Death’s Hand

By Heather Ritts 

I would not say that Death and I are best friends, but we know each other well.  Today we are sitting together on the edge of this bridge, our flip-flop feet dangling over the side.  She’s been with me for a while now.  

I don’t remember when I first saw her. I know it was sometime in college. She was gray, ugly, and fat.  She followed me everywhere and reminded me how lonely and sad I was. She had me step on the scale at least two times a day and laughed at the number. She was so mean to me.  Even if I locked my dorm door, she still got in. I transferred to another school in a different state.  She found me.  

I didn’t know how to get away, so I decided to befriend her, and our relationship began.  We stayed out late and drank until we were numb. Sometimes I would wake up and not know where I was, but she was still there with me like a true friend.  She soon became my only friend.  Throughout my 20s and 30s I would try to make new friends or start a new project, but she would always be there to remind me that I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, or pretty enough. 

Death and I grew apart for a few years in my early 40s and for a moment I forgot about her.  When my brother died from an overdose, she came back to check on me like any good friend would.  She told me I could go see him and we discussed ways to get there. In the end I decided not to go. She reminded me that I was still a failure.     

My dad died last week. I am strong enough to go with her now. The wind is picking up and the red maple leaves are falling off the trees.  They float forever in the wind. I ask her how long I will float, and she says not long. I kick off my right flip-flop and watch it fall, I can’t tell if it hits the bottom. A crow hovers above and I remember the pet crow my brother and I had when we were little.  I see my brother’s bright smile. I let my other flip-flop drop and scoot closer to the edge. As I lift my arms, the wind surrounds me like a warm hug from my dad. Death’s hand touches my lower back and tells me we are ready.   

My phone rings. I forgot to silence the ringer. I look at the screen. It’s my son. I slide back and stand up.  She sighs and looks at me with her usual disappointment.  I walk barefoot off the bridge towards my car as I answer the phone.  I tell my son I can pick him up from baseball and that I will bring him his favorite Gatorade – blue.  I tell him that I love him before we hang up. 

She closes the back door of my car.  I can see the dark circles under my eyes and her reflection in the rearview mirror. Death says we will discuss this later. I tell her to please shut up because we need to go home to get another pair of shoes before going to the store.  I also tell her to remind me to pick up another gallon of milk.