The Blue Chair Pt.3

Blue Chair Pt. 3 by: M. R. Vega

Jacob and his small family had finally pulled up to the house, the rain had become a heavy drenching matching their grief and he did what he could to cover them both as they wearily came to the door. The patio and its tin-roofed awning cracked through their senses and brought them all to an alertness that none but maybe Jacob could bear as he struggled to find the right key to gain entrance to their domain and the slowly decaying Emily. Once inside, their son shed off his jacket and backpack with a careless demeanor that matched the withdrawal he’d already started to show, almost as though he felt it was coming as Jacob did. 

Jacob’s wife though was nearly unconsolable, her shaking had brought her to her knees before she had a chance to strip her boots off while she asked where her puppy was through tears and soaking snot. Jacob pointed to the mass atop her dog bed while he knelt down and unzipped the boots from her feet and slowly pulled them from her hot feet. The jacket stayed though as she quickly darted to the mass of what was Em with Jacob’s arms slowly missing the hood and dropping at his hips. He hung his head, shook it, tried to wipe the tears away but knew it was a hopeless endeavor and just followed her motion and fell at the foot of Em’s bed. He put an arm over his wife’s shoulder and pulled at her gently as she turned toward his armpit and wept uncontrollably, flooding his shirt and soul with the misery she felt and Jacob could only absorb it as he knew he’d have to.

He struggled though, as he kept wanting to relinquish the knowledge behind Em’s foretold passing, wanting to unfold all of the nights before for the last few years. But of course, now wouldn’t be the time. He rummaged through his mind library and debated how, when, and what would be told to his darling that wouldn’t make him look like a loon and have her screaming for help or calling a psychiatrist instantly. His past was already wrapped up in a flummoxed tragedy of suicide attempts as a teen, a psychotic break right before they were engaged, shortly followed by his mid-life crisis that she so eloquently avoided ever discussing. She always happened to see him in his best light and at points, this drove a wedge between them. He was a talker, the communicator, whether it was for the better, it helped and she was quite the contrary. Her lips consistently lay pressed tightly keeping the intrapersonal as she deemed it right. It didn’t matter though, least Jacob didn’t think it was, assuming at some point, rather soon than the latter she’d to know about the coming accident at her school and so many other moments that could possibly be avoided if completely halted. He signed heavily as the thinking became weighted and brought a mental fatigue through him that shook his head and disrupted his wife’s emotional flurry. 

Luckily their son was nonverbal, and brilliant in his ways of communication, especially with his assistive tech but with this and the loss of his only pet, the family’s only pet, he didn’t grab his device. He just slowly and quietly whined emitting an almost numbing and hollow high hum that echoed throughout the house bringing a hollowing that each member of the household felt. Both Jacob and his wife looked at him and felt that pit deepen with seeing the tears collect at the corner of his solemn eyes and they both waved at him to come and be held. He was apprehensive at first, shifted in his comfortable and memorized spot on the cushion finally hoisting himself to the two, and began to cry with both of them. None of the family could hold it in any longer and they all sobbed loudly petting the sherpa-adorned family pet, kissing the slowly stinking and decaying body of Emily while saying goodbye. Jacob felt not only moved but crushed, walloped by the weight of seeing both of them remorseful in agony with this loss, and only wished there was a way of making this moment better. But knowing that wasn’t a feasible nor manageable feat he continued to cry with both of them kissing their head.

Published by Matty R. B.

I'm a writer, artist, story teller and avid reader. I preside in the realm between reality and fiction dabbling on memory, dream, and the grasp of darkness that gets us all. I rest when the weary wake and live through the odd hours and hot desert of filed terrors and mysteries. Welcome to DreamDarkStories.

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