The Cotton Dress

 
I hold her hand, warm in mine

Maybe even too tightly

Do I clasp her hands

I trace her delicate fingers

I trace the outline of her floral, cotton dress

It feels soft

It is my favorite

She laughs, a feminine sound

A girlish giggle

I smile as I ponder the way

The setting sun hits her face

Her beautiful face

Her eyes remind me of pools of honey

Golden and warm

She has leaves intertwined in her hair

As she lies in the long, forlorn grass

The soles of her feet

Bare against the earth

Becoming one with the daisies and the dirt

I snap a picture

A candid photo

Willing myself to never forget the way she looked

In that very moment

“It’s getting dark,” she whispers faintly

Seemingly fading fast

I feel her slipping away

“No, not yet” I plead

“I’m not ready to go,” I say softly

I brush her hair away from her face

Her beautiful face

I let the silky golden threads fall from my fingers

I catch them, they fall

I catch them, they fall

When I pull away, my fingers are wet

Glossy and red

Her golden locks are stained

Deep, crimson red

I cannot make sense of this

Bewildered, I pull away rashly

I close my eyes tightly

To the point of pain

Her hand brushes my shoulder

Faint and delicate

“We really need to go,”

There is urgency

“No, it’s not time,” I hiss

Quietly

I open my eyes

She is still lying in the grass

I study her face, as I have so many times before

But this time I notice tiny, red speckles

“They’re only freckles”

I blink, I dismiss it

“She’s always had those,” I laugh

I avert my eyes to her dress

Her soft, cotton dress

The vibrant and happy floral pattern

Seem different now somehow

I hadn’t ever noticed the interruption of the large, scarlet splotch before

I can feel that something isn’t right

I close my eyes once more

I absorb the fading warmth of the sun

I open them only once the stars and fireflies have come out

“Alright, it’s time to go”

I hold her hand, cold in mine