The pathway was littered with leaves, brown and crisp, I could smell bacon in the air as I wandered past houses with soaked clotheslines outside. It was an all too similar Autumns day in Canada. The kinds of days which I had grown to despise. Autumn was when my wife Irene had died (which was eight years ago now). Regardless here I am walking down the pathway on an Autumns days; a rogue dog barked, and a voice called out for it to come inside. I walked alone and I hated it though there wasn’t much I could do about it.
I walked down the pathway kicking the leaves around, listening to David Gilmour’s On an island through my headphones- which Irene had bought me as well as an MP3 player (which I had used for storing my music on ever since) and David Gilmour’s On an island three months before she had died, she picked them all up when they were on sale at a music store. I couldn’t force myself to get rid of the headphones, even though they only worked in one ear solely because they reminded me of her and I hated the fact that they only worked in one ear but I just couldn’t get rid of them. Walking down the pathway I recalled the words she had said to me on her deathbed. Which were along the lines of ‘Make my funeral nice.’ They were darkly desperate the words she spoke faded away as her voice trailed off. A leaf fell on the shoulder of my newly bought grey Pea coat as I reminisced about the time where I sat at her hospital bed, her hand in mine, her eyes puffy and red. Then suddenly the sound came, the draw out goddamned sound. White coats flailed about and hurried past me. Her ring nearly slipped off her hand as she lost her strength and her hands drooped downwards, when I let go. A doctor in a white coat said to me.
“Sir I need you to leave.”
I left, not sure of what was happening. I kicked a rogue leaf as I walked down the pathway. I checked my watch, checking the date, I chuckled knowing I already knew the meaning the date had. Another leaf fell upon my shoulder as I walked past an overly tall, drooping tree.