Word: wellaway

wellaway

\ WEL-uh-WEY \  , interjection;

1. (Used to express sorrow.)

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                Margret sat staring out the window to the back yard.  She sat so still and quiet that someone unfamiliar with her might think she was made of stone had it not been for the occasional slow blinking of her eyes and the light, rhythmic motion of her breathing.  She had sat in that same chair for nearly a month, with no signs of moving any time in the near future.  She ate and drank only at the pleading behest of her husband, and even then, she only ate simple, plain foods with water, and only in small amounts.

                Her body was slowly wasting away.  Where she was once had a lively, energetic beauty to her, she now had the appearance of a wraith.  Painfully thin, with many of her bones starting to show themselves under her unwashed skin.  Her eyes, which used to shine with a light all their own, now were dull and vacant, with a dark, sunken appearance.  Lines and wrinkles criss-crossed all over her face, making her seem twenty years older than she was. 

                Her husband, Ray, had tried and failed more times then he cared to remember to get her out of the chair she seemed to be permanently attached to.  He wanted so badly for her to at least try to move on with her life.  After all, she was still a young woman, even if she no longer looked it.  Still, he had to try, for her sake as well as his. 

                He went up behind her and placed a gentle hand on her thin, bony shoulder.  She didn’t react to his presence at all.  Ray looked out the window to see what she was looking at.  He already knew what held her attention so strongly, but he looked anyway.  The large oak tree stood in the center of their back yard, its branches covered with large green leaves.  Ray held a certain pride in the tree.  It was one of the reasons they had bought the house soon after they got married.  He tended the tree like a child, trimming its branches when needed and removing pests from its leaves.  It was a marvelous plant to be sure, yet that was not what held Margret’s focus.

                Hanging from one of the low, thick branches was a swing.  It wasn’t anything special by itself.  It was a cheap yellow and orange plastic swing hanging from bright red ropes they had picked up from a toy store several years ago.  They had gotten it for their then unborn child, and it had served them well many years after the boy was born.  Now, it hung there, blowing slightly in a breeze unfelt by the couple.  It hadn’t seen use in months, yet it hung there, one of the few remaining remnants of the happiness they used to have.

                Ray had thought about taking it down many times since his wife had taken to staring at it.  He had even gone out with a step ladder.  But every time he got near it, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do anything, and he went inside, defeated by the swing.  The little piece of colorful plastic held an odd power over them that seemed to keep them from moving on, no matter how much Ray wanted to. 

                Suddenly, something behind the tree caught his attention.  A new family was moving in across the street.  A moving van and two cars were parked outside the formerly empty house, and large men were busy carrying furniture into the house.  Two children ran around their new yard, looking and poking around to see what they could.  Ray could almost hear their laughter as they ran around and chased each other. 

                One of them, a boy that looked a few years younger than their son had been looked at the tree, and the swing hanging from its branch.  He pointed excitedly at it, no doubt thinking that it would be a great thing to play on.  He brought his mother to look at it, probably asking permission to use it.  She simply smiled and shook her head before leaving to attend to the matter of getting settled into their new home.  The boy looked disappointed, but the other child, a young girl, quickly drew his attention to something else. 

                Ray watched the children playing and a small smile came to his lips, the first in well over a month.  He looked down at the withered form of his wife to see if she had any reaction.  She sat there as detached, unmoving, and emotionless as ever.  The smile faded from his face as he looked at her.  Returning his gaze to the swing, and then to the children, Ray took a deep breath, squared his shoulders.  He left Margret’s side and went to get the step ladder. 

                Once outside, he looked at the swing, the ropes, and the tree branch.  As he got up onto the small step ladder, drops of water fell on his hands and arms.  His hands shook as he took hold of the bright red knots that held the swing to the branch.  He took one final deep breath and took down the swing.

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Not exactly a happy thing, is it?  I'll try and write something a little more upbeat next week though.  No promises though.  The words of any given day may not lend themselves to happy tales after all.  Well, I hope you enjoy it anyway.