“What’s cow in French Dad?” Freddy asked.
“Vache,” I replied.
“Is that masculine or feminine?”
“Feminine; une vache.”
Freddy continued colouring his drawing wielding the stylus of his tablet with flourish, the soft tapping noises reminding me of my favourite breakfast cereal.
I glanced over and admired the vibrant shapes and flowers. My son, the artist!
The memory hit me hard as it resurfaced, uninvited and without warning.
1998, In my old studio in Zurich, the very first Cow Parade.
Amanda helped me of course, while she was strong enough. Later when the pills refused to dampen the pain she would lie on the couch, and watch me work. My heart was with her but she insisted that I finish. She passed away softly in her sleep before I had finished.
I made an incision and dropped a gold locket with our photo and a lock of her hair into the hollow animal and sealed it with my tears under a large red heart.
Amanda has travelled the world. Be sure to say hello for me when she passes your way.
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is curated by the lovely Priceless Joy and todays photo prompt is by the amazingly talented S. Writings.