Windkill

A woman was frantically digging in a chest as she alternately searched and tried to watch the television. She tried to keep from damaging any of the memories in the steamer but knew she would have a mess to clean after the search.

Eventually, she found what she sought wrapped in a blue flag with one gold star sewn in the center of the pennant. Finally, gingerly, she pulled the picture from the cloth and held it up to the television. The soldier in the picture was on the television. Rocking back from the image, she sat on the floor and simply watched the man as he decided while tears rolled down her cheeks.

The picture slid from her grasp and landed on the floor face down. Taped to the backing of the picture was a telegram faded brown with age. The first line of the message, covered by clear tape, kept print in a perverse preservation of pain and loss.

“The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your husband…”

A word slipped from the woman’s lips so softly that it was less than a whisper. It was a breath of loss. “Grandpa.”