For the Future

The rain was blisteringly cold, pelting Tommy’s face as he made the bitter trek from the car into the farmhouse. Water ran along the gravel road, sloshing at his feet and creeping into the tops of his leather boots. By the time he reached the shelter of his porch, he was drenched. The only thing that kept the cold at bay was the thought of his wife, warm inside, just taking dinner out of the oven. And their unborn child, growing and developing in the safety of the womb.

As Tommy entered the home, a droplet of icy rain water fell from his hair, sliding down his back, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. The embers in the fireplace were dying, casting an eerie shadow against the unusually dark living area.

“Sylvie?” His voice jumped out into the void and bounced back, hitting him in the face. Carefully, Tommy slid off his outer coat, droplets of rain catching on his shirt and dissolving into his skin. He pulled his hat of his head, setting it on the coffee table.

Walking towards the kitchen, Tommy ran his hand through his hair, slicking back his crew cut. As he turned the corner into the kitchen, his hand fell limp to his side.

Broken dishes were scattered on the ground, pasta and tomato paste splattered the wooden floors and cabinets. Tommy couldn’t help but notice specks of a darker, redder liquid, permeating amongst the failed dinner.

Outside, the rain began falling even harder than before. Tommy looked up, just realizing that the door to the backyard was open, and footprints of tomato paste led outside.

Sylvie always liked walking barefoot.

Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle formulating in Tommy’s mind, he stepped out the door onto the back porch and looked out on the dark plains. With the monotonous clouds and grass, it appeared to Tommy as if he were stepping into the great void, but then he saw the blur of a white dress in the distance.
Resigned and indignant, he walked into the belligerent rain. His feet slumped into puddles of icy cold mud, but he kept his head forward, his eyes locked on the white blur in the distance.

Sylvie’s frame became more apparent as he approached her, her arms only a slightly lighter shade of gray than her surroundings. Her wet white nightgown was flushed against her skin, the hem of the dress blackened with mud and blood. Her shoulders were back, her posture rigid.

Tommy stopped only a few feet away. Again he shouted her name into the void, and again it bounced back to slap him across the face. If not for her long dark hair, fighting the discoloration of her surroundings, she would have been lost.

He took another step towards her, every inch forward bringing her more into focus.

“Sylvie,” he said again. She gave no indication to having heard her name being called. Her body remained rigid, diligently facing the distance.

It took Tommy a moment to realize that he was actually close enough to touch her. He reached a hand out, almost expecting his pale fingers to move right through her. But gently, they came in contact with her icy cold skin.

She jumped at the touch, as if Tommy had attempted to scare her. Gasping, the air brought life back into her body, her shoulder relaxing and colour just barely returning to her paled face. Water droplets raced down her cheeks, falling onto her chest and becoming lost in the lace of her night gown.

“We lost him.” She said blankly, as if referring to a sock missing in the wash. Her face showed discomfort, but no grief. She blinked once more, before fully coming back to the moment.
“It’s raining,” she realized, “we should get inside.”

Tommy did not move. He did not know what to say. He turned his head past Sylvie, noticing a shovel and a small plot of freshly overturned grass.

It was Sylvie’s turn to move. Gently she reached her arm out, putting a hand to Tommy’s hardened cheek. Tommy closed his eyes, leaning into it slightly.

The couple stood there, silently numbing the pain of their lost child, before heading inside, and cleaning up the dinner they never had a chance to eat.