Your Hand

She took a sip from her wine glass.
Carlo Rossi.
White.

It was an all time favorite; and the occasion called for it.

The breeze tugged a few strands of her hair loose, whipping it gently across her face.
She left it there…
Instead, she savored the taste and feel of the wine on her tongue and in her mouth.
She heard his voice in the distance.

He was laughing.
She told one of her dry jokes.
Throwing his head back, his rich laughter rang out loud.
She laughed too.
They lay back down on the blanket and held hands.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her note book.
She flipped the pages.
She stopped.
The dog-ear
She heard his voice…again.

She smiled. She sighed.
Sometimes, she got lost: in his words, the sound of his voice, the wine, the tale he told.

She’d find herself wrapped up,  far away, and yet so close.

He shut the book and reached for her hand.

She sighed.
She held his hand.

The sun was beginning to set.
It was time to go.
She heard his voice…again.

“Mel, give me a kiss.”
She leaned in and kissed him.
When they pulled away, he smiled and stroked her face.
“Let’s go home baby.”
“Okay.”
They gathered their things and walked back to the car.
He pulled her close to him and kissed her cheek; she giggled.
He put his arm across her shoulder; she reached up and held his hand.

She looked down at her fingers spread out across the slab.
She sighed.
“I want to hold your hand again…”
She drained her glass, and dropped it beside the equally empty wine bottle.
Rising from her perch, she put her jacket on and looked down.

“Here lies
Obinna Xavier Ahaneku
1983 – 2011.
Brother, Husband, Uncle, and Friend.”

She sighed.
She looked at her fingers, her nails, her rings.
“I just want to hold your hand one more time.”

This was written in memory of Obinna Akubueze, who passed away on June 3rd, 2012.

He wasn’t married to the writer before passing away.

@ReineVerte__

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