Thursday, January 16, 2014
Until The Next Time I See His Smile
I slip into my slippers, the red suede ones with the furry insides, and sleepily scuffle around my side of of the bed, slowly making my way towards the bathroom. It’s still dark in our room. Actually, it’s never really bright in our room. The golden girl only briefly flirts with us on that side of the house. She twinkles and winks at us until we wake up. She then quickly slips off to bestow her favors down on those who live on the more desirable side of the street.
Sometimes, during the day, when I go into our room, I find the darkness of the room strangely seductive. It makes me want to crawl back in and under.
Our bathroom has a chandelier. Nothing fancy. It was the stock hanging lamp that the builder put in the foyers of all of the 1200 homes in our community. You know the one, brass with faux candles. We changed ours out for something more substantial and “expensive looking.” But, we decided to hang the old one in the bathroom. We have a dimmer light switch on it and I like to keep it on low.
Through the faint light, I see his smile. He is holding Domani and Anne is next to him. She is wearing his pork pie hat. It was the perfect hat for him. It’s been said that the pork pie hat is the mark of the determined hipster, the kind of cat you might see hanging around a jazz club or pool hall. And you know, he was cool, so Joe cool.
I look at them, but it’s only a glance, really, that’s all I can manage. I whimper. It hurts. It feels like a splash of icy cold water thrown on my face. I gasp.
It’s the same, in the dusk of every morning, it is always the same. I long to hear his voice. I yearn to be able to touch him. The pain is beyond my ability to express in words.
I start my day with a shake of my head not understanding why.
As I walk out of our room, I begin my ritual, my routine. I flip the switch to turn on the overhead fluorescent kitchen light. You know the one. The bare bones, long white, plastic one with two bulbs. Another builder special. That one we never changed. The brightness and glare from the light makes my eyes hurt and I squint. I fill the kettle. I open my lap top and browse around waiting for the whistle. Soon my thoughts turn to the ones who are here. I think about plans we might have for the day and I am temporarily distracted.
Like the faux candles in my bathroom chandelier, I suppose I have learned to keep my feelings on a dimmer switch, turned down low, until the next time I see his smile.
Posted by lyndagrace at Thursday, January 16, 2014