The Last Time I Saw Her

The last time I saw her, she had a certain sparkle in her eyes that would light up a room. Her lips were always coated in a vibrant, cherry red lipstick and pursed from whatever problem she was working out inside her brilliant mind. The small, silver pendant she wore had always reminded me of her affection and generosity. "It's just a sunflower," she would tell me after having asked the meaning behind it. "I just like them." The shoes she wore were always a little too big for her – those glossy, light blue high heels – and no matter how much she stumbled in them, she always insisted on wearing them. I always assumed it was because she simply liked the color the most, but I learned later that they were gifted to her from her late mother.

When she walked through the office, she always had her hands full with papers, pens and files. Sometimes, those multicolored pens would slip from her grasp and she always apologized profusely when I picked them up for her. She always wore singular colored pencil skirts and a flower patterned blouse that always gave life to whatever setting she walked into. The shoes never matched, but she never cared. It was her way of saying that life was meant to be colorful, no matter how monotonous the job may be. None of us could have fathomed the battles she was fighting away from the calculations in the office.

She would come into work in the morning with a shallow darkness under her eyes and the creases of her mouth stained from a glass or two or three of wine. The day would go on, and at times I had found myself looking for her, only to discover her slouched over the table in the break room, dressed in her typical attire of a stunningly beautiful palette with those same glossy, light blue high heels. When I asked her if anything was bothering her, the only grievance she would give was the day's weather. Even on the sunny days.

But, today, on this dreary, September afternoon, I saw her again. She wears those high heels, and dresses in a yellow skirt and a wonderful daisy blouse with that same silver sunflower pendant strung around her neck. The mortician did a wonderful job at fixing up her makeup, covering up the rope bruise on her neck and remembering to coat her lips in that vibrant, cherry red lipstick.