She got up and left.
She drove away for 37 miles and then a few hours later, she drove
back. In the meantime, I just laid
there, like nothing had happened.
When she came home, did she come see me? No. She had a bowl of cereal and watched the end
of a football game. By her exuberant
cheering, I can only guess that it was an intensely close game with a dramatically
victorious ending. But how would I
know…I was still just lying there, clearly not worthy of her attention.
Wow.
I was there for her when no one else was. Doesn’t that mean anything? Doesn’t she remember all the time she wasted
on those low-count imposters; duct taping their rips and tears, only for
another one to materialize the next morning?
I was and am, what she needed, WHEN she needed it. I remember the look on her face the first
time I was laid out tight on her mattress and I know about the search words she
used to get me there. “Fitted. Deep. Queen.”
I’m 680 thread count, same daydelivery. But even if I won’t
ever rip like her old linens…. there’s only so much I can do. Even if I were a thousand, even if I were
Egyptian cotton. There’s only so much I
can do.
I’m sorry. I get
it. I really do understand. You can duct tape a worn bedsheet, but you
can’t duct tape a worn woman.
So, I lay there for 18 minutes while she tried to take those
selfies. I wanted it as much as she did. I liked how much she cared. It was
endearingly pathetic.
I hoped, like she, that if she just twisted and turned that
aged body enough, she would find that magic angle and make all those years disappear. So I lay beneath her nakedness, supporting
her the only way a bedsheet knows how. She stretched to conceal the sags and writhed
to disguise the rolls. I cheered for
her the same way she cheered for that football team. Hoping she too could pull off an improbable
win, late in her fourth quarter. This too was going to be a very close game, but
instead of it being Chiefs vs Broncos, the contest would be Acceptance vs Disdain.
Then, after all was said and done, I watched her delete,
delete, delete.
Rolling on to her tummy and resting her chin on her
fist. She smirked the most beautiful
smirk ever smirked, pressed the photo button one more time and captured perfection.
Then she got up, put on her pickleball
clothes and left.
Now, another game is about to start on the TV and this time
we will watch it together in bed. Tonight
we will rest and wake up to a bright tomorrow.
