The Nineteenth of November

I have decided to start putting some of my stories on my site, I have been hesitant because people always jump to conclusions as to where an author draws his inspiration, and the last thing I want is friends and family calling to ask if a story was about them, or about someone they know, or to assume it was from some event in my life. That being said, it there are, of course, details from my life in my stories, but I also have a very vivid imagination and am quite creative (thats a nice way of saying odd, I'm sure). So here is a short story that I wrote from my Creative Writing class this semester at KCC, it's called The Nineteenth of November. Enjoy.

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We stood across from each other looking down at the dining room table. Both places had a placemat, each placemat had a napkin that was folded in half, diagonally. A knife and spoon both placed on top of the napkin, and on the right side of a plate, which was centered on the placemat. To the left of the plate was a solitary fork. Each of the utensils had been cleaned, and the silver was shining with life as if it were a holiday meal. The plates were made of fine china, and the napkins that were made of silk were pressed and folded perfectly.

Placed on top of the plate was a delicious smelling steak that must have marinated in Jameson's whiskey, along with other seasons and spices, overnight. Next to the steak were red skin mashed potatoes that were mixed with rosemary, basil and garlic. The potatoes still had good sized lumps, that had an evening effect on the creamy texture of the potatoes. The garlic was finely chopped, not just a powder mixed in. There were green beans also on the plate, lightly drizzled with olive oil and some butter. The juice ran off from the steak and beans, and puddle around the marvelous mashed potatoes. It was prepared exactly the way I like it.

“What’s the occasion” I asked.

“You mean you don’t remember?” The slightest, most faint frown forced itself onto her face.

“No. Can’t say that I do…”

“Then guess”

“I don’t like to guess, is it a surprise?”

“No, you don’t like surprises.”

I sat down at one of the placemats ornate with food. I didn’t touch a thing on the table, I just sat there for a moment. She stood across from me, watching me. As I sat there, I tried to think of what kind of occasion would require such a elaborate display. I am used to eating on regular hard plastic plates, not the ones you would server for a party, but certainly not china. I am used to eating with everyday utensils, this, this must be a rare occasion. It must be something special, something fantastic, something spectacular, and something I should not have forgotten.

“It's not our anniversary, that’s not until November, I remember that.”

“If it's not our anniversary, what is it then?”

“Well, it's not my birthday, it's not your birthday or I would be cooking, and it's not a holiday…” my voice trailed off.

"You're sure about all these?"

"Yes of course, I'm certain."

“So you're positive it’s not our anniversary?”

“Yes. I’m positive. Our Anniversary isn’t until November, it's June.”

A look of sadness came across her face, her brilliant smile faded, and I could see her eyes start to fill with tears. Why was she crying? Today was in fact June 5th, I know it because I, well, I just do. Its Monday, we just spent the weekend camping up north. We wouldn’t go camping in November, its bloody cold that time of year. But if it isn’t our anniversary, why is she so upset? Why did she ask if I was sure?

“Why are you getting upset?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” I asked, the feeling of being a horrible husband was getting worse. “Did I do something? How did I upset you?”

“Today is not June 5th..." she trailed off, and then stated, "Today is November 19th, which means today is our anniversary. Our 3rd anniversary.”
Third anniversary? What is she talking about? We have only been married for a year. What the crap is going on, what on earth is she thinking?

“Hun, are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“Yes. I am fine.”

“Well you don’t..” I stopped mid thought. I know better than to say you don’t look fine. I know better than say something that could make the situation worse than it apparently already is.

“...well then what’s wrong?”

“Today is November 19th, and you forgot our anniversary again, I should be used to it by now." She said it with such ease that if she wasn't sobbing, it would sound like normal conversation.

"I should have known it was going to happen. It happened last year, but I just keep hoping you will remember. I mean, it's our anniversary, it’s supposed to be an important day, it’s supposed to be one of life’s milestones. It’s not something you're supposed to forget, you should be remembering the big events like this.”

“I remember our anniversary, I know its November 19th, I remember your birthday, its October 2nd, I remember all of our important dates”

“But you don’t remember today. You don’t remember that today is November 19th.”

"Today isn't the 19th, and it's not November, its June!" I couldn't help but raise my voice, it just does it on its own, it isn't because I was angry, or upset, or even because I was frustrated (all of which I most definitely am at this point), it's because I wanted to add emphasis, so that I wouldn't sound like a crazy person.

"No! Today is not the 19th and it is certainly not June." She walked out of the room and I could hear her searching in the kitchen.

I could feel the warm blood in my face, and couldn't think that I must look angry, which makes sense because I am angry, but why? Why are we even here talking about this? The sudden sound of her footsteps coming back into the room diverted the questions in my mind.

"Here, look." she says handing me a newspaper. "Today is our anniversary."

I looked down at the newspaper, and notice a picture of a soldier under the headline ... my eyes glide away from the headline to the upper right hand corner of the paper. "November 19th" I said it without even realizing that I was speaking. I'm confused, how could it be November 19th when today is June 5th.

"The doctors said that your memory would come back to you slowly, and in many areas it has."

Her voice now seemed to force the words out, it sounded almost as if she was whimpering her words instead of speaking them. This action alone tore my insides apart, how could I do this to her, how could I be so cruel and mean, what's wrong with me??

"What's going on.. What have I done.. What's.." The words were more difficult to speak than I ever imagined they would be. "What's wrong with me?"

"Two years ago we decided to go hiking-"

"Two years ago?? That was this ..." I stopped myself from continuing. How could this be?

" Two years ago we decided to go hiking, and there was an accident. We were on our way home."

Hey eyes were filling up with tears again, she sat down behind the second placemat at the table, she picked up the perfectly folded napkin and attempted to dry her eyes.

"You didn't want to go hiking because it was November, you said it was too cold, but I begged you. I was tired of hearing about how much fun you had when you and your friends would go, and the adventures you had with them. I nagged you until you said you would take me. You tried to put it off until the spring at first, but I didn't want to wait."

He hands were shaking, her voice cracking, I felt awful. Why was I making her relive this moment? I wanted her to stop talking, to just forget that it ever happened.

"I forgot. I forgot our anniversary. I'm sorry, I will make it up to you, I promise." It was my feeble attempt to make things right, it was all I could think of to say.

"It was cold, but I made us stay. I was determined to 'tough it out', and I did. But on our way home, on Sunday night, I was bragging in the car about how I was just as tough as you were."

She was bragging about being as tough as my friends. She was trying to convince me that she should be able to go with me the next time my friends wanted to go hiking. I told her I was proud of her. I told her that she made her point, and that I was wrong, she was just as tough as any of the guys I go hiking with. I told her that the next time we went hiking, she could go with us.

"I was bragging about how I was just as tough as your friends, and that the next time you went hiking, I wanted to go with you, instead of staying home, or going to my parents. You said that I could, and that..."

She paused to wipe the tears that seemed to never fully stop. Her nose was running, her face was red, she was sobbing, and all I could think about was the pain that I was causing her. How hard it must be for her to deal with me, to deal with a broken mind like mine.

"You were proud of me. I was proud of me."

She paused again, but it wasn't to wipe her eyes, or blow her nose. This time she paused because she no longer wanted to go on with the story.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I leaned over and kissed you. And in that brief moment three deer walked out onto the road. You swerved to miss them, but slammed sideways into a tree. I was thrown from the car, but you had your seatbelt on. The truck hit the tree, just in front of the driver's side door. The paramedics said that we were lucky to be alive. If I had worn my seatbelt, they said I would have snapped my neck."

A look flashed on her face suggesting that it would have been simpler for her had she died in the accident.

"Your head hit the airbag, but it slid off because of the angle that the truck hit the tree."

She looked at me. The look in her eyes was the saddest I had ever seen. It's as if her eyes were mourning a loss, the loss of me.