Butterfly Kisses

            Locking the door, she thought to herself, “Millie was right about one thing. I have been thinking of Marvin more and more lately.” At times, she even wondered if it was a sign of impending death. Maybe he was trying to tell her she was about to die. The thought of their reunion excited her. When she thought of their children, she wondered what they would think if they had the slightest notion of what went through her mind on all these lonely nights.

            Aly turned to walk towards the bedroom. As she walked by the long table next to the recliner, she could feel herself slowing down to gaze at the cluster of pictures displayed there. One in particular caught her eye. She stood there for the longest time, as if the picture were holding her captive. Becoming more and more mesmerized, she watched the picture take on a kind of unexplainable depth. Suddenly, nothing else was important; nothing existed at that moment except the picture.

            Then she felt herself falling. Reaching for the frame, her arms became terribly weak. She was getting dizzy, and it was an effort to remain standing. When her legs could no longer support her, she collapsed into a chair. “This is it,” she thought, “I’m dying. This must be a stroke.”

            Realizing that she was alone, and that it would be up to her to get help, she tried to pull herself up out of the chair. “I must get to the phone,” she thought. Struggling to get back on her feet, she reached for the floor lamp. The moment she had been praying for had come, and she was fighting it. Time slowed to a crawl, and like the rewinding frames of a movie reel, it spun backwards, and then stopped.

            “I’m going to watch my life pass before me,” she thought, “I must be dead.” She had prayed for death on many occasions, but never imagined it would happen like this. Then she noticed that time had taken her back as well. She glanced again at her hand; it was no longer wrinkled or spotted. It was peachy-colored and absent of all signs of aging. Her grasp was tight, but not around the lamp. She was holding onto a pole. The chair had transformed into a horse on a merry-go-round. The noise of the wind had been replaced by the sounds of carousel music and laughing children. She detected the scent of freshly popped popcorn and cotton candy.

            “This can’t be death,” she wondered to herself. “Can it? No . . .” She moved her hand to confirm it was still hers. “Whoops!” she shrieked almost falling off the horse. Startled, she grabbed the pole with her other hand. “Could it be? Oh my God! I’m in the picture!” A feeling of awe came over her. “Am I dreaming?” She answered her own question, “I don’t think so.”

            The urge to close her eyes was overwhelming. As if destined to, she gave in to it. Now, totally in the moment, she flowed with it. Her children were young, about nine and twelve. They were all at an amusement park riding on the merry-go-round.