Mending A Broken Heart

Henry had it in him this early autumn

to turn in his two-week notice

and file court papers to end

his ten-year marriage with Scarlett.

Scarlett used to straighten her

long, red hair and paint her lips red.

Henry would take her to a cabin

for makeup sex. Henry hoped

for a second shot at fatherhood,

but it had yet to happen.

The monotony of their lives

eased into an early fall

and the years moved through

confrontations, watching sappy

romance movies and Henry read

more than a life’s worth of self-help books.

Writing checks for bills

over dark coffee

at the oak kitchen table

shuffled their conversations

like roommates splitting

everything down the middle.

Scarlett visited her sister for dinner,

and Henry stayed in as the sun sank

below the horizon.

Henry plopped himself into the maroon recliner.

The maroon walls had pine-framed family pictures.

Henry’s family pictures on one side;

Scarlett’s family’s picture hung on the other side.

Happiness leaked through the images,

and his tears splashed the ripples

of a misperception.

Henry folded the newspaper, heaved upright,

and moved to the glass coffee table.

He swooped and reached for a new photo album.

The cover didn’t ring a bell, so he returned to his chair.

He opened the book, and his eyes widened

before they eased into a soft gaze.

Scarlett’s ’97 high school picture spread the page.

It was as if Scarlett had left it for him to find.

Her infectious laugh was evident

through her cheesy grin.

Scarlett’s magnetic oval eyes

illuminated his dilated pupils.

Their high school prank calls

pulled the memories of their friendship.

Scarlett sucked the breath from his lungs

and kissed him back to life.

Being around Scarlett

was like walking a tightrope

over a chasm of emotions,

exhilarating and terrifying all at once. 

Henry’s heart shuttered in his chest,

his palms clammed up,

and his tongue turned to concrete

whenever she was near.

Henry smitten her with movie dates,

where they kissed

until the credits rolled.

After a time, lust turned into love.

Henery’s cheeks warmed with a smile

that curved his mouth.

Henry turned the page to her handwriting.

Henry shut his eyes and sniffed the Calvin Klein

perfume she sprayed for a mental note

about making love in her grandfather’s barn

for the first time.

“I haven’t been me in some time,” Scarlett wrote.

Henry lifted his hand to his face and rubbed it. “After Mia died three years ago, I just wasn’t myself. She was just five. You begged God for answers. But I know you wouldn’t accept one.”

Henry’s composure cracked

and tears spread across his cheeks.

He moved his sleeve across his eyes.

He cleared his throat and returned to the book.

“When the drunk driver hit Mia five years ago downtown during a Christmas Parade, you didn’t talk to me. Well, you did and you didn’t. That little girl was your world. It didn’t help that I was tired from a long day at work. And I didn’t know where you were. I lost you when I lost Mia.”

Henry paused and closed the book. He sat on the coffee table. Henry smoked a cigarette. He raked his fingers through his thick, brown hair. “I blamed myself,” Henry said inside an empty home. He put out the smoke and held his head in his hands. “I hated seeing Scarlett sob with shakes.”

Henry stood and moved across the cherry maple floor

to the sliding glass door.

A lone boat drifted silently down the moonlit river;

its wake a trail of scattered stars. 

Shrouded in a cloak of mystery,

the figure in the boat seemed to be one

with the night, a silent observer of the moon’s

celestial dance upon the river’s stage.

Henry grinned as he caught his reflection.

He moved his hand over his face.

He unbuttoned his Polo shirt and removed his t-shirt.

He turned on the classic R&B

and entered the Hunter Green bathroom.

Barn doors decorated the shower curtain.

The cream floor blended with a light gray trashcan,

soap dispenser, and towel hanger.

Henry opened the oak cabinet and grabbed a razer.

He closed it and faced the mirror.

He reached for a bottle and pressed a button.

Shaving cream filled his palm.

He lathered his neck and face.

With each stroke,

the past shed its weight over

his self-control.

Toni Braxton played lyrics that entered

his blind spots for a perfectionist.

He ran water over the razer and dried it.

Henry wiped down the gray sink with a washcloth.

He walked through the rich maroon hallway

adorned with captivating black and white artwork

displayed on the walls.

He opened his bedroom closet

and moved shirts on hangers.

Henry found the shirt he’d wear for Scarlett.

He threw a white t-shirt over his shoulders

and buttoned his Polo shirt.

He tucked it into his navy pants

with a beige belt looped around his waist.

He sprayed escape on his neck

and returned to the living room.

“Scarlett?” he said.

“You surprised?” She hugged herself. She wore dark red lipstick.

“You look…” Henry’s train of thought died on arrival.

“You look,” she gave him a once over, “amazing.”

“And you,” Henry said.

“Like my hair?” Scarlett posed and stuck out her tongue.

Henry lifted and lowered his hands. “You’re back,” he said.

“And so are you,” Scarlett said. “And I’m pregnant.”

Henry embraced her, and she sighed into his arms.

Their kiss unleashed butterflies more than

their first kiss.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://writeovercoffee.blog/

Twitter: AC0040