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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book... “the Relic, the Effort, the Yell” Down in the Dirt (v139) (the September/October 2016 Issue) You can also order this 6"x9" issue as a paperback book:

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Needles of the Heart

Gabriel Valdez

    The kettle’s whistle blared through Charles’ apartment like a train horn. His old, beaten chair made a sad creak as he got up and walked no more than four steps to turn off the stove. He opened a cupboard door to grab a tea bag, only to have it come off on him
    Great, another thing I have to fix, he thought.
    He set the rusted door on the counter, and poured the steaming water into his already placed cup. After putting the tea bag into the brew, Charles’ phone rang.
    “Hello?” said Charles with fatigue in his voice.
    “Hello, may I speak to Charles?” asked a soft voice on the other end.
    “Speaking.”
    “Hi, I’m a nurse here at Redmoore Hospital and I’m calling to update you on Margaret. Your wife’s con-”
    “She’s not my wife,”
    “Sorry sir...your ex-wife. Her condition is only getting worse, and the hepatitis C isn’t something the doctors think she will survive. ”
    “How long does she have?”
    “They say she only has a couple weeks at best.”
    “Will that be all, Miss?” Charles said in a hurried tone.
    “Margaret keeps asking to see you. We implore you to consider visiting her sometime soon, while she can still speak.”
    “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thank you for calling.”
    “Alright sir. Have a good night.”
    “You too.”
    Click
    Charles went back to sitting in his old chair, but it wasn’t the same comfort he felt before the call. He closed his eyes and envisioned his ex-wife, and all the memorable times they had together. He remembered when they met and how shy they were at first. He smiled thinking about their first date, and how it evolved into a marriage. The rest of his visions recalled fights over her old habits returning, and time they never spent together. Her livid, slurred voice was still clear as day in his head, but her face was but a blur.
    He got up once more, and swiped off a paper plate, stained napkins, and an empty, cheap whiskey bottle off of a nearby box. As he removed the lid, a light dust attacked his face, and he made a few, pathetic coughs as it found its way into his lungs. He rummaged through to find a ring box.
    “Still empty,” he thought to himself as he opened the box. He hoped by some miracle that his dead mother’s ring would still be in there.
    He set the box aside and picked up a broken photo frame, and her face was now clear in his head. He had forgotten the way she smiled, the way her eyes seemed to glow that only he seemed to notice. The small instant of nostalgia that filled his heart was soon overwritten with why he was here in the first place.
    Charles had worked grueling hours each week with little time to devote to his wife. Margaret always said she supported him and his dream, and he tried to show his affection when he could. He remembered how happy she was to see him after long hours, and how that soon turned into arguments. Charles worked all his life to one day provide for someone he loved, and would be crushed when Margaret would say, “You love work more than your own wife!”
    Charles still loved her despite this. She was the first person to show genuine interest in him, and not in his studies or potential wealth. Margaret, however, began to slip into her old routine, and started shooting up to enjoy herself again. When Charles found out, the bills for rehab started piling up, but all the money in the world would not help her if Charles wasn’t there for her most of the time.
    Throughout the last months of their marriage, Charles froze his wife’s bank account to stop her from continuous drug purchases. This backfired when Margaret sold his mother’s ring to a dealer so she could satisfy her insatiable craving for the sweet release of dopamine. When Charles found out, his rage was indescribable. Margaret pleaded with him for forgiveness, but he never forgave her for betraying his trust so greatly.
    The end of his marriage left his life in shambles and with little money for himself. Charles vowed to never speak to Margaret again, but she would still call sometimes during her trips to apologize. She still wished to speak to him even when the calls started coming from the hospital.
    Charles snapped back to reality. He emerged from his crouch, foot still asleep, and limped to his car. As he got in, the words, I don’t know if I’m ready yet, echoed as a few tears that weighed more than the world cascaded down his face.
    He staggered back inside, and looked over at his tea cup which contained a dark, slightly opaque liquid in it. He removed the soggy bag from the mixture and watched his reflection drop tears into his cup. When he could no longer make out his own face, he took a drink. The tea had gotten cold.

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