Summer Nights
by Sarah Fairall
(November, 2012)
With each step up the staircase, I feel the sweltering summer close in. Drawn shades during the day keep it tolerable downstairs, but Mom won’t let us sleep on the couch. We’ll never get any sleep upstairs. It’s too hot.
Opening the window at the foot of my twin bed, I put my pillow against the footboard and hope for a puff of air. The metal screen, inches from my nose, taints the scent of warm pine. Cats do battle down the street, and moths circle the porch light. Then the air stirs and forest branches sing me a lullaby.
Heart Attack
by Sarah Fairall
(November, 2012)
A phone call started it--then a cross-country trip and a bedside vigil, offering support to Mom as they watched Dad slip away. It took ten days for him to succumb, his life force evaporating.
So many details to attend to, but Mom couldn’t face it. Still grieving, they tried to help, but soon understood two people were victims of that heart attack.
One was the seventy-four year old man. The other was the woman who for nearly fifty years had possessed his heart.