“Don’t think so George. I’ve had a quick peek up above and there was quite a frost last night. Looks like winter is on its way. You know how the cold gets into these decaying bones of mine. So I thought we’d stay in, make the most of this warm soil left over from those hot summer days we’ve had this year. Might go out tonight.”
“That would be nice love. We could sit on the bench the kids had dedicated to us and watch the stars. Just like we did when we were alive.”
Says he’s leaving, even bought himself a bike so he’d have his own transport, but we both know he won’t. He gets like this sometimes, says he wants a life of his own, tired of following me around. I tell him that would be OK with me, I never asked him to tag along. But, if the truth be known, we’d miss each other if he moved on. We’ve sort of got used to each others ways over the years. I’ve told him though, if he stays the bike’s got to go – can’t have that following me wherever I go.
Would often stand here as a kid, peering through the railings at the big house, wondering what it must be like inside. Used to catch a glimpse of the people who lived there, big flashy car, kids at the posh school outside town. People said the bloke what owned the place was worth millions, made his money from property, or something like that. Apparently he lives there on his own now. Wife left him for someone else, is what they’re saying, took the kids with her. Wonder if I knocked on the door he’d let me have a look round?
We spent endless hours chatting about anything and everything. Our deepest thoughts, dreams, desires – everything. The love that developed was forged from those late night conversation, by that sharing of words – they were the core of our togetherness.
We’ve been a couple now for 30 years but somewhere along that journey, I don’t know when, the words dried up. I began to find his anecdotes tedious, his funny little stories no longer funny. So, slowly but surely, I stopped listening.
Now we spend endless hours simply glaring at one another. The air full of unspoken thoughts. I think about how much I hate him, how every minute in his presence is a nightmare.