Just Skin and Bone

Gibsom James was a man with seventy-eight years of experience on Earth. His once cropped black hair dulled to a fruitful gray. The hair was thin, but vivacious. It twists and turns everywhere, making a mess on the top of his head. James kept it that way, because his wife of sixty years, Mary-Ann, thought it was adorable. She twisted it between her fingers and toyed with it often.

They did not have children, so Mary-Ann is Mr. James' everything. He loved her more than life itself, nothing could split them apart. She was his forever.

It's a bright, summer afternoon. The town of Sumter was bustling with excitement, it was the annual Splash Day. A day when all the children in town was gifted with large water slides and refreshing watermelon. Mr. James loved Splash Day, he loved children. He like to watch them play with each other as he held his wife's hand. She loved children as much as he did.

The children ran past Mr. James as he locked up his house. They smiled and waved towards him. Mr. James returns the gesture, slowly walking down the familiar concrete walkway. Every morning he took the familiar path, around the block, past the elementary school and through the shopping square. His cane made a slight tap as he walked, softly echoing through the yard. The cane was effect of a bombshell in the second World War. Since then he was left with a limp.

Women and men smiled to Mr. James. As he passed they snickered mild rumors about him. He's been around so long, they could not help themselves. The children politely let him cross, he never had to wait for anything. He's been doing this walk for the past decade, never missed a day. Mr. James stopped by the flower shop, admiring the yellow daisies. He inhaled their sweet scent, grinning.

The kind elderly woman who ran the shop walked over. "Do you see anything you like, Gibsom?" The answer was the same every time.

"Why, yes. I would love a dozen of these for my beautiful wife, Mary-Ann." Mr. James is a very sweet man, the woman nods and picks the freshest out for him. It's tradition he gives his wife daisies on Monday and Thursday, tulips on Tuesday and Friday, red roses on Wednesday and Saturday, and white roses on Sunday. It was Thursday. They were Mary-Ann's favorites.

Mr. James handed her the money and continued his way. Every so often someone would stop him for a conversation or two. "How is Mary-Ann?" some would ask. Mr. James would respond with, "lovely." "Where is Mary-Ann today?" others would ask. Mr. James would say, "she's in bed with the sniffles." Regardless, Mary-Ann never made it to one of these walks. She stayed home.

A few hours past, the sun was at it's peak in the sky. Mr. James waved the flowers in his face, it was horribly warm outside. He slowly walked passed his neighbor's house. It smelled of fresh lemonade, Mr. James licked his lips in desire. Nothing was better than lemonade on a hot summer's day.

Harry walked out his house with the new pitcher. He greeted his friend with a cup of his own. More than thirty years separated these two, but Harry was his only friend outside his wife. Harry was a real man in Mr. James' eyes. He took care of his mother and was always there with a helping hand. Without Harry, Mr. James' house would be a disaster.

There was a cushioned seat waiting for Mr. James. It was under the protection of a Willow tree, cooling Mr. James immediately. He sighted noisily and smiled to Harry.

"So, Mr. James, how have you been?" Harry asked politely.

Mr. James takes a large swig of his drink, moaning softly. He wished his wife could come outside and join them. She hates the heat though. Mr. James promised himself to bring a glass for her. He stared down, ignoring Harry's question.

"Would it be okay if I brought a glass for my Mary-Ann?" James asked, laying the flowers on the table between them. Harry cocked an eyebrow at him.

Harry leaned in, "how are you going to give her that glass of lemonade?" he asked.

Mr. James was used to Harry asking questions like that. "I do not understand. I suppose you will hand her the drink, like you would with anyone else."

"Mr. James, you know you cannot do that." Harry stood grabbing the flowers away from the table. "What, you were giving her these too?!"

Tears threatened to fall from Mr. James' eyes. "You listen here, boy! I will not be disrespected, now give me back Mary-Ann's flowers. She is waiting for me."

Angrily, Harry threw the flowers on the ground. He deeply cared for the old man, but it was going too far. Suddenly Harry's face goes blank; he looks over that Mr. James' house. He took a step back and just stared.

"Mr. James, where is Mary-Ann?"

"In bed, she has the sniffles. Don't think you are off the hook! Now, hand me the flowers. I have a bad back." Mr. James waited patently for Harry to pick the flowers up, and lay them back on the table. Harry was stunned.

"I thought you told me you put her back." Harry bent to Mr. James' eye level.

All Mr. James could do was look away. He wasn't crazy, insane or a nut job. He loved Mary-Ann with everything in his soul. She was a gift from God; perfect in every way. For years they lived together, for years they loved each other. Why did that have to end. Was it a crime to love your wife so much?

Mr. James sat there, knowing he was caught in a lie. "I couldn't let her stay there, Harry! The worms were going to eat her and she was doing to rot in the ground! I had to put my wife somewhere she belonged." He looked too at his house. At his window especially, where he saw the outline of her body in his bed. Oh, Mary-Ann. Will they ever understand?

Harry jumped back, glancing between Mr. James and his house. "She is in your house?!"

"Yes, sir. She lays in our bed, where she belongs."

Harry rubbed his face in disbelief. It was a mental battle in his brain. One part told him be cool and be nice to his friend. The other told him to beat the shit out of him and run from the nut job. All he could say, "Mr. James, Mary-Ann has been dead for over two years. Do you know that?"

"Yes." Mr. James smiles.

"She has been in your bed for at least a year and six-months. Right?" Harry took another step back.

"Yes." Mr. James, stands. "I told you, she belongs with me."

"YOU ARE SLEEPING WITH A CORPSE IN YOUR BED?!" It came out as a scream.

Mr. James narrowed his eyes. "Do not talk that way about my Mary-Ann."

Slowly Mr. James stood, leaning on his cane in pain. It was so hard for him to get up and down these days. He didn't say anything else to Harry. Harry just stood, to much in shock. He honestly thought Mr. James took his wife's body back months ago. He knew Mr. James took it, because he was afraid to be alone. Not this though, not keeping it for this long. Harry wanted to call the police, but he was afraid for Mr. James. He was just a old man in love.

Down the sidewalk Mr. James went; clickily clank went his cane. He wanted to get to his wife, so he could give her the flowers as fresh as possible. He opened the door, and immediately stopped breathing through his nose. The only complaint about his wife was the perfume she wears. A cross between spoiled milk, moldy bread, and rotten pears.

Immediately he entered his bedroom, where Mary-Ann is laid to rest. It's like a shrine, her body is up on pillows, surrounded by a verity of flowers. Some are dead, some are nothing but a black mass of decay, like Mary-Ann. She is nothing but skin and bone. Her face is painted with make-up, because "Mary-Ann always wants to look pretty."

It was not a crime to Mr. James, to love someone so much. He did not want her to be a worms feast in her grave. He heart beats for her, hers beats for no one else. Mr. James caressed her forehead, laying the new flowers by her side. He smiles sweetly to her and kisses her cheek. She never complains.

Mr. James never once thought of ever leaving Mary-Ann's side. Even though it’s been years, since she unfortunately died. It was a brain hemorrhage that took her soul. It was so fast and quiet, he did not notice until that night. Since then he had her buried, only to steal her body back the next day. He did not want to be left alone with out her. He understood people only played along, when he said she was still with him, for his sake. No one could guess she was in his bed.

Mary-Ann only stared back up with her bottomless eyes.

Is it wrong, to have a corpse in Mr. James' bed? He does not think so, even if she is dead.