Flash Fiction Contest: Postcards From Penny

Feb 1, 2010 by Wendy

Postcards from Penny

Clouds loom overhead on a sticky New Orleans afternoon, waiting for their cue to dirge the recently deceased, Penelope Jane Bordeaux,  through a symphony of tiny water droplets.  Throughout the service, they remain quiet and respectful of Jake’s farewell to Penelope.

A Southern, baritone voice erupts from the preacher, dressed in black, beckoning all of the lost souls in attendance to take heed and repent their sins before its too late.

“Thank you, Lord Jesus, for all who have come here today.  Please see them home safely and help them understand that you have a greater purpose for our dear Penelope. Amen,” says the preacher.

Sweet sounds of “Amazing Grace” pierce the mourners in St. Louis No. 1, as they crowd around Jake in hopes of shouldering his burden. “Amazing grace. How sweet the sound that saved a wretch a like me …”

A silvery, white hair woman, barely taller than a broomstick shuffles toward Jake. “Oh, honey,” she says in a heavy cajun accent. “I’m so sorry about dis,” as she embraces him tightly.  “We all know it wasn’t your fault.”

Jake nods and politely says, “thank you,” with a numb expression on his face.  Inside his heart explodes and tears slide down his face. His inner voice screams, “That’s my wife. That should be me … not her.”

He rises,  barely able to stand on his own strength and stumbles a short distance to Penny’s casket.  Angry and remorseful tears cover Jake’s face.  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Penny. I should’ve never let you go alone. What was I thinking? Please forgive me.”

Jake’s brother, Adam, makes a consoling gesture as he kneels beside him.  “Man, you know this isn’t your fault. She’s walked out plenty of times after an argument. That’s what she does. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

He looks at Adam and raises his voice, “We were in a strange place.  I should’ve known better.   And I’m not leaving her right now.”

“Dude, you can’t stay here all day. It’s about to rain,” Adam says as he points to the dark sky. “Look.”

Jake clenches his jaw and says in a lower tone, “Please … just leave me alone.”

Adam realizes that Jake needs a little more space, so he backs away and quietly alerts the others.

Suddenly, Jake feels vibrations from Penny’s hot pink cell phone — still in his pocket from their trip.  “She had a hair appointment today,” he smiles at the phone and then yells, “She’s not going to be there. Don’t you know? It’s my fault, she’s dead.”

He presses a button silencing the annoying reminder and looks at the mobile photos taken last week on their Dominican second honeymoon. Pausing on each image of Penny, remembering their trip.

It started out as a great vacation. His lips quiver as he walks through the memories leading up to her death.  Dinner on their third night started out normal. They had a late night with a few bottles of wine playing their favorite bar game.

It ended horribly. Penny grew jealous over Jake’s comments about other women, finally  walking away … leaving him alone in the restaurant.

Jake waited a few minutes before following Penny, because she had a history of walking out on arguments.  He figured she’d show up at their room soon.

She thought Jake was watching her and wanted him to regret his words, so she purposely chose the scenic way back to Hotel Stella — two blocks away.  Penny slung her small leather purse in anger around her shoulder to cross the cobblestone streets. The worn leather strap cracked under force falling to the ground revealing memories of the week: new cherrylicious lipstick, green matchbooks from Hotel Stella, several receipts, two Tampax, one brown prescription bottle, a Lancome compact and postcards she bought for Jake.

Beach scenes on the postcards caught Penny’s eye, she kneeled, feeling horrible about her behavior and started to cry.  A bit of moonlight struck her silver Cross pen, and she smiled.  Penny realized that she had overreacted and quickly scribbled:

“I love you.  I was wrong. Please forgive me. Love, your wife!”  and dropped it into the yellow street mailbox.

In the distance, she heard Jake calling her name: “Penny … Penny …”

She stopped in the middle of the street, “I’m over here.”

Penny didn’t notice the large banana truck barreling her way. The brakes squealed but were not strong enough to stop the collision. Penny died on impact in front of Jake.

The phone vibrates again.  Jake looks down to see the same hair appointment message — realizing he pressed snooze instead of stop before and remembers he’s at Penny’s funeral.

Heavy clouds break their silence and rain drops splatter on the vinyl funeral home tarp over Jake’s head.

Adam returns with umbrellas and urges Jake to leave. They go back to Jake’s — with a house full of relatives waiting.  On the counter, was a stack of mail.  Jake was unsure where it came from.

At first, he didn’t pay any attention to the mail, but then started flipping through it as distraction from reality.  “Direct mail, more direct mail crap, bills and …,” Jake pauses and begins to cry, “Penny! Oh, my God!”

Penny’s postcards finally made it home.

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