Anniversary Present

Climbing up the stairs, one drop of sweat after another committed hara-kiri off the end of his nose. The drops seemed to splash far, far below on the stairs. Occasionally, a drop would hit the top of a knee or shoe, leaving a skid mark.

He couldn’t stop, not now. She wouldn’t let him.

This was an exceptionally heavy load this time. But it was the last part of the engine. The block of an old 347.

The sound of his breath echoing in his head felt like it was going to blow his brain apart. Pausing, he looked at the last step, and then through a railing. Only 10 feet left to walk. Not far now.

Taking a deep breath he staggered to the platform he had built in the carpeted hallway. With his last bit of strength he slid the block off his shoulder. It crashed on to the stout 2x4 platform. He heard wood crack. Saw the block shift. But nothing happened. He leaned against the wall then slid to the floor.

He looked around at his loved surroundings. A door on his left at the end of the hall framed part of his daughter's room. Hanging from a picture of his wife, him and their daughter was her dusty college graduation tassel. He wondered when his daughter and her husband were going to give him a grandchild.

He looked right, past the open bathroom door, to a door he had closed 9 months ago - he remembered the day she had first seen that car.

***

With rice dropping on their heads and surrounded by red faces smiling congratulations, they walked out of the church.

A new, midnight-blue, 1967 and 1/2 mustang convertible sat at the bottom of the church stairs.

“Allen?” she stopped. Rice and hands kept pelting them. “Whose car is that?”

“Ours.”

“Did you rent it?”

Allen smiled.

“Oh my god!” She said through her hand.

“I love you Donna.”

She squealed as Allen picked her up and carried her to the car. With one hand he opened the car door and gently put Donna in the seat. She kissed him on the cheek as he gathered up her train and shut the door.

Their new toy left dual smoking black tracks as Allen punched through the first three gears.

***

30 years later, Donna was again in the passenger seat as he punched through the gears. This time she was slumped into the seat and against the window. She was still beautiful but she had crow’s feet around her eyes and grey streaks in her long black hair. Her eyes were closed and her body moved limply with the bumps and curves of the road.

“Allen?” she slurred. Her eyes remained closed. “Allen, I’m so tired.”

“I’m here, honey.” He squeezed her leg. “I’ll have help soon.”

He squealed to a stop in front of the sliding glass doors. Allen scooped her out of the passenger seat and ran through the double doors. “I need help!” he yelled.

His vision blurring, he watched as they pushed her down the long corridor and through the double doors.

“Sir?” a voice said. Allen turned away from the painting he had been studying for the last hour and saw a solemn young face. It was too young and seemed very far away.

“Sir. I’m sorry. Your wife…”

Stumbling over to a chair, he felt a gentle, but firm, hand guide him as his whole body began to spasm.

***

“Donna!?”

It was dark and quiet. It smelt like potpourri and motor oil. A night-light gently glowed from the bathroom, its light dusting the hallway and an engine block sitting on a platform.

Allen sat up. His back hurt and his left arm was asleep. After wiping his wet and crusty eyes he looked at his watch. 5:30am. One week till their anniversary.

He needed coffee, aspirin and a big breakfast. Even though the hard part was over Allen still had a long day ahead. Standing up he reached out for the railing to steady himself for a moment. Not needing to turn on a light, Allen walked down the stairs and to the kitchen.

After washing his breakfast dishes he walked back up stairs. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Allen gazed at the closed door for a moment. He then reached up to pull on a string hanging from the ceiling in the hall. Allen guided the folding stairs out of the ceiling and started up. Hanging from a truss above the hole in the attic floor was a block and tackle the size of his head. Ducking to avoid the pulley system, he stepped into the attic.

Ghostly shapes sat in the early morning light slanting in from a window at the far end of the attic. Allen fumbled in the dark for a moment as he plugged in an extension cord. Along the peak of the attic a row of new florescent lights flickered to life. Among the boxes and trunks pushed against the walls and sheeted in dust was a wedding dress.

In the center of the room, among scattered tools and oily rags, was a faded midnight blue mustang.

God, they loved that car.

God, he missed his wife.

Assembling and installing the engine was all Allen had left. Grabbing the end of the rope hanging from the pulley system, he walked down the stairs.