Ruth: Reimagined

Dignity

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Dignity
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As the night drew on, Naomi rubbed her chest. An unsettling feeling came over her, powerfully for a while. She stayed in her room in the dark, like she had been doing since forever. 

But it came to a point where she could barely lie down. Her gut twisted, and this time, it was more than the punishing hunger. Her heart swam in unidentified pain.

Then she was up from the bed, pacing the room to and fro. She reached to open the door, deciding to  the young women— maybe that would put her to rest, she thought, but she stopped midway. Fear gripped her, paralyzing any action she was willing to take.

"What more, Yahweh?" She whispered underneath her breath, her voice wavering. Her eyes glazed with tears as her heart pounded.

"What more?"

She pulled the door open, stepping out tentatively.  The darkened hallway and the deafening silence brought no ease to her soul. She knocked on Orpah's door, pulling it open after not receiving an answer. The bed was still made, the windows were wide open, the wind whirling through the curtains. 

Closing it, she walked faster to Ruth’s room. As she pushed the door open, she saw no one in there, too.

It was late.

Why didn't they retire to their beds yet?

It had been a while since they slept with her. After the distance she created between the two women, they retreated, giving her her space— she could see that it hurt more to be in her presence.

As she shut the door, walking further in the house, the silence deepened  while the chaos in her mind went rampant, memories flashed before her, cutting her anew.

—“I have nothing left in this life,” Naomi confessed, staring down at the first meal they had in three days. “You shouldn't waste this food on me.”

Orpah had dark bags under her eyes, and her lips were downturned. The burden that hung over her like a dark cloud was all that she could feel.

Ruth sat where Mahlon had always sat at the dining table, a far-off look in her eyes, her cheeks gaunt from the days she had no food. At the sound of Naomi’s voice, she lifted her head, then met eyes with Orpah, the fear resonant in both  of them.

“No mother,” Orpah said, “you should eat. Please.”

A silence settled tense, then Ruth broke it, her voice a delicate strength. “Mother, you have us. You don’t have nothing— you have us. Right?”

She met eyes with Orpah.

“Right.” Orpah nodded.

Naomi’s throat tightened, like she was holding back a sea of tears. In the silence, she spoke louder and clearer than she had spoken in years.

You are not enough.

—“We are hurting, mother!” Orpah had once  cried out, having come to her wits end. “It is hard on all of us. We lost the people that we loved too…we need each other. We need you. Mother, we are still your daughters.”

Ruth nodded earnestly, her eyes glazed with tears, resonating with every word Orpah spoke.

They turned to look at Naomi, but she gave them the cold shoulder, further breaking their fragile hearts.

A sharp pain shot through Naomi’s heart. Looking at them, her voice came out strained, the look in her eyes broken. “The only sons I had are dead.”