|
You wake up. It's four in the morning. The heater has gone off some time in the night. She lies beside you. Her back curves a C, curls tight like a newborns fist in a mother's hair. There is space between you, even in this small double bed, with your large frame, an invisible wall of pillows stacked, a force field that walks between you in the night just as the day. You separate yourself from the sheets. Slip out into air, cold from the constant winter rain battering the windows. She doesn't move. The room holds her gentle breath sleeping.
The kitchen light is bright as you switch it on. Even while wincing you want to run from room to room to room turning on all the lights screaming screaming some life into it. The kettle steams and clicks off. You pour the water into your mug straight to the top, then pour most of it out to make room for milk. The sugar is almost gone. You add it to the list growing on the fridge. She'll take care of it in the morning.
Sipping tea, milky sweet, you try to place where each piece of furniture came from - wedding gifts from whose side of the family - what was bought by you or her or on joint bank credit card cheque accounts. Try to separate the house into units you might understand. What it would look like if you pulled up a moving van to extract yourself. What it would look like if she did.
The sports bag is in the front closet. Big enough for what you'd need to leave in a hurry. Hold enough to get you by for a week. Maybe two if you are careful, prudent. You run your fingers over closeted shirts, pressed trousers, work ties and belts, pants, rolled socks, polished shoes, your favorite trainers. The brush of empty hangers sound of chimes, whisper of going. You check to hear if her breathing is still even, if your presence betrayed intention. If she rolled over for the first time in months to find you missing. She...is still the same. Inward rolled, fetal, protective. Your brain unpacks the suitcase you mentally filled, hangs the clothes creased from your bag. You lift the end of the duvet, slip in. She shivers but doesn't move. You settle back. Straight out head up covers to neck, dreamless, restless, sleepless. You watch the clock tick by till the sun should be up if it weren't for the endless rain.
|
|
|
