Waiting

After, I slip into the bathroom out of the still dark bedroom. The overhead lights blind me as I stand stunned in front of the mirror. I pull down a thick white towel from the counter and cover myself. I hear your quiet rustling outside the door and I stay inside as long as I dare before it seems too strange, letting the water run over my trembling hands.  When I exit you are there, waiting.

‘Hello,’ you say, pleasant and holding out a white robe for me. You avert your eyes as I turn and you help me on with the robe, wrapping the belt around me from behind, my towel dropping discreetly underneath.

My dress and sweater and tights hang neatly on a hanger, my shoes next to them, heels together primly on the floor. You ask me what I want for breakfast. I have no idea.

“Fruit?” you ask. I nod. “Do you like juice?” I nod again. “Orange, ok?” Your eyes begin to crinkle. I nod once more and open my mouth. But no sound comes out so I try again.

“Yes.” A small croak. You touch my knee and the bed creaks as you get up to order room service on the phone.

You feed me berries, tucked in under the covers like a child. Your eyes are clear and guileless, gazing at me with fond patience as you wait for me to finish and swallow before offering me another berry off the tip of a fork.

“I have to go now,” you say, the silverware clinking as you set aside the breakfast tray, “but you are welcome to stay as long as you like.” You brush back my bangs and without thinking, I push my face into your palm, nuzzling you like a pet.  “I would like to see you later tonight,” you tell me. “Will that be possible for you?” I nod again, blushing and pleased.

My robe falls open when I stand up on the bed to say goodbye. You sigh and slip your hands inside to hold me and I rest my chin against your hair, soft and thinning.

I stand at the door and watch you leave. You blow me a kiss before entering the elevator and there is a spark as the light catches and reflects off of the ring on your hand.  The elevator door closes with a ding and you are gone.

I close the heavy drapes and turn off all the lights. I fall into a deep sleep, waiting for you to come back to me.

Violinist. Tabata novice. Natural pessimist, reluctant optimist. Seeker of world's best chocolate chip cookie recipe. Lover of classic films, with a special fondness for those from the Golden Year of 1939. Thoughtful. Determined. Sensitive. Except when not.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *