Unforgotten

She unfolded the letter once, every year, but still its creases were nearly worn apart, as if she had folded and refolded it every day, every minute, the way she did in her head. She re-applied her lipstick for the thousandth time, and dabbed it off for the thousandth time; carefully running the soft white linen around the corners of her mouth, leaving red sighs on the smooth hankerchief. She spread the letter out across her lap, and her ironed skirts rustled. His picture fluttered to the floor, resting beside her shiny black heels. Her thumb had erased any recognizable features, and age had faded the detailed lines. She quickly tucked it into her white starched glove, next to her wrist, as the door squeaked open and a customer came in. She smoothed her fading blond hair back into its perfect placement. A bird sang out in the street and a woman and a man walked in, wrapped in each other's arms. The woman soon left his side to wander the shop, bringing a hint of clean air to the stuffy sweet flowers. He stood behind the woman as she smirked and fingered the roses and gardenias, and scrutinized every leaf on an orchid. She finally chose a small tree plant, scrawny and without marking, proudly planting its grubby pot on her spotless counters. She could see the woman thinking of how she would plant the tree in the center of her garden, and sit with the man while he idly stroked her hair and she sketched their little, ugly tree-child. And she would hang it in her studio up in the woods, by the lake, where she would paint in overalls and a farmer's tan. The man paid for the woman's free willed plant; handing her crisp clean bills across the counter. His smile was warm and his eyes were ice blue; a glimpse of deep brown hair creeped under aging gray. The bird outside stuttered to a stop. But the woman lugged the dirt crusted plant off the counter, leaving dry crumbs of dirt, and heaved it back to the car. The man left with her and the store was quiet. She pulled out the letter once more, and slipped his picture out of her glove. Her eyes roamed over the unrecognizable face. She still dreamed of seeing him in front of her, she still unfolded the letter every year, and saved the forgotten face.