She raised her eyes to view her reflection in the mirror, studying the face before her: still young and clean of line, but with too much knowledge in her eyes: that was her belief. In music or in stories she sometimes felt the tremors of adventure, but no longer in her own her life.
When younger her image of a man was of some hero, face like rock and challenging the elements; fearless brave and short of speech: kind but in a discrete way, centered, certain and in control. She glanced over at her husband, still lying in their bed: not a captain on the ship of life or member of the crew: more a passenger: over time mhe had become a polite and blameless disappointment. She raised her eyes to the mirror again and they spoke of endurance, smiling despite the facts: a soul marooned in a parody of contentment.
Her heart was pounding as her memory filled with images and surprise. That day when she became engaged, showing off her ring and celebrating with her colleagues. Bill, locked in his wheelchair and anchored at his desk: always kindly but impersonal; the first person she’d asked for help and the least demanding. That look in his eyes when he saw her ring: filling with sadness, pride and a sense of loss before he drew the curtains over his feelings; so brief it left some room for doubt but still it troubled her in her sleep; her one engagement with the elements: powerful and undefined.
And in the news today she heard he was miraculously walking after some operation and and a brand new millionaire. He’d made some website and sold it on for millions and now was off to see the world. “Life” he said,” is an adventure and I will live it till I die.”