"The Nightstand"

A short story.

Gertrude rummages through her nightstand drawer, fervently in search of... something.

​”Oh, I’ve been looking for this,” she says, picking up the round, tin tube of lip balm. She dabs a little on her lips and throws the container back in the drawer to settle among the mess.

​”I need to make a list,” she says, after discovering a pen and before pushing the drawer shut. This is not what she has been looking for, but that’s okay, because now she has a pen and she can make a list. A list helps her remember what she shouldn’t forget.

​”One,” she begins. “Get George’s dry cleaning.” Gertrude frowns. She remembers something else: the new fellow who presses George’s shirts. He’s no good. He needs to steam them longer. Means well, she knows, but George is very particular. And who could blame him, big advertising exec that he is? Coca-Cola’s number-one man, she always reminds the gals at the club. Their husbands aren’t nearly as accomplished.

​”Two,” she continues. “Talk to Mr. Fischer about the new boy. He must steam George’s shirts longer.”

​Gertrude is interrupted by an incessant rap at the door. Whoever it is needs a good lesson in patience, Gertrude thinks.

​”Just a minute,” Gertrude says. She tries her very best to sound composed, despite feeling quite annoyed by the disturbance.

​It is an officer. His face looks serious and, immediately, Gertrude knows something terrible has happened.

​”Ma’am, do you mind if I come in?”

​”What’s wrong? What’s happened? Did something happen to my George?” Gertrude asks. She is in a state of panic.

​”There’s been an accident,” he says slowly, but deliberately. Gertrude feels faint. The officer steps in and tells Gertrude to have a seat. He tells her the bad news. She listens in a blur, as if in slow motion.

​”Truck driver... been drinking... slid off the road... oncoming vehicle... no survivors.”

​Gertrude erupts into sobs, hysterical, and she hears another rap at the door.

​”Miss Gertrude? Miss Gertrude?” a pleasant woman with a beautiful round face says as she enters. She picks up the remote control and turns down the volume on the TV.

​”Oh, Miss Gertrude, what did I tell you ‘bout watching all these crazy crime shows? They always get you worked up.”

​The woman returns a few moments later with a glass of water and sets it on the nightstand next to a picture. “I’ve always loved this one,” she says, beaming. “Your George was such a good-looking man.”

Photo by me