suki@reed.UUCP (Monica Nosek) (02/18/85)
After He Tells Her He Is Not Happy He is jovial now, and offers me pancakes instead of sympathy. I can tell from his tone that he is free from the burden of trying to care but is too kind to ask me to leave. I practice holding my breath and stare at the wall-- he says we might be out of milk and hands me my bear when I sit up and try not to scream. I wish he would go to the kitchen so I could cry, and he does, so I do. When I hear myself I sound like a child afraid. I feel last night's stickiness on my thigh and want a shower. The shower is temperamental, as am I, and hoards the hot water until I wrestle it into submission. He joins me as I undress; he is quicker and shucks his jeans and sweater even before I hang my bathrobe on the hook. He has fiddled with the faucet-- never quite satisfied-- so I slip between the drops and turn the knob this way and that until I feel a pleasant scald. I like my shower hot. He hogs the stream; his longish curls relax and hug his neck. He is an unwashed Jesus bathing; if I look I might see stigmata, but for now I stand outside the spray and look instead at water streaming down the wall. When he remembers I am there he puts his long hands on my hips. I back into the water and wash myself of him, then slide down the side of the shower to the floor. If I culd continue down the drain I would, but I sit and watch his knees instead until he crouches in the stall, a too-tall bird, the nest too small, and makes a hat of his hands to keep the hot rain out. He wants to know Am I ready to go? I tell him In a minute and he watches as I lick my lips, tasting copper pipes. He used to kiss my cheek in the dark to see if I'd been crying, but if he did it now he's only taste tap water. If you cry in the shower they can't see your tears. -- -------------------------------------------------------------- Monica Nosek reed!suki