A deferral worse than denial

I had the soapy aftertaste of bad coffee on my tongue, which seemed somehow relevant. My mind was always on these trivial disappointments, the low hum of the adult male’s disgust at himself and his lot in life drowning out anything truly devastating. Isn’t that just the way of everything.

Sometimes I liked to pretend that I didn’t have a body. Like what was I, like was I a ghost on the edge of the bed. I smoothed down a corner of the sheet, leaned forward, flicked my tie over and again so that it did a little pendulum arc out away from my body.

I stayed that way for centuries, my tie moving close and away, uncomfortable in my dad’s old suit. Dust settled thick and feathery on my shoulders. The bed rotted until it was a metal frame and rusty springs. Eventually the building sort of fell down into itself. But I stayed. She stayed, too, standing in the doorway, waiting for the answer to a question she’d never before been brave enough to ask. I’m sure she deserved an answer. I’m sure of it.



____________________

For the next few months I'm only going to be updating on Thursdays.  My PhD work is heating up, and I'm also working on short stories, so I've got to make some breathing room.