ehmygirl
Five Thousand Club
She stood by the door for one last look. The pale yellow walls of the lounge gave way to the French themed wall paper of the kitchen beyond it. The stove was old and the oven baked hot but she was used to that. It boasted no dishwasher and her hands had gotten dry from washing the dishes more than once. She glanced down at her hands, feeling the need to apply more lotion. The fridge held momentos and important documents that he would need to fill out and keep, but he knew that. She knew there was enough chicken in the freezer to keep him going without her for a few days; but he knew how to go shopping. At least, she thought he did.
She heard a cat come in from the back and she called to whomever it was but the cat ignored her calls and went into the bedroom. She was sure that by now both of them were curled up on the bed she had shared with him for so many nights, a year, four months and two nights worth. She knew she had left her pillow pet there, for him and her bathrobe was lying on the bed for the cats to sleep on. Tears stung her eyes and her lips quivered. He called to her and she turned, nodded. Yes, she was all right.
Her bags had been packed for days, needing only slight adjustments for weight and last minute items. Did she remember the bath soap? She sighed, relaxed and remembered she’d grabbed it. He wouldn’t need berry scented bath gel. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to leave the air that smelled of the ocean or leave the sounds of the gulls as they flew overhead. She shivered, not so much because it was cold, but because she was sorry to leave, sorry to go away from a place she had grown to love.
His arms came around her and he pulled her in tight for a hug. He whispered to her and the tears fell from her eyes even as he closed the door and locked it. She felt her key ring and held up her own key. She was going to take that too. She clutched her pillow close to her, it smelled of him and the scent was comforting. How long though, would the pillow hold it, how long would she have it before it faded away and needed washing?
She leaned into him, wrapping an arm about his waist as she tried to swallow her tears. He said something that made her laugh. He was always good about cracking jokes, making people laugh, making himself laugh even when he wanted to drown in his own tears. She loved him for that, she loved him for a myriad of reasons. She fell in love with his mind, then his heart, and finally his face. She loved the way he looked, the way he spoke and the way he got excited over silly things that weren’t all that important. She loved him for a million different reasons.
He opened her door and she got into the backseat. He said something to his father, another joke, another laugh before he joined her in the back. His father said something and she smiled, her eyes still damp and she nodded. Yes, she was all right. He joked, his father joked and she laughed. She loved the both of them and she allowed them to draw her into their conversation. He never let go of her hand, never took his arm from around her. She knew he was taking in her scent, taking in these last precious moments to hold her, to touch her, to be with her. She leaned into him, her seatbelt cutting into her clothes.
All too soon they had left the street, the town, the county. She remembered the trip from Manchester to Hull, when she had arrived in the country. The two hour drive had gone by in minutes as they had touched, embraced and held each other for the first time in the back of his uncle’s car. There had been conversation then too she remembered, but for the life of her she could never remember what they discussed; she had eyes only for him. And like last time, the trip back to Manchester, for this final time seemed to take no time at all. She had barely gotten comfortable against him when the car got off the motorway.
They checked into their hotel and the three of them dragged her bags to the room she would share with him one last time. He dragged one of her bags behind him and the door closed. He turned on the light while she put her carry-on luggage inside the room. She turned to him, he held out his arms and they embraced, they both knew those too were numbered.
The evening went quickly as they laughed, talked, joked, and loved. It was a long night, and a short one and all too soon the sun rose from the east and time moved ever onwards. The last few hours approached and she cried with tears of sorrow for leaving him and with tears of joy for returning to the land of her birth and seeing her family she’d not seen in a year, four months and three days.
And then the hour approached and she forced herself to walk away from him and allowed herself to be flown westward, toward the Golden State. She passed through Iceland, then Seattle and only then did she find herself in the loving embrace of her family. She got to embrace her dog, scratch a kitty and have her first meal home.
But it was then, in the quietness of her room she’d never before called her own, with her dog asleep at her side, did she, cold and alone, wonder what was she to do without him now.
She heard a cat come in from the back and she called to whomever it was but the cat ignored her calls and went into the bedroom. She was sure that by now both of them were curled up on the bed she had shared with him for so many nights, a year, four months and two nights worth. She knew she had left her pillow pet there, for him and her bathrobe was lying on the bed for the cats to sleep on. Tears stung her eyes and her lips quivered. He called to her and she turned, nodded. Yes, she was all right.
Her bags had been packed for days, needing only slight adjustments for weight and last minute items. Did she remember the bath soap? She sighed, relaxed and remembered she’d grabbed it. He wouldn’t need berry scented bath gel. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to leave the air that smelled of the ocean or leave the sounds of the gulls as they flew overhead. She shivered, not so much because it was cold, but because she was sorry to leave, sorry to go away from a place she had grown to love.
His arms came around her and he pulled her in tight for a hug. He whispered to her and the tears fell from her eyes even as he closed the door and locked it. She felt her key ring and held up her own key. She was going to take that too. She clutched her pillow close to her, it smelled of him and the scent was comforting. How long though, would the pillow hold it, how long would she have it before it faded away and needed washing?
She leaned into him, wrapping an arm about his waist as she tried to swallow her tears. He said something that made her laugh. He was always good about cracking jokes, making people laugh, making himself laugh even when he wanted to drown in his own tears. She loved him for that, she loved him for a myriad of reasons. She fell in love with his mind, then his heart, and finally his face. She loved the way he looked, the way he spoke and the way he got excited over silly things that weren’t all that important. She loved him for a million different reasons.
He opened her door and she got into the backseat. He said something to his father, another joke, another laugh before he joined her in the back. His father said something and she smiled, her eyes still damp and she nodded. Yes, she was all right. He joked, his father joked and she laughed. She loved the both of them and she allowed them to draw her into their conversation. He never let go of her hand, never took his arm from around her. She knew he was taking in her scent, taking in these last precious moments to hold her, to touch her, to be with her. She leaned into him, her seatbelt cutting into her clothes.
All too soon they had left the street, the town, the county. She remembered the trip from Manchester to Hull, when she had arrived in the country. The two hour drive had gone by in minutes as they had touched, embraced and held each other for the first time in the back of his uncle’s car. There had been conversation then too she remembered, but for the life of her she could never remember what they discussed; she had eyes only for him. And like last time, the trip back to Manchester, for this final time seemed to take no time at all. She had barely gotten comfortable against him when the car got off the motorway.
They checked into their hotel and the three of them dragged her bags to the room she would share with him one last time. He dragged one of her bags behind him and the door closed. He turned on the light while she put her carry-on luggage inside the room. She turned to him, he held out his arms and they embraced, they both knew those too were numbered.
The evening went quickly as they laughed, talked, joked, and loved. It was a long night, and a short one and all too soon the sun rose from the east and time moved ever onwards. The last few hours approached and she cried with tears of sorrow for leaving him and with tears of joy for returning to the land of her birth and seeing her family she’d not seen in a year, four months and three days.
And then the hour approached and she forced herself to walk away from him and allowed herself to be flown westward, toward the Golden State. She passed through Iceland, then Seattle and only then did she find herself in the loving embrace of her family. She got to embrace her dog, scratch a kitty and have her first meal home.
But it was then, in the quietness of her room she’d never before called her own, with her dog asleep at her side, did she, cold and alone, wonder what was she to do without him now.
