Short Story - by Margie
It happened one day. She turned to tell him about a joke she had heard at work, only to find empty space beside her. It hit her, like a punch in the gut: he was gone for good. She suddenly felt a cold, acidic fog start to flow from deep inside her, outward through her chest and then her throat. The cry caught her throat before she realized the tears were staining her cheeks. The pain was intense.
Her thoughts began to race through the history of their relationship. She recalled the moment they first laid eyes on each other. She remembered that she hadn't found him attractive. But as she grew to know and love him, deeply and passionately, he became the most handsome man she knew. She couldn't get enough of him, even at the end, even beyond the end. Even now.
She remembered the long summer days when they would lay in bed, naked. They would make love for hours, taking turns to run to the kitchen to get food for each other in between sessions of lovemaking. She remembered how they would take candlelit baths together. She would trace soapy patterns on his chest while he talked about his childhood. She remembered the nights, even near the end of their marriage, when he would turn over in bed and wrap his muscular arms around her. She recalled his scent.
She remembered the cold January day when they brought their first child home from the hospital. He had been so nervous about driving down the highway in the snow, surrounded by cars full of hurried drivers who didn't know or care that his newborn baby daughter was in the car. She remembered how relieved he seemed to be when they finally reached home, after they had laid their daughter's carseat on the carpet in their tiny living room.
She remembered all the good things in their marriage because it hurt too much to think of the bad things that caused it to end. She tried to push out all thoughts of him with her, his new love. She didn't want to think that he was now creating memories with her.
The pain started to become unbearable. She curled up, fetus-like, on the bed they used to share, the bed where their second child was conceived, and she let her sorrow overtake her. Her body rocked violently with deep sobs. She mourned the death of her one true love, the death of the man she thought he was, the death of the marriage she was once convinced would outlast her. He was gone. He was gone before she realized it, before his physical self was no longer there to keep up the sham.
Her heart could not take anymore pain. She felt herself shutting down, her heart and mind and soul defensively numbing itself. She felt dead inside and, at that moment, she was grateful for it all. A part of herself was dead. Will she ever be able to resurrect it?
Her thoughts began to race through the history of their relationship. She recalled the moment they first laid eyes on each other. She remembered that she hadn't found him attractive. But as she grew to know and love him, deeply and passionately, he became the most handsome man she knew. She couldn't get enough of him, even at the end, even beyond the end. Even now.
She remembered the long summer days when they would lay in bed, naked. They would make love for hours, taking turns to run to the kitchen to get food for each other in between sessions of lovemaking. She remembered how they would take candlelit baths together. She would trace soapy patterns on his chest while he talked about his childhood. She remembered the nights, even near the end of their marriage, when he would turn over in bed and wrap his muscular arms around her. She recalled his scent.
She remembered the cold January day when they brought their first child home from the hospital. He had been so nervous about driving down the highway in the snow, surrounded by cars full of hurried drivers who didn't know or care that his newborn baby daughter was in the car. She remembered how relieved he seemed to be when they finally reached home, after they had laid their daughter's carseat on the carpet in their tiny living room.
She remembered all the good things in their marriage because it hurt too much to think of the bad things that caused it to end. She tried to push out all thoughts of him with her, his new love. She didn't want to think that he was now creating memories with her.
The pain started to become unbearable. She curled up, fetus-like, on the bed they used to share, the bed where their second child was conceived, and she let her sorrow overtake her. Her body rocked violently with deep sobs. She mourned the death of her one true love, the death of the man she thought he was, the death of the marriage she was once convinced would outlast her. He was gone. He was gone before she realized it, before his physical self was no longer there to keep up the sham.
Her heart could not take anymore pain. She felt herself shutting down, her heart and mind and soul defensively numbing itself. She felt dead inside and, at that moment, she was grateful for it all. A part of herself was dead. Will she ever be able to resurrect it?
posted by Margie at 10:44 PM
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