Searching for love
Karen mutters absent-mindedly to herself as she tosses the loose cushions off the sofa. She pokes her fingers into the tight recesses around the seat but comes up with nothing more than a couple of rubber bands and some sultanas. She has already turned their bed upside-down. There is no other furniture in their one-room apartment. They only moved in last week. Karen has searched every nook and cranny.
She reaches for her mobile on the kitchen bench. It’s time to face the music.
She hesitates. It’s impossible for her to confess the enormity of the situation to Martin.
She becomes aware of the tension in her body. Her back is aching. The pain in her head is making her nauseous. There is a sharp, nagging knot between her shoulder blades. She draws the curtains to shut out the bright sunlight and stretches out on the sofa.
Karen closes her eyes. Once again she finds herself going over her movements since breakfast. Showered, got dressed, left for the factory, endured her shift, came home. It was only when she started making dinner that she realized the locket was missing. The chain must have broken.
She knows that she wore it to work. She wears it every day. It was a special present from Martin when they had married. The locket had been his mother’s and held a tiny photo of him as a baby and a lock of his baby hair. He will be distraught that it’s gone.
The scrape of the key in the lock startles Karen. She scrambles off the sofa and stands forlornly waiting for Martin to enter the room.
He comes in beaming. His good humour strikes a discordant note in the misery of the room. Karen can’t bear it. She flings her arms around him and bursts into tears.
“I’ve lost your locket,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry. I’ve looked everywhere. I don’t know what to do.”
She sinks dejectedly onto the sofa.
Martin sits on the floor in front of her.
“Hey, come on, sweetheart. What are you so upset about? It’s only a bit of jewellery!”
His words hang accusingly in the silence.
How could he have called the locket ‘only a bit of jewellery’? It had been his Mum’s. It was really special. The realisation that it might be gone is beginning to sink in. He remembers how his Mum wore it every day until she died. When he was little he would ask to have a look inside and loved seeing his grinning baby face wedged into the tiny heart shape. There was something innocent and unspoilt about that slip of blond hair in there with the photo.
Karen has seen the transformation on Martin’s face, the light in his eyes has dimmed. She realises how self-centred her fear and guilt about losing the locket have been. She slips down onto the floor beside him.
“Martin, I know how much the locket meant to you. It was much more than a bit of jewellery.”
He looks up. His face lights up and he grins as he sees himself reflected in her eyes.
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2 comments:
From Rick,
Kerry for me your story has two distinct parts. The first part paints so vividly the dread and sickness at heart that Karen is going through. We can all relate to her suffering. Sure she's blown it all out of proportion, but that's what we do. And when Martin comes in the door, his beaming good humoured nature makes her terrible deed feel even worse.
But then comes the second part and it feels a bit like a sellout. It's too predictable and twee. It needs something else, something unimaginable, unpredictable yet believable. It could shock, could make us laugh, could make us reflect.
How about writing another ending after the line, “I’ve lost your locket,” she sobs."?
The story SO captures that thing we go through when we lose something important – in particular something that has been a gift and is loaded with sentimental attachment. The sentence about poking around the sofa brings back every time I’ve done that! I’m assuming that they’re newly-weds, as they’ve just moved into the apartment and have no furniture yet, though the wedding didn’t feel like it was just a week or so ago.
Martin stands up well (almost too well?) against the onslaught of female tears and logic. And perhaps Karen could have taken another breath or so to get past despair and guilt and into possibility.
I think this is the theme of the story: “The locket was a symbol of their love and she had confused it for the love itself.” So for me, the locket suddenly appearing at the end was almost a let-down.
As always, I love the pictures you paint with your words.
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