Brief Twelve

December Night

I was absent mindedly watching infomercials and having a kind of conversation with Johnny Walker when her car's headlights briefly blinded me and then the old engine roared and died in my driveway. I sat there for a few moments trying to decide if it was real or if it was Mr. Walker playing his tricks on me again. I heard the key being inserted in the key hole. I heard the two clicks and the door swung open letting a gust of icy air blow in. She had come back.

I got up from the sofa and walked over to the door just as she closed it gently behind her. I stared at her. Her long blond hair spilling out of her winter hat, the thick scarf around her neck and her long grey coat hugging her tiny body. She carried no bags or suitcases. How long had she been gone? Why had she come back? Had she come back for my big day tomorrow? Had she remembered how important it was to me?

She pulled off her hat and scarf, shook her boots off her feet but she kept her coat on. Then she turned to me and smiled. A very small smile. Her face was tanned, her lips dry and chapped and she wore no trace of her usual make-up which, according to her own words, she could not leave the house without. Her expression was tired, but her eyes shone brighter than ever.

I leaned down to give her a kiss on the lips. I don't know why I did that. Must have been an instinctive reaction, she comes home, I give her a kiss. But she stood up on her tip toes and kissed me on the forehead as I missed her lips completely and landed one on her neck. She smelled of vanilla and coconut and ... snow. Her skin felt icy under the warmth of my mouth. Had she driven with the window open?

We walked in the living room and sat on the sofa. She reached for my glass of Johnny Walker and took a big gulp. She never took off her coat, never said a word. I didn't speak either. It was all like a dream to me. I was sure I would wake up any minute, the glass of whiskey spilled on my T-shirt and some overenthusiastic lady on T.V. shouting the last countdown to the end of the sale of the most fabulous vacuum cleaner of the year. But I didn't wake up. I simply stared at the woman beside me. And I wondered.

"I'm exhausted." she finally spoke as if we had been together the whole day, working hard and now she was exhausted.

"I'm going to bed." That was the second and last thing she ever said. She got up from the sofa and walked to the bedroom. I followed. She took off her coat. No suprises underneath. A pair of faded jeans and a sweater. She took those off too and got under the sheets. I did the same. In less than five minutes, she was asleep. I lay there watching her. She looked peaceful, content. And that's when I noticed her wrists, or rather the bands on her wrists. Ugly things. I shot out of bed, ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife out of the drawer and ran back into the bedroom. Without any concern that she may wake up, I cut the bands off her wrists. She didn't wake up.
She slept peacefully the entire night while I lay wide awake, my head buzzing. I had an important day ahead of me.

The smell of fresh coffee filled the house and woke me up. Which meant I must have slept. How long I don't know, but I slept. The shower was running and a stunning red gown lay across her side of the bed. I had never seen that dress before. It wasn't in the closet with all the rest of her stuff still hanging there. I would know. I knew every article of clothing which belonged to her there. And I never saw her bring it in last night. I got up and walked to the kitchen.

We ate in complete silence. If she noticed the bands off her wrists, she didn't show it. How could she not have noticed? We drove in complete silence. If she noticed I was greatful to have her by my side for this important event, she didn't show it. I gave my speach. They loved it. She smiled and laughed, drank champagne and conversed with the guests. They loved her. But she never spoke to me. I got the singnatures I needed. It was a success.

We drove back in complete silence. If she noticed how excited and pleased I was, she didn't show it. Once inside, I went in the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. When I came out, she was gone. The red gown thrown casually on the floor beside the bed, together with the jeans and sweater from yesterday. I ran to the window and looked out. Her car was gone. What had she worn? I went back to the bedroom and rummaged in the closet inspecting all her stuff. A T-shirt and pair of shorts were missing. T-shirt and shorts, in the middle of December. Where was she going? How long this time?

She never came back. All these years. I still sit on the sofa late at night sometimes, long after Margarith has gone to bed, twirling my glass of Johnny in my hand and watching infomercials and waiting. Waiting to see headlights shine in the window, or hear an old engine pull up into the driveway. But that never comes again. And it never will. But I keep waiting. And on some nights, I also keep hoping. Especially in December.