Resurection of Life

Lucy Duck Contest Submission -

The Night

Helen opened her eyes and listened for anything else while her brain tried its best to reveal the nature of the sound that woke her. Had it been wood hitting the kitchen floor? She imagined the broom falling over, its handle clapping twice against the ceramic tiles before coming to a dead rest. Certainly it wasn’t a masked fiend fumbling through her cutlery drawer for the butcher knife. Helen rolled her head to the side and read the glowing orange numbers on the illuminated digital clock. Certainly it wasn’t plausible to think the broom took it upon its own to knock itself over at exactly 2:13 AM.

She coughed, instantly berated her self for thinking the sound would deter the knife toting fiend from carrying out his gruesome plan of shredding the flesh from her bones. Helen sat up and forced her self to take a deep breath before turning on the porcelain night stand lamp. The ensuing brilliance of light emitted by the 60 watt bulb stabbed against the flesh of her eyes forcing her lids to slam shut to prevent any further pain.

Helen slid her legs out from under the sheets, pivoted to the side and stood up. She grabbed her lime green gym shorts from the floor and nearly fell flat on her face when her foot got caught on the elastic band as she went to step in to them. Just in case I need to make a run for it. She wrinkled her nose at the tee-shirt, calculating it to be unnecessary, more than likely the butcher knife was exactly where she last left it.

Some ten minutes later Helen was sitting in the backyard on a large smooth rock with bottle of Corona in one hand and a cigar in the other. Helen played the memory of Ricky’s voice inside her head, “I could spend the rest of my life watching my gorgeously hot wife smoke a cigar.” A gray cloud of smoke floated lazily out of her mouth fighting mightily to gain height and distance but the heavy humidity of the August night snuffed out its life within a matter of seconds.

A freak accident left her husband-less and reduced to the role of a sad, anxiety filled, lonely widow who found herself prey to indiscernible noises that woke her up in the middle of the night. She took another swig from the bottle and flicked the dead ashes off the cigar. The thought of Ricky finding her outside drinking a beer and smoking a cigar wearing nothing more than a pair of lime green gym shorts made her smile.

Helen rose and stared at her once prized garden. Like her it had become a widow, an unkempt gathering of flowers that were now void of love and companionship.

The Day

Helen grabbed her towel and slipped her feet in to her sandals. Christ, it was hot. She couldn’t imagine how the poor Mexican’s were able to work under such insane conditions. Helen filled four large plastic cups with ice and water and placed them on a matching red tray. Like tossing bread amongst a gaggle of pigeons the sweaty men swoop in on her the moment she stepped outside and waved to get their attention.

“Gracias”, each said as they removed a glass. The overly handsome one used the back of his wrist to squeegee away beads of sweat from his forehead before bringing the glass to his lips. Helen watched; intrigued by a clichéd ideal that a man of such physical beauty would be cutting grass for $7 an hour. No, that face should be staring at her from the end of the exam table, his hands helping her feet in to the stirrups. Helen wondered where the man would be if he had his papers.

“Mucho gracias bonita”, he muttered after downing a sizable quantity of the cold water. He thanked her again, this time in English, “Thank you”.

“You’re very welcome,” The image of a Mexican Gynecologist flushed her cheeks with blood. For a moment she thought to offer the use of the pool to the landscapers but decided against it since it was really only him she wanted to see strip down to his shorts. “More?” She pursed her lips at the glass in his hand.

He smiled in a way that clearly indicated he felt responsible for making her blush. “Yes,” he emptied the glass and placed it on the plastic tray Helen was still holding. The other three followed suit.

The Noise

3 years and a month since her husband died. The pain and anguish that spiked in intensity as the day grew nearer had now weaned down enough for Helen to be able to store it away in her mind’s closet for the next ten months or so. Helen turned off the living room light so she could look through the French doors. A full, large moon was brightly reflecting a bluish crystalline hue throughout her backyard. A gentle breeze stirred the flora in her neglected garden making the leaves and flower petals seem to beckon for her care and passion to be infused in to their lives once again. Yet it was the stillness of the water in the pool that beckoned her to come out in to the night.

Helen freed her body from the denim skirt and white linen blouse, a quick and sensible selection of clothing she had donned over her bikini before heading out for a couple hours of shopping and dove in to the pool. After counting off twenty laps Helen pulled herself out of the water, removed the towel hanging from the chaise chair and rubbed it through her long black hair before draping it over her shoulder. She removed her bathing suit, patted her “tanned to a coffee color” skin with the towel then wrung the suit free of the chlorinated water laying it to dry atop the patio table.

The evening breeze was cool and constant enough to merit opening the bedroom window that over looked the backyard. Helen lay down and within minutes was lulled to sleep by the mesmerizing dance partners of breeze and window curtain.

Her eyes shot open. The illuminated digital clock displayed 1:34 AM, a blink later it was 1:35. Metal dragging across concrete… Helen sat up, her eyes fixed on the curtain that had lost its dance partner. Helen slipped out of bed and crept to the window. The moon’s light was still brilliant, the garden, the pool and the surrounding yard showed no cause for the noise nor any signs of a knife wielding…Helen forced that from her mind.

Helen re-examined the back yard through the French doors before stepping out on to the patio. She had come downstairs without turning on any lights and without putting on any clothes--a fact she just became conscious of. If the breeze hadn’t picked back up at that exact moment, if it hadn’t tickled her with sensual hands causing goose bumps to form on the back of her arms and on the front of her thighs Helen would have stolen back in to the darkness of the house. Instead it persuaded her to make her way to the pool.

“Shit.” Her hands instinctively rose upward to cover her breasts. She tore her eyes away from the bundle of foreign clothing and scanned the yard. “Hello,” she barely said loud enough for anyone further than an arm’s distance away to hear.

The Garden Discovery

There was a slight rustle of leaves. Helen’s ears led her eyes to the exact spot in the garden. “Who’s there?”

A hand appeared first followed by his head. He rose to a kneeling position. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and then immediately turned his face away from her.

“You’re that…the landscaper,” Helen whooshed.

“Si…yes,” he admitted. His face turn toward her but deviated course, fixated on the ground in front of him. “I have no clothing,” he stammered.

Helen’s eyes glanced down at the pile of clothes and then back at the man. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say or do next. “Neither do I,” she finally countered.

The landscaper apologized again, stirred uncomfortably and promised Helen that if she went back in to the house she would never see him again. He ended his proposition by telling her he meant no harm.

Helen couldn’t believe she started to giggle. I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m not mad nor am I going to call the police.” She answered questions she assumed were exploding inside his head like 4th of July fireworks. “I’m extremely embarrassed.” Helen wiggled her toes. “I supposed you saw everything when I came outside.” Helen sat herself down on the closest chaise chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Its OK, you can come out of there. By the way, what is your name?”

“Enrique,” he stood up taking special care to cover his groin with both his hands. “Could you—“, he stopped as soon as he saw Helen nodding her head from side to side.

“It’s only fair.” Helen quipped.

Enrique carefully made his way to his pile of clothes. In one quick motion he scooped them off the ground and pressed them against his body. “I guess I should be going.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Helen fumbled with most of the words in her question.

Enrique looked shocked. “Sure.”

“Sit.” Helen looked over at the empty chaise. She collected her swim suit, took a deep breath and rose. “I’ll be right back.”

Enrique was already sitting on the edge of the chair with his clothing piled on his lap, his gaze frozen on her flawless naked form.
“I suppose I don’t need this,” she chirped and tossed the swim suit back on to the table. “You don’t mind, right?”, Enrique’s head swung from side to side. Helen smiled and made her way back toward the house all the way basking in the resurrection of life in both her gardens.

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[word count: 1698]