Tuesday, September 16, 2008
She lays there, pretending to sleep, facing the wall. He gets up and moves quietly from the room. Closing her eyes she imagines herself somewhere else but it only lasts a moment. He’s back and opening and closing drawers. She hears him as he’s brushing his teeth. How did it get like this?
She gets up and makes coffee. He comes in and turns on the TV and watches the news as he puts on his shoes. She wipes the counter, takes the bag out of the trash can, leans it up against the wall in the hall. He lets the dog out, watches a bit more TV, and lets the dog in. How did it get like this?
He walks over and puts some trash in the bag, picks up his wallet and his papers, puts his pen in his pocket. She pours the coffee, goes to the refrigerator and gets the cream, adds some sugar. He walks over and gives her a quick kiss, murmurs goodbye, walks past the trash and out the front door. How did it get like this?
The spaces, the long empty spaces, that have taken over her life, their lives. No laughter, no sharing, no fun, any words are angry words, sullen words, and heavy sighs. How, how, how did it get like this?