Tyler dropped heavily onto the green plastic chair in his kitchen. He always sat in the green chair; Christine always sat in the orange. At the beginning of their marriage Christine had always said that one day when they could afford it, she was going to get matching chairs. Ones with red upholstery and silver trim. She had the picture of them cut out from one of the millions of Home and Garden magazines that she read. She was not a religious person, but those magazines were her bible. She then would take the cut out scraps and hang it on a bulletin board that she had positioned on their kitchen wall. The board was covered with pictures, prices, and descriptions. At the top bright pink letters proclaimed “In the future” with three ellipses at the end. Three dots symbolizing the future.
Tyler now glanced at the board across the room. The dozens of colors and words made him dizzy, but he forced himself scan every image, searching for an answer that he could not find. He gave up and dropped his head onto the brown plastic table top. The surface was painted to look like wood, but it was just a cheap illusion.
“Like me.” He thought with a bitter chuckle. His eyes began to water, as his heart constricted. But he forced the emotions away as he loosened his tie. He had picked it out blindly that morning and it wasn’t until now that he realized it was the one Christine had given him last Christmas. He could see her standing there among all the discarded wrapping paper, an eggnog glass in her hand, saying “You look good in blue, it brings out your eyes.”
“No.” Tyler thought to himself. He had been strong the past three days, he would be strong now. He shifted in the green chair and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a clear plastic bag and layed it on the table. Three items were inside. He studied the items as he stroked a finger across the top of the bag and let the memories start to take over his mind.
A red plastic Zippo lighter. His heart squeezed at the sight of it. He remembered the first time he had seen Christine smoke. He had woken up in the middle of the night about a month into their marriage to find the area beside him abandoned. He found her on the front porch, brown hair swept into a messy bun, her forehead resting on the cool cast-iron railing. The cigarette hung from her long fingers, a small ember glowing in the dark night. He remembered how she had told him that some times when the world seemed to weigh her down, she would smoke. She referred to it as her speck of light in the darkness. Tyler had sat beside her that night, not saying anything, watching her inhale and exhale smoke. In the end she had rested her head against his shoulder, and he held her close. It was the first time Tyler had felt like she needed him. Since that night he knew she only smoked when something was wrong.
Sitting at the kitchen table his heart grasped again. He knew he was the reason she had been smoking four nights ago. The fight had been the worst that they had ever had, and over something so small…
Tyler went back to the contents of the bag. One French pearl French hook earring. A gift from her grandmother he knew. He remembered her wearing them the night of the fight. Dangling from her ear crazily as she shouted. Swinging back and forth as grabbed the keys and stormed out.
The cop had told him that the force of the collision had knocked it clean out of her ear. He had awkwardly apologized for not being able to find the earrings pair among the wreckage. Tyler shuddered as he thought about how the cop had looked at him with such sorrow and pity.
He took the last item out of the bag and held it in his calloused hand. The plastic rectangle was smooth as he rubbed his thumb over it. There she was, his Christine, smiling up at him. The information beside the picture stated brown hair, blue eyes, five foot two. People always said that license pictures were bad, but Christine still looked beautiful. The words organ donor typed in blue font caught his eye. He thought of all the people who she had saved. People who had been given a chance to live.
That was when the tears began to fall down Tyler’s face. He glanced up and his gaze caught the bulletin board again. “In the future…” Dot, dot, dot.
“There will be no future!” Tyler suddenly yelled to the empty room. “Stop mocking me you stupid periods!” He pushed back from the table, the license dropping from his hands and onto the plastic surface. Tyler picked up the green plastic chair and threw it across the room, before storming away.
The chair hit the bulletin board, causing the entire thing to swing on its hinges. Paper images fluttered to the ground around the over turned chair. On the table the plastic rectangle lay alone, showing an angel smiling up towards heaven.