I wrap myself in a tshirt worn by him, his fragrance tickling my senses as I curl up on the bed. This shirt that’s cut for man’s’ body is too large for me and the fabric folds itself between my legs, caressing my thighs like a warm hand. I roll over, reaching an arm across the sheets, feeling cold where the warmth of his body should be.
Nights are the hardest. Sometimes I wonder if he’s ever coming home though I know he is. It’s just that he’s been gone so very, very long. I scrunch a pillow up under my head and lay staring at the ceiling, wishing the night away.
I can hear the wind rattling the outside of the house and objects thud against the exterior. I rarely question living this far from town but then the solidarity creeps up and the emptiness I feel inside makes me restless. I try to outrun the night but I can’t hide from it’s inky chill.
I toss and turn watching shadows dance across the wall, a beam of light reflected from somewhere outside. The t.v. screen flashes a DishTV message at me. I turn my face away, ignoring it.
I press his shirt against my nose, close my eyes and breathe deeply. It’s the nearest thing I have to his touch and I revel in it…for the moment. I can almost hear the soft thudding of his heart, his slow, steady breathing, feel the heat from his flesh. I swim in a sea of warm memories.
Jeannie Palmer 2012