If Only
If only he knew, she thought. She watched as he pushed another piece of bacon through his teeth.
“Coffee?” she asked. He nodded, his smile distorted as he tried to chew at the same time.
It was, if I recall, rather a pleasant smile at one time. She paused, wondering what had changed.
He cleared his throat.
“Did you need help?” he asked.
“No, no. It’s fine.”
She finished filling the mugs and set them on the table. As she did, a drop of liquid sloshed from his cup onto his shirtsleeve. They both stared at it. She looked up and saw the muscles in his jaw working.
“It’s alright,” he said after a moment. “There’s another shirt in the closet.”
He slowly scraped back his chair and rose, beginning the process of unbuttoning.
“I’ll take it to the cleaners this afternoon,” she called after him. He was out of the room before she had finished speaking.
If only she knew, he thought. With deliberate motions that weren’t angry –certainly not – he flipped the shirt off of his shoulders and onto the floor. He scrutinized each shirt hanging in his closet before finally settling on one that was virtually identical to the other.
Smoother material, he thought. He stepped over his shirt and into the hallway, back to the kitchen.
The plates had been moved to the countertop.
Funny. I used to love it when she did that.
He leaned up against her as he reached for his last bite of ketchup-covered bacon. Polite smiles, and he drew his hand back as she raised her arm. They both stared at the bright red streak that had materialized on her sleeve.
“Sorry,” he said as he rolled the bacon around in his mouth.
She shook the suds off of her hands and flicked the towel from the counter.
“At least you were already going to the cleaners today,” he called after her.
She stepped over his shirt on her way into the room and calmly tore her shirt off over her head. The ice-cold water filled the bathroom sink as she picked up his silk shirt and tossed it in with the rest of the wash. Adding a very little bit of soap to the water in the sink, she left her shirt to soak and selected a different one.
Colour’s nicer, anyway, she thought.
He was sitting at the table, carefully selecting a section of the newspaper to read. Her dishwater had been drained, and the countertop was full of last night’s dirty dishes. But there was one sparkling clean plate and one shining fork in the dish-drying rack winking out at her.
“Thanks for cleaning your plate,” she said, and began refilling the sink.
“Anytime,” was his response.
She cranked open the window. “It’s beautiful out, isn’t it?”
As she spoke, a gust of wind blew the fragrance of her flowering bush into the room. In near synchrony, he began to sneeze.
“Yes.” He sniffled. “Lovely.”
He shook his paper open.
“Did you hear about the company lawsuit for $300 million?” he asked
“I did,” she said. “I read the paper while I was making breakfast.”
“Mm,” he said and turned the page. “Oh, look at that, they’ve come up with a new vaccine for smallpox.”
“Yes, I know. I saw.” I think this was endearing once.
“Think you should close the window? There’s a chance of precipitation.”
She withdrew her hands from the dishwater. “It’s 10 percent.”
He stood and dropped the paper carelessly on the table, half-folded, sections askew, pages wilted and shaking in the breeze.
She could hear his chair in the den squeak as he sat down. She shook out the paper, folded it neatly, tidied the sections and dropped it into the recycling bin.
“Hey hun, I have a question for you,” she said and walked down the hall, through the doorway and into his golf bag. It clattered loudly in protest of the abuse. Tees scattered across the floor and two golf balls made their escape under the couch.
“That’s okay,” he said. He backed into the end table as he stood, and her delicate vase slid off. It shattered in a cry of pain, and the flowers splattered around it, mourning.
They paused for a moment.
“I’ll get the vacuum cleaner,” he said.
“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it.” She was back in a moment with the heavy machine, but not without the sacrifice of several of his framed photographs, lying crippled against the baseboards after their tumble from the walls.
“That hallway is so narrow,” she commented.
“Really? I never noticed. I’ll get the broom.” The broom handle knocked a shelf from its cradle, dispensing her books on the floor, pages splayed as butterfly wings, crumpled.
The clanking of the shifting glass as they swept it up, and the clattering of the tees, the scraping of furniture, and all the words unsaid soaking the air –
If only he’d see me.
If only she knew.
If only I’d asked him.
If only she’d tell me.
If only he knew.
If only she knew.
Oh be still, my spinning thoughts.
Stop.
“Stop!” They both stared at each other. The room felt strange in the silence.
“I have to get to work,” he said finally.
She had never seen that emotion in his eyes.
“I’ll clean this up,” she said.
As he moved past her, he quickly pressed his lips to hers.
Nothing.
She brushed her fingers across his jaw.
Nothing.
The door closed softly behind him, and she stood, surveying the chaos around her. She had felt the burning in her heart begin when he took his first bite of toast, and it grew with every morsel of egg, toast and bacon he had sucked through his lips. It had cooled now. An odd mixture of peace and despair.
He felt it when he realized that the shirt he was wearing was not his own.
Peace and despair, he thought. She’d like that dichotomy.
If only…