Freddie Missing
By YaseminB
- 625 reads
Freddie Missing
Freddie left. “I am off to get some milk!” He said, “where is me slippers!”
So I handed him his shoes. Then I insisted that he wears his scarf; the stripy one. Outside, the cold would make the hell freeze over. But Freddie don’t feel the cold no more.
There was a time he bought me flowers every other week, you know, not long ago. Deidre said I was lucky; her husband wouldn’t even bring a bunch of cow parsley flowers for her. Dementia hit him out of no- where; he don’t remember his name most days.
I remember the day we met, he doesn’t anymore. It was at me big sister’s wedding. I was the bridesmaid. I wore an ebony gown. Long like with lace trimming at the hems. He was smoking. In them days, we all smoked. His hair was black in them days. I mean really black. Not like the folks of this town. His complexion matched my gown. Then I knew I was falling for him. He came to me and introduced himself. I shook his hand, my hand was trembling.
“I haven’t seen you around before?” I stammered.
“No, I am new in this town! “ Said he!
Then we talked a little more. “Meet me at the Dolly’s tomorrow at the noon.” He said.
I blushed. Dolly’s is now a supermarket but it was a fine tea house in them days. She served us scones with strawberry jam and cream and tea.
I spread the cream first on me scone. He laughed and said it was the wrong way; that jam should go on the scone first. Here in Devon, we put cream first, I said.
Cornwall is the native land for scones, he insisted. Lover's tiff!
We parted with a kiss. It was the French Kind. Two years later, I wore an off-white gown on our wedding day. It was pure silk; a little tight around my tummy, mind. I heard the flutter in my tummy upon saying “I do!” To this day, I don’t whether it was butterflies in me tummy or me first born kicking me in the tummy.
But Freddie is gone. Six months now. The police are searching for him. There is not a day I don’t cry for him. There is not a day that I don’t pray that he is back. Life ain’t the same without me Freddie.
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a kind of purgatory you've
a kind of purgatory you've created here. Dementia does that.
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beautiful and touching, and flows very well
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