Something To Think On
by
Chapter Eleven
Once she’d lost consciousness, they’d moved her, together, from the chair in the middle of the room to the bed at its side, and then he’d sat with her for a long time (after Simon had nodded once and walked out), taking her in with his eyes. If he let his mind wander a bit, he could pretend she’d just fallen asleep, that any second her eyelids would flutter open and she’d catch him watching (and he’d look bashfully away, hoping she couldn’t see in his face what he’d been thinking).
He’d seen her asleep just one time before. He’d been out on the bridge, just sitting, late one night (not that night and day stood much apart in the black), and then she’d been there, a shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. She couldn’t sleep, she’d said. Something about the day (an anniversary of something bad, he’d figured – and he hadn’t asked of what, but it was another little something he filed away to think on), and her thoughts were keeping her up. He hadn’t minded the company – promised himself he wouldn’t pick a fight – so she’d sat in the chair to his left, watching the black, till she’d fallen asleep, cheek nuzzled into the back of the chair, body curled slightly toward him. And, not well knowing how to wake her up – should he say her name? touch her shoulder? none of that seemed right – he’d let her stay that way, and he’d watched her.
Saying her name’d seemed a thing that was hard, then. Wished now waking her up was as easy as just that.
He stood finally, when the movement of her chest, up and down, up and down, became a sight more than he could bear; reached a hand toward her cheek, like to touch her, but then thought better of it, pulled it back, turned, and left the room.
“You didn’t tell her.”
Wasn’t a question; it
"You can't take the sky from me!"
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