The Woman in Blue

Misha gazed outside at the lovely spring day. She had been with Dale for nearly a year now. They both had loved every minute of it, rarely arguing, always eager to communicate and cater to one another’s needs and desires. She turned to glance at the clock, noting that she had at least an hour before Dale would be home. Plenty of time for a quiet stroll through the woods. Although she never expected to ever need it, and she certainly hoped she wouldn’t, she placed the small pistol Dale had taught her to use in her pocket and headed outdoors. It was always better to be safe than sorry, Dale insisted, so knowing that gave her added peace of mind; she never took walks without it. She headed out the back door, walked through the small clearing, and entered the woods. She followed a trail that Dale said had always existed until she came to the little stream she loved to sit by. The sound of the water trickling by, along with the harmonious chirps of the birds around her, had a very soothing effect on her. After sitting still for a few minutes and enjoying the warmth of the sun as its rays filtered through the treetops, hypnotized by the water rushing past her, she hiked up a semi-steep hill towards a meadow that was alive with wildflowers. She wanted to pick some as a centerpiece display on the dinner table that evening. Misha bent down, holding her long braid in one hand to keep it from trailing upon the grassy meadow as she picked the flowers with the other. Once she’d gathered all she wanted, she turned to head back down the incline. She stepped slowly and cautiously down the rocky embankment and was halfway down when her foot suddenly slipped out from beneath her. Down she went. Her head struck a rock. Stunned and dazed, Misha pulled herself upright and rubbed the dull ache in the back of her head. Her vision was blurred, and for a moment she was confused and unsure of her surroundings. She stood up on shaky legs and gathered the fallen wildflowers. Guided more so by instinct than any clear, rational thought, she ambled down the rest of the hill and on back towards the house. When she entered the back door, she was surprised to find that Dale was already home. “My goodness, girl! Where on earth have you been? I was getting really worried,” Dale exclaimed. Misha stilled and gazed at Dale with confusion. “You’re home already?” Dale stood with one hand on the counter, the other on her hip. “Yeah,” said Dale slowly, as if to say that Misha should know better. “When did you think I’d be in? I’ve been home for twenty minutes already.” Misha looked at the clock while Dale studied Misha’s odd look of confusion. “I must have totally lost track of time,” Misha said, turning back to Dale. “I’m sorry.” “It’s ok.” “Dinner’s ready. Let me just place these pretty flowers on the table. It’s what I went out for in the first place.” “Dinner’s ready?” asked Dale, her confusion growing even more. Misha nodded. Dale looked around the kitchen. “Well, where is it then?” “In the oven. I made a pot roast.” Dale opened the oven door. The inside was cold, dark, and empty. “Sweetie, there’s nothing in here.” Misha stared without blinking. After a moment, her hands rose to her temples. “Wait a minute,” she said, settling down in one of the chairs at the table. “Let’s go over this again.” Dale leaned back against the counters, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded across her chest. “I looked at the clock and determined there to be an hour before you came home. That’s when I decided to go out flower-picking.” Dale chewed on her gum silently, eyeing Misha with curiosity. She’d never known her to lose track of time like this before. “You got the gun?” she finally asked. “What?” asked Misha, glancing up at Dale. “Oh. Oh, yeah, I do.” She pulled the gun from her pocket and went to hand it to Dale. Dale just stood there. Her eyes flickered from the gun to Misha. She eyed her intently, trying to understand her confusion and what could’ve caused her to lose track of time. “You know where it goes.” “Where what goes? The gun?” “Give it here,” said Dale, who took the gun from Misha and inspected it. No bullets were missing. She gave the gun back to Misha. “Ok, you may put it away now where it belongs.” Misha took the gun, eyeing it as if she’d never seen a gun before and wasn’t even sure that was what it was. Then it hit her that it belonged in the drawer at the end of the counter where the sink was. She placed it in the drawer, then turned to face Dale. “I’m really sorry about not having dinner ready. I don’t know what came over me.” “It’s alright,” she said, gathering Misha into her arms and kissing her forehead. Misha seemed stiff at first, but then she relaxed in her arms only seconds later. “I’m not really all that hungry anyway.” Misha pulled back and held her temples. “You ok, sweetie?” Misha shook her head. “I have just about the fiercest headache I have ever had in my life and a vague recollection of slipping down the hill.” “Then why don’t you go lie down on the couch while I get you something for the pain and make us some sandwiches?” Misha agreed and went to lie on the couch. A moment later, Dale came in to hand her some pain relievers and a glass of water to swallow them with. “What kind of sandwich do you want, honey?” “What do you have?” “What do I have? What kind of a silly question is that? You know what we have.” “Whatever. Just make anything. Chicken or fish will do.” Dale chuckled. She was as amused as she was confused by Misha’s odd behavior. She wasn’t worried, though, for she believed that once her headache went away, she’d be just fine. Misha let the weight of her body fully sink down into the plush couch cushions. She ran a hand over her head, discovering a strange lump in the back of it. She fell asleep wondering where it could’ve come from. Dale carried the two chicken sandwiches into the living room on a tray, along with a couple of glasses of soda. To her surprise, Misha was now out cold. Deciding to let Misha sleep off her headache, she settled in the chair by the couch and ate both sandwiches to the soft drone of the TV. Then she drank both glasses of soda. An hour later, she shook Misha awake. “Come on, little Rapunzel, get up now if you don’t want to be up all night.” Misha moaned and slowly sat up. “How’s the headache?” Dale asked. Misha turned her head to look up at Dale. “What headache?” Dale froze. “That’s a joke, right?” Misha shook her head dumbly. Not sure what to make of the situation, Dale coaxed Misha into having a little something to eat while she went upstairs to draw her a nice, warm bubble bath. When Misha awoke the next morning, Dale was fully dressed. She wore a blue T-shirt and jeans with her gun holstered at her side and her badge hanging from her neck as it always was when she was about to leave for work. Misha sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Hi, sweetheart. Sleep well?” Misha nodded. “No more headache?” “No.” “Well, that’s good,” said Dale, running a comb through her hair. After Dale was gone, Misha headed into the bathroom. She gazed at her auburn hair in the mirror. It was so long that the ends of the tresses were barely visible in the reflection before her. She opened a drawer under the sink and plucked out a pair of scissors. She placed them on the countertop and gazed once again at her image in the mirror. Then she picked up the scissors and began to cut. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Ah, what an aroma in here!” Dale said several hours later, upon entering the house. She plopped her purse and some folders down on the kitchen counter, then stopped short when Misha appeared. “Well, well, well. What have we here?” “I felt it was time for a change,” Misha explained, running her fingers through her now waist-length hair. “You like it?” Dale studied it a moment longer. “Yeah,” she said, nodding, “I think I do. It looks much healthier.” She ran her fingers through the reddish-brown locks, then gently pulled Misha towards her for a kiss on the lips. “So how’s my girl been today? Any headaches?” “Nope. I spent the day doing the usual, and all was fine.” “Glad to hear it.” “How was work?” “Typical. Even so, I’m sure glad tomorrow’s Saturday.” Misha smiled. Later, they were seated at the dinner table discussing trivial things when Misha made an announcement. “Dale?” “Yes?” “I’m ready to try again.” “For a baby?” Misha nodded. “What do you think?” “I think that’d be wonderful,” said Dale with a smile. “I was thinking about getting started next month in June. That way I won’t be late into the pregnancy during the worst of the heat, assuming I conceive as quickly as I did the last time.” “Sounds good to me. We’ll get an appointment set up for some time a few weeks from now.” Excited about the prospect of being parents and raising a child together, they discussed potential names as they lay in bed that night. “I just wish we could make our own baby,” said Misha with a slight note of disappointment and frustration in her voice. “Me too, babe, but this is better than nothing. I mean, at least there’s an alternative.” “That’s true,” agreed Misha. Dale pulled Misha up on top of her. The two kissed tenderly, then things became rather frantic for a while. “Dale, I really love you,” Misha said with emotion before they fell asleep that night. “I really, really love you.” “I love you too, babe, with all my heart,” said Dale, pulling the slightly sweaty girl snuggly against her own slightly sweaty body to drift off to sleep together as one.