By Lavina Blossom
Wife number three, third time a charm. When he tells the story, people think he embellishes. She never corrects.
He was lying on snow flattened by the impact of his body, opened his eyes to stabbing light. He hurt all over, tried to get up, fell back. He squinted at the landscape of tall pines.
A shadow approached, became a person. A bead of moisture trickled down his brow. He tried again to rise, propped himself on an elbow. The tree line darkened. The person squatted, touched his cheek with soft fingers, asked his name. He opened his mouth, but the syllables tangled. He groaned.
“Shhhh, honey,” said the voice. “Lie back.” She called him honey. “You shouldn’t try to move. I’m going to get a blanket, call for help. Stay still, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”
There was a smile in her voice. He wanted to say, “Don’t you go.” His tongue and lips refused to obey.
He closed his eyes. She was leaving, like wives number one and two, although he never cheated. Distant, they said, indifferent. He wasn’t. Worked long hours for them. For them.
He recalls his motorcycle sliding. Today, his first time on that damn machine. Oh yes, he was a new man. Become a bird in flight, not high enough. Sailed over the handlebars, the railing. Changing his life, right. Heading off early to work. Dependability, his sole virtue.
He grew sleepy, sure he would freeze to death, when the blanket covered him. Not only the blanket, but her, under the blanket, her coat open, her heat so strange. Stayed and talked, made him answer. Saved a dying man.
Lavina Blossom’s poems and fiction have appeared in various journals, including The Paris Review, Common Ground Review, Book of Matches, The MacGuffin, Poemeleon, 10 by 10 Flash, and Okay Donkey. Her art has appeared on the cover of several poetry books. Her book of poems and paintings was published by Bamboo Dart Press.
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