The Judge Says

Sometimes satirical, usually political, always with a progressive bent.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

A Tale of Lost Love

Still in bed at 10 am after another sleepless night.

I rolled over and touched her pillow. For a moment I thought I could smell the scent of her shampoo lingering in the air. But I knew that was impossible as it had been 4 months since she walked out the door.

Grabbed a cigarette and lit it. Funny – all of the years we were together I nagged her and tried to get her to quit smoking. Then a week after she left I found one of her old packs in the kitchen. Pulled out a cigarette. Just sat and smelled it for several minutes. Then I lit it up. When I lit the match I could see her in the flame, when I put the cigarette in my mouth I could taste her on my lips. I'd been smoking ever since.

I heard through friends that she had finally quit smoking a few weeks after she left. Life is just like that I guess.

I drug myself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom. Saw my reflection in the mirror. The shadows under the eyes. The haunted look of someone who no longer knew how to live. Who was that man?

Ran my hand through my hair and realized I hadn't showered in days. Maybe weeks. What did it matter?

Went to the window and looked out. The sky was the color of dirty cotton candy. Drops of rain ran listlessly down the window pane, disappearing into nothingness.

The phone rang.

I looked at it for a few seconds trying to decide whether to answer it. But I had forgotten how. What would I say if I picked it up?

I let it ring and went back to bed. Tried to will myself to sleep. But every time I closed my eyes I saw her.

Packing her bags. Heading out the door. I remember how she looked up at the window just before she got into Bill's car. The look on her face as our eyes met for the last time. I saw the sorrow there. And the hurt. And the regret. But no love. Not any more.

I lit another cigarette and tried not to think. Tried not to feel.Placed my hands over my eyes and peeked out through my fingers, trying to narrow my field of vision to something manageable. Stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling. If I moved my fingers the cracks took on different shapes, none of them comforting.

Rolled over and stubbed the cigarette out in one of her ashtrays. A souvenir from some trip taken in another lifetime. Reno maybe. Or Tahoe.

Tried to recall the trips, the happy times we must have had. But every image evaporated before I could seize it. Steam clouds dissipating as quickly as the happiness had.

I wanted to smash the ash tray against the wall but I didn't have the energy.

I pulled the sheets up over my head and burrowed into the bed, trying to shut out the unwelcome light.

Maybe tomorrow would be better.

I hoped to god it would be better.

But I doubted it.

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