She woke him in the dark, with a gentle tap, then a kiss.
“I have to leave,” she said.
They met as strangers, and got to know each other in little dead end sprints, like mice in a behaviorist’s cage reaching unforgiving parts of a maze.
What they had in common they worked to crochet.
What never made it to the hook was cast away.
He began to protest, maybe beg, but he knew her well enough in a single page on the calendar to allow her to exit unencumbered by his weak and selfish words.
He wanted to say I love you, but maybe he wanted to hear those words first.
The way she looked back as she dressed let him know her intention.
He wanted to say thank you, but the words seemed so transactional, as though she had delivered a fragile package without breaking it.
When she was gone, he hit rewind and lay naked, trying to savor the time.
When the sun came through the curtains, a drill instructor waking an ill-rested recruit, he reached for his phone.
He would say both thank you, and I love you,and say them in a manner she would never forget.
There was a note on top of his phone.
He wanted it to say I love you.
He would accept, with warmth and comfort: thank you.
The note read Please Don’t Call.
He honored her request and felt himself die faster every day.
***
Oh shit, that is just so good. Tears in the eyes poetic. Damn it Jimmy!
You continue to write amazing stories day after day!
For a man who puts out a fresh story each day, the quality of each one continues to amaze.