Sunday, July 17, 2011

Clean Sheets

He sat down heavily on the bed.  The spring creaked familiar underneath him.  He lifted up his hands, holding them in front of his face seeing the lines there that he took for granted every day.  Those hands with those lines had been happy once; holding a hand, caressing a cheek, stroking hair.  
     He brought them to his face and covered his eyes.  They became damp as they rubbed his eyelids, then moved up to run through his hair.
     What now?  He couldn’t look at his hands again.  He’d put too much stock into those hands.  Into everything, really.  
     Standing up, he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, remembering the feel of each button, and then let it fall to the floor.  Next came his pants, undershirt, socks, and underwear.  He didn’t even think to bend over and pick up the pile of dirty clothes.  He never would have made it if he had.
     Naked and feeling as newborn as...well...his mind couldn’t bring itself to finish that one.  He pulled the covers back from the bed and slid between the sheets.  He covered himself up.  Clean sheets.  That had been one of her favorite feelings.  One that he’d always teased her about because it was so simple and so pure.  
     She’d changed them this morning.  This morning...that was so long ago.  He’d been dressing as she fluffed the sheets up.  She’d given him a smile and a wink.  New sheets always meant a christening sometime that day.  He’d smiled back, thinking of the easy yet exciting day that was ahead of them.  
     And yet here he was.  Alone.  The fresh sheets reminding him of what he’d lost only hours ago.  He used to be part of a whole, now he was all that was left.  The other half, the better half, was gone.  And so was any future they’d planned together.
     He felt like half of his body had been ripped off.  There was a gaping wound furiously leaking blood.  He couldn’t live like this.  He’d die.  He hoped he would die.    
     Slowly, he curled himself into a ball, hugging his knees.  “Jesus...”  He began to pray...and then stopped, trying to think.  “Jesus, I just don’t know...as much as I hate it right now...your will be done.”  He was barely able to croak out this prayer before the pills took over and he crashed into oblivion.  If he was conscious, he would have hoped he’d stay there.

No comments:

Post a Comment