A Story

Our first assignment in film school was to wander out and about, find someone interesting to observe and create a story around it. My story is a bit cliche, but if you're in the mood for a short maybe this will keep you entertained for a while.

Rosemary sighed deeply as she walked across the grassy grounds of the small little oceanside church. Scott, you fat, old geezer, you know how much I hate religion, she thought. If you weren’t dead I’d strangle you right now.


She had already cursed him at least four times this morning. Her frame was frail and she navigated the uneven ground with small, cautious steps. Her billowing white-and-purple dress, specially picked for the occasion, caught in the wind and wrapped around her ankles threatening to trip her.

She scanned the crowd through her over-large sunglasses and pulled her hat down lower over her eyes. Yes, there’s the place, she thought. It was in the back and not easy to get to, but she was determined. Walking slowly through the crowd, she reached the spot and pulled herself up onto the twisted trunk of an old tree bent sideways by years upon years of strong ocean wind.

Rosemary patted the tree as she positioned herself and adjusted her long skirt. You’re probably the only living thing here that’s seen more years than I have, she thought. She smiled melancholically and tried to focus on the Easter Sunday service that was taking place on the spreading lawn of the little church.

But she couldn’t. Her thoughts drifted back to Scott and the handwritten note she had opened four months earlier on January 1st.

My Darling Rosemary,

This will be your eleventh letter from me, and the eleventh year since I last held your hands in mine and told you how much I love you. You know, it’s the small things that get me; your laughter, your eyes, the sound of for voice....

My dear, every year on January first you open a letter from me and every year I send you on an adventure I wish we could have done together. This year isn’t grand. No elephant rides. No trip the arctic to see the polar bears. No rides in a hot air balloon.

You’re not going to like this one very much. I can almost hear you swearing at me now. My wish is for you to go to the Easter Sunday service.

Now stop swearing, put down your cigarette and hear me out. I’m laying on this bed with too much time to think about death but not enough time to live past a few months. What if those preachers we watch on TV are right? What there is something beyond this life? I know how you feel about religion, but maybe you’ll find something special in that Easter service. Maybe you’ll figure out what I haven’t; a way to live forever.

Helping you discover that would be the best gift any husband could give. I hope you find a way, and maybe I can meet you there.

Yours in life and death,

Scott

So here she was, thinking about Scott instead of listening to the preacher. Scott knew she didn’t do religion. Blasted all, he hated religions just as much as she did! But she aways respected his wisdom. He had a bright head on his shoulder and an uncanny understanding of life’s complexities.

Eleven years ago, he was facing death and wondering about life after death. Maybe he was right. If there was any hope to live beyond this reality, maybe she would find it here. Maybe they could be together again. She tucked her billowing skirt under her legs, adjusted her pearls and leaned in, listening to what the young preacher had to say.