake."

She removed a large picture from the many on the walls and propped on a chair at the table. Her back ached as she eased herself into a chair at the other end. Her husband's smiling eyes stared back at her from across the table.

"Happy anniversary, Harvey." she said, and started to weep.

After a moment she composed herself, and her hands only trembled a little as she cut herself a piece of the cake. She placed it on a small plate in front of her and sagged back into her chair. Then she looked up past Harvey's picture at the others on the wall.

She saw herself, much younger, in Harvey's arms. She saw herself in the hospital holding their only daughter to her breast. She saw Harvey washing the brand new car, getting mud on his shoes. She saw Harvey's army medals and the note the army had sent when Harvey didn't come home. Finally she saw their grandchild who Harvey had never known, opening a gift on Christmas, his eyes glowing with delight.

"He's wonderful, isn't he Harvey? I know you must be proud."

Finally after a long while she pulled herself up and collected all the uneaten cake. She took it into the kitchen where she chopped it up into very small pieces. Then she took the deadly fragments and distributed them throughout the old house, under dressers, in the backs of cupboards, and under sinks.

Maybe next year the mice would be luckier.