By Laura L. Zimmerman
He was invisible.
At least, that’s how they treated him.
Roman sat in the weathered rocking chair on his front porch, a light spring breeze tossing his thinning hair. The late afternoon sun raced to hide its face from the world. He sighed.
All was right when he sat in his favorite chair. Here he could think. He could breathe. He could be.
And so he rocked.
His bad knee ached. The past seventy-three years had been kind to him, mostly. But his bones creaked louder with every passing day.
Three teenage boys shuffled along Roman’s street, each with a skateboard in arm. One of them must’ve told a joke because the other two broke into a fit of wild laughter. The tallest of the youths punched one of the others in the shoulder. The boy stumbled away dramatically. They continued to laugh, a few muffled words between them.
One caught sight of Roman. He smacked his friend in the chest, the other coming to an abrupt stop. Without another word, they threw their boards to the ground and skated away.
Roman’s heart sank. The young men didn’t even give him an opportunity to pass along a smile.
He released a heavy breath and continued his rocking marathon. The chair squeaked back and forth. Back and forth.
A few minutes later, a delivery truck stopped in front of his house. Excitement spilled through Roman. He stilled his trusty rocker.
The man strode up to the front porch, scanning and setting the package on the doorstep without a glance at Roman. I’m right here. Why not give me the package?
Roman leaned forward in the chair. “Good afternoon.”
The delivery man looked up, his gaze connecting with Roman’s. The man crinkled his nose in disgust, then turned and left the porch.
Roman dropped his head. Would this silence never end?
The front door clicked open. Roman glanced up and froze.
Silvia.
His wife stepped from the house, bending down gingerly to pick up the package. She glanced toward Roman. Her chin quivered, and her lips worked to find words.
Will she finally speak to me?
She slammed her mouth shut, anguish painted across her features, then skirted around him to take her place in the rocking chair beside his. The same chairs in which they’d rocked their lives away… for almost fifty years now.
She settled in, the package balanced on her knees. In silence, she rocked, her gaze locked on the street before them. Roman sat paralyzed, unwilling to interfere with what could be their first words in weeks. Months?
Tension strained against the quiet. Finally, a single, whispered word from Roman. “Silvia?”
Her gaze rose to meet his, then found its way back to her lap. She broke down into tears. He clenched and unclenched his fists, helpless. Minutes passed as she sat and wept, Roman giving her the space she needed, despite the tightness in his chest.
Just when he was sure she’d finally speak, that they could clear the air between them, she stood, cradling the package like a newborn. In a blink, she was back inside the house, the screen door slamming behind her.
Roman dropped his head in his hands. How could he make this right?
He sat and mourned, his only comfort the sway of his rocking chair. Back and forth. Back and forth.
An hour passed, the sky growing darker. His rocker rolled over and over the familiar groves in the front porch. A sudden rumble pulled him from his stupor. He lifted his head.
A moving truck pulled into his driveway.
He sat straight up. What’s this?
A man in a blue uniform stepped from the truck, approached the front door, and leaned into the doorbell.
The door squeaked open, a faint scent of cinnamon rolls slipping outside.
“Mrs. Russo?” The man read from a paper he plucked from his shirt pocket.
“Yes, sir.” Exhaustion laced her words.
“I’m here for the furniture pick-up.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” She turned and pointed right at Roman. “It’s just there. The old rocking chair.”
Roman gasped. What was she doing?
“It belonged to my husband. Had it since he was a young child. He was always quite attached to it.”
Was? Roman’s heart thrummed like a train inside his ears.
“Was, ma’am?”
“I’m afraid my dear Roman passed away a few months back. The sight of the rocker is a sting to my soul each time I see it.”
“I understand.”
Roman froze. The teenagers, the delivery guy, the furniture mover… No one hated him. And Silvia. She wasn’t angry with him. She missed him.
He really was invisible. And, like his rocker, it was time for him to move on.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
So sad… And we’ll done. I wonder how many spirits don’t realize they’ve passed.
Thank you! I actually had the couple from the movie UP in my head when I wrote this. I wondered what it would look like if the husband and wife had reversed places.
Laura, you get me every time, right in the feels. So sad and sweet!
Thank you, Laura! This one got me in the feels, too. ;)
Oh, I see. Nice plot twist, and great way to tie off the story with an emotional moment.
Thanks, Zachary!
Beautifully written! It brought a tear for Roman and Sylvia and all who feel the loss of a loved one. Your ending was a comfort for me!
Thank you so much! <3 It definitely tugs at the heartstrings!
This is SUCH a great haunting! Love it!
Oh yay! I’m so glad you liked it Cadi! <3
Well done, Laura! Love it.
Thank you, Kandi! :)
Ooh. The whole atmosphere of this was fantastic! Really well played. Nostalgic, almost. But creepy and touching, too. Amazing job, Laura!
I can just picture that empty rocking chair creak-creaking on the porch…
Thank you, Kristiana! Yes, I pictured it as well. Definitely a bit creepy. Lol.