Fade

Fade

He shuffled forward tentatively - his feet tied to the ground by the pit of his stomach. The screen door slammed behind him and the musty smell of the cabin slowly retreated replaced by the din of crickets and the misty night air thick with the loneliness of autumn. In the bushes, a small animal was rustling the leaves. And over above the rooftop a full corn moon hung round and yellow in the charcoal, starless night. He could hear her inside, gathering up the plates, her shadow lightly silhouetted in the small picture frame window.

He looked beyond the trees and the moon and saw them sitting opposite each other in a field. Knees touching - she with her fingers pointing towards him, palms down thumbs lined up alongside each other - and his hands, palms facing upward carrying the weight of those small smooth fingers; his thumbs tracing the knuckles and the nails, his fingers underneath cradling hers with excessive care. That Spring had felt like eternity, warm and full of hope. It was only two years ago that he had proposed but now that seemed so far away, almost like a dream from a different life. Who can trace the convoluted path that time drags you across? He looked back again: she was almost done, the clanging of dishes stopped. He could spy the soft curving of her neck and the slow rise of her breasts. In some way, he was to blame, but he always thought they would endure. He shoved his hands in his pockets. It was getting cooler now, winter was near. He strolled around the porch to get warm - but finally gave in and ambled back into the house. She was standing at the sink with her arms extended.

Tears streaked her face and had made a small but noticeable puddle. He stepped up beside her - his hip against the siding and put his hand on hers. She pulled her hand away quickly and wiped her eyes. Slowly, she turned to face him. It was the same face, the same short brown hair. He couldn't resist - he leaned in and rested his head on her shoulder. As if replaying a scene they had rehearsed a million times, she encircled his waist with her thin arms.

He twisted his neck slightly and pressed his lips behind her ear breathing out the day. He straightened. His hands he folded behind her back enveloping her. She started sobbing, wetting his shirt with her lovely tears. Gently, but deliberately she put both her hands on his chest and pushed him away. They looked at each other for a second - she was out of his life now; now she belonged to someone else, and he could not do anything to change her mind.

As she stepped away, and turned - a military turn, the kind that comes from years of venom, he felt his past and his future being ripped from him. He had so often thought how wonderful it would be to be free again - to be alone for once. Yet, there was nothing of that. There was also no anger. No hate...

But something was left undone. He could not put his finger on it. He went into the next room after her. The worn out unvarnished wood floor buckled slightly under his feet. They had both bought the cabin after she had fallen in love with it on a skiing trip. Now, he stopped in the doorway and smelled the sweet pine air waft in and out of his nostrils. Now, what was to come of it? Surely, he should ask her that. It was the place they came to escape, to make love, to celebrate birthdays. Surely, she woundn't want to sell it. He walked into the bedroom, slightly excited by his confidence.

She was changing. The sight of her naked shocked him. He turned and apologized. And just then it struck him. A shovel to the back. He dropped to his knees. She was no longer a woman. She had been soiled. He heard her footsteps in heels he had no doubt gotten her as a gift, first from behind, and then trailing away as a bag dragged behind her knocking something from a table that she didn't turn around to pick up. The spring door came crashing closed and the chevy gurgled and revved.

A bolt of electric pain shot up his spine. He groaned and flailed his arms. His forehead rested on the floor, heavy. His mind was scrambled. Where did she go? He thought he could see, out of the slit of his drooping eyes, the taillights red, glowing, rushing away from him. A hellish semaphor...She was probably headed to her lovers house.