The story of two people longing for each other, yet limited by their circumstances. I first posted a draft on this blog many years ago and in 2012 it was published in The Voice.
“Is he asleep?” he asks.
“Of course,” she snaps. But should there be an “of course”? After all, many a night she has been up until the small hours consoling her husband after a fit. It’s not the convulsions she fears, she’s got used to those; it’s the aftermath, his sense of disorientation. Her voice softens. “Yes, he is asleep, sorry.”
“You don’t have to say sorry. It’s not easy. I understand.”
“Well, I try. I know it’s difficult to put myself in your place.”
“I wonder if anyone could put themselves in my place. I wonder if even I want to be in my place.”
Silence. The unsayable is usually followed by quietness. This is not what she’s come here for, however. She saw the balcony light on, heard the soft, mellow notes of Miles Davis’s A Kind of Blue playing and knew he was out there. She found him with a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other one.
Their eyes kiss. It’s a lingering, embracing kiss, the type they know they’ll never be able to replicate with their lips.
(Continue reading here)