Short Story / New Year's Eve

She was struggling with herself to call 911; not only because her hands were shaking violently but because she was feeling guilty beforehand. She was pretty aware of the consequences: He would go to jail, maybe this time for a long season. But the facts were there, spread all over the room and pretty visible. Her neck was sore; she still could feel his cold fingers around it; his saliva jumping to her face. Why the night had to finish like this?

Two days ago she was looking for the perfect recipe in a stack of old food magazines. Yesterday, early in the morning, she went to the market to buy the ingredients. She spent all the afternoon peeling, cutting, simmering, baking and freezing. At every movement of the knife, every tomato in the pot, his image was present. She smiled and rehearsed interesting conversations; she loved the way he laughed, and lately he wasn’t laughing enough. Partially her foul, she knows, and that’s why she was putting so much of herself in this dinner.

But now the food was in the kitchen floor and she, at least her spirit, was everywhere but in the place it was supposed to be. She though she was throwing up but actually she was given her address to the cops… She said “come fast, he may come back”, and there was as much desperation as hope in her voice.

It was New Year’s Eve and she rejected invitations to hit the bars. “This year was for me and him alone because it has been the worst.” They growth poorer and older and the love seemed to diminish and fights became more frequent than ever. Of six long and tortuous years, the one dying tonight was definitely the worst. “You know” she said to the two staring cops, “I wanted to do it special because I knew it could be the last one”.

Then she started to give account of what happened. His fingers on her throat… she still can feel the loving caresses becoming evil movements. She has fresh the image of his face exploding in rage from one moment to the other. So many times and so many memories that she felt like she could say the story of any day of this long, bad and dying year.

The cops filled the forms, listening careless. They knew the suspect and they knew where to find him. It was a matter of time. They were doing the inquiries as fast as possible, but this woman kept holding them. “Don’t go away. He may come back”, hope and fear dancing in the same sentence. “There is some food left. It didn’t touch the floor.” And they were trying to be polite, but they didn’t want to stay any longer. The New Year was upon them, the ball about to fall, and the festive streets waiting for their gaze. “Sorry ma’am. We have to go somewhere.”

And they close the door with shy wishes of better times quickly forgetting the face, the food, the floor and the drama.

She sat and cried from ten to zero, blaming him for never show up to her New Year’s Eve dinner.

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