I often play with words, weekly, at the encouragement of those at the Creative Copy Challenge (on WordPress). This week’s words lead me to fun little expression of emotions. The capitalized words are the challenge words for this week.
Isabella pulled the plastic wand out of the small bottle filled with dish soap. The ROSE water simmered in the quarter-sized circle. The hews of the rainbow danced on the see-through liquid. She drew in a breath, brought the stick up near her puckered lips, and blew the air out of her lungs. She gave life to the BUBBLES – five or was it six? She lost count as she watched them float away on the breeze. The smallest one stalled. It glistened like a beacon. Isabella smiled allowing the child-like joy to fill her until the BUBBLE popped. After inserting the wand back into the bottle, she secured the top and place the vessel of fun back in the box.
Her pinky brushed up against satin. She paused. Her heartbeats strengthened in anticipation of holding it again. Gently picking up the ribbon she held the attached barrette as if it would break.
The breeze picked up the FEATHER that had been carefully weighted down by the clip that had held her hair five years ago. She smiled at the memory of Dillon caressing her arm as she laid, sunbathing, on the beach during their honeymoon. Isabella swooned with the memory.
Stringed instruments being tuned tickled her eardrums. She lifted her head, visually scanning the park. But she couldn’t locate them.
A man pedaled by assaulting her tranquility as he shared his music with everyone he passed, “…like an ARROW to the heart…” She looked up to see a sign announcing him PEDDLING dog walking services.
She blinked and frowned at the harsh disruption. Like magic, soft notes were cooed by a dove. Isabella brought her focus back to her lap. She drew a finger over the dried PEDDLEs of the tulip. Her finger lingered on the BOW of the boutonniere held in place by the pearl headed pin.
Lost in her memories, she did not see the trio of musicians setting up across from her. Nor did she see the little girl dressed in her Sunday best, including her shinny patten leather shoes that anchored her bobby socks topped with lace.
“Miss Isabella,” the little miss inquired.
“Ye… yes,” Isabella responded hesitantly.
“These … these are for you.” The little miss lifted her bouquet laden arms.
Isabella quickly made sure no items were misplaced, shut the lid, and maneuvered the loop of leather around the wooden toggle button. The little miss stepped forward laying the bundle of tulips in the seated lady’s arms.
“Thank you. But I don’t understand.”
“Momma?” the little miss said, look over her shoulder.
A well quaffed woman stepped up. Beautiful notes from the stringed trio emanated from behind the child. Isabella looked up. Tears welled in her green eyes.
“I don’t understand,” Isabella repeated as the threesome played the song she and Dillon danced to at their wedding.
“If we are not mistaken, today is your wedding anniversary,” the dulcet tones of this stranger’s voice complimented the melody.
Isabela wiped the moisture from the corners of her eyes as she nodded.
“Your husband said we’d find you here, on this bench, on this date, at this time,” the mother announced.
“He did?” heartfelt love telegraphed as her voice quivered.
“He did.” The corners of the stranger’s ruby red lips turned up.
“But … he won’t be here,” Isabella said in a near whisper.
The stranger stepped forward patting Isabella on the shoulder.
“He said that might be the case.”
Isabella shook her head and made eye contact with the unfamiliar person.
“And the…” Isabella jutted her chin toward the musicians.
“Yes, ma’am. He said the VIOLIN, the CHOCOLATE-stained VIOLIN was your favorite. As a matter of fact, that is the same one played on the day you said your vows.”
Tears streamed down the bride’s face.
“When did he plan this?”
“Your husband came into my flower shop every year about this time, well, at least for the last seven or so. He changed up his order last year and added a delivery charge and the search began for the violinist.”
Isabella slowly nodded as she rotated her wedding band around her finger.
“The last time he was in … he said to remind you ‘the CLOUD of illness cannot sour this day of celebration.’ Is he okay? Will he be here soon?”
“No,” Isabella said looking back up at the florist. “No, he is above the CLOUDs looking down upon us today.”