He called and said he'd come tonight. So she busied herself the whole day:
She started by cleaning off the room-- books back on the shelf, crumbles and left-overs disappeared from her table and gave way to an empty vase that she might later fill with the flowers he would probably get her. She got rid of the coffee stained mugs, washed them while putting the chocolate wraps in the bin. She then removed the bed sheets and the pillow covers, washed them and let them dry in the sun.
And what about herself? She cut her nails, painted them pink (the way he likes them), washed her hair that she dried and brushed. She checked the fridge for the bottle of wine, the cupboards for scented candles, and dropped by the bakery for croissants the next day.
Then she sat reading without registering, restless on a couch as time whiled by. In the evening, she took the sun-soaked linen off the line and smelt lavender as she made the bed and diligently placed the six pillows she always kept. As she made the bed, she sighed remembering the feeling of crisp linen on her skin, a contrast to the warmth of his body, a paradox in this square bed that she looked forward to, along with their passionate love-making.
That's when he called to say he wouldn't come, for he couldn't come. His wife had a harsh week and he needed to be there by her side.
That night she went to bed thrilled by the feel of sun-soaked lavender on her nakedness. That night, she also went to bed thrilled that she had put an end to their clandestine meetings.
She started by cleaning off the room-- books back on the shelf, crumbles and left-overs disappeared from her table and gave way to an empty vase that she might later fill with the flowers he would probably get her. She got rid of the coffee stained mugs, washed them while putting the chocolate wraps in the bin. She then removed the bed sheets and the pillow covers, washed them and let them dry in the sun.
And what about herself? She cut her nails, painted them pink (the way he likes them), washed her hair that she dried and brushed. She checked the fridge for the bottle of wine, the cupboards for scented candles, and dropped by the bakery for croissants the next day.
Then she sat reading without registering, restless on a couch as time whiled by. In the evening, she took the sun-soaked linen off the line and smelt lavender as she made the bed and diligently placed the six pillows she always kept. As she made the bed, she sighed remembering the feeling of crisp linen on her skin, a contrast to the warmth of his body, a paradox in this square bed that she looked forward to, along with their passionate love-making.
That's when he called to say he wouldn't come, for he couldn't come. His wife had a harsh week and he needed to be there by her side.
That night she went to bed thrilled by the feel of sun-soaked lavender on her nakedness. That night, she also went to bed thrilled that she had put an end to their clandestine meetings.
1 comment:
I really like the type of female character you've penned. Brings to mind maybe Sabine from "The Unbearable Lightness of Being". Strong female protagonists are the way to go I always think...
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