Karina

Something isn’t right about this. I should be feeling different, should be acting different. Aren’t I supposed to be sad? Depressed? Hysterical? Aren’t I supposed to be crying my eyes out, thinking there’s nothing worth living for, that my life is over?

Instead, I’m standing in front of the mirror making sure my shoes match my dress. I’m listening to Jeff in the shower. Listening for the water to stop running. I mean, it’s been fifteen minutes already. Jeff never showers for longer than ten.

I walk into the living room looking for something to do. I need to keep busy. But what I want to do, and what I should do, are two different things. I want to take out the marketing projections for next year and finalize my expected sales. I know I can’t do that. That isn’t right on a day like this.

Then again, I know I should be crying or needing to be held, or something. But I can’t seem to make myself do that either. Because I don’t feel anything. I can’t even say I feel numb, which would be a relief if I could say, because people could accept that one. The shower water shuts off. I turn toward the bedroom, preparing to walk in and make sure Jeff wears the right suit. Make sure his hair is groomed right. But it catches my eye instead. I can’t help but be drawn to it, needing to pick it up and stare at it close.

It’s the picture of me and her taken on Christmas Eve two years ago. Before everything seemed to change. Before I realized that we had nothing. Nothing but a long history which seemed to be the only thing we did have.

We’re laughing in it. Our arms are around each other’s shoulders and we’re laughing. I can’t remember what we were laughing about. To tell the truth, I barely remember that day at all.

It must’ve been something stupid, this secret joke between us. We were always laughing over the really dumb things. If we were ever to laugh about something truly funny, then that would lead to seriousness and we couldn’t allow ourselves to see the real us. The people we were down deep.

Jeff touches my shoulder, making me jump. I didn’t hear him come in the room. I stand up quickly and put the picture back on the shelf. I don’t want to feel his touch on my shoulders, nor do I want him to see that I was looking at the picture. It’s not that I don’t like his touch- I do- it’s just that people touching me seems to hit that nerve in the back of my neck. Like that feeling you get when you’re in a crowded room and worry that you can’t get enough air.

I turn to face him. I can’t smile, nor frown. I just watch him.

“How’s this?” He asks, gesturing his arm down his body, showing the suit he chose.

He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a white shirt and red tie. He had put on his black Oxfords, the ones that lace funny. His hair is still wet, but it’s been combed into place, neatly. He looks perfect.

I squint at him. “You’re going to wear a red tie?”

He just stares at me with that blank expression he’s become so good at forming. The look that says he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.

I force myself not to roll my eyes, but I can’t seem to stop my voice from sounding exasperated. “You can’t wear red to a funeral.”

“I can’t?” The confused look doesn’t go away.

“No. You can’t.”

Jeff shrugs in a defeated manner. “I guess I could wear my navy one. Or my black one. But then, I do have one that’s sort of a brown color.”

I sigh at him. He’ll never understand. “Just forget it. Let’s just get out of here and go.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You were looking at her picture.”

I feel my insides tighten. “Yes, I was. I was waiting for you to get out of the shower, and then when you did, I turned to go to the bedroom and there it was. I had just picked it up when you walked in and frightened me to death.”

My eyes widen in shock. I can’t believe I said that! I’m on my way to a funeral, her funeral, and I make a joke about death.

Jeff takes a step toward me. He puts his arms around me and for a second, it’s the most relieving, secure feeling, to feel his arms around me tight. I want to sag into those arms, lay my head on his shoulder, and stay like that forever. But I know, if I did that, I would be allowing my emotions to control my actions.

I push him away and turn around to get my purse. “Come on, let’s go.”

I walk past him, heading to the front door, knowing he’s watching me not knowing what to do. How can I make him realize I don’t need anything? That I’m fine, this means nothing more to me than an interruption in my work schedule.

The drive to the church is silent. Jeff must’ve thought that even putting on the radio would be rude to the dead or something. I know he’s dying to listen to some music, he never could handle silences.

I should tell him it’s okay, that he can turn on the radio and play that tape he just bought, but I say nothing. I don’t have the energy, nor do I care if he’s happy or not. I just want to be left alone, in this silence.

It’s sunny out, with huge, fluffy white clouds. The temperature is in the low eighty’s. One of those days where the sun glimmers in the trees, making the leaves look like they’re sparkling. It’s hard to believe that we’re going to a funeral.

I’ve always thought that there were things you did on dark days and things you did on light ones. Weddings, picnics, laughable hours with the ones you love were things you did on the light days. Funerals, heartbreaks, getting fired were things you did on the dark days.

This was definitely a light day and yet, we were going to a funeral. Her funeral of all things. Why didn’t the weather know we needed a dark day? What an oxy-moron that is.

Jeff turned the corner to the parking lot and drove around for a few minutes looking for that ultimate parking spot. I hate this trait of his: finding a place to park that will be close to the door to where he’s heading, so he won’t have as far to walk. I don’t mind walking, why should he?

At last the parking space is discovered. I barely wait for the car to stop before opening my door and stepping outside. The sun is much brighter than it was in the car. I search through my purse and take out my sunglasses. I feel like I should be Audrey Hepburn, dressed in a tight, black cocktail dress with pearl earrings and these stupid dark glasses.

The parking lot of the church is quite full. People have already started to park on the side street. I’m a bit surprised by this. I knew she was a social butterfly, but the only friends I had met of hers were the drug addicts of the town. The rowdies, as we used to call them. The ones who were fun and exciting to date in college, but lost their appeal when I realized they were headed on a long, drawn out journey to nowhere.

It’s too hot to wear such dark colors. I can feel the sun beating on my scalp, burning blisters through my hair. A light film of sweat begins to form between my breasts.

Jeff comes around from his side of the car and holds out his hand to me. I hadn’t realized I was just standing there. I take his hand and feel him squeeze mine. I try to smile at him, to let him know that I appreciate his support. We begin walking to the front of the church.

People are bustling everywhere, heading in the same direction. My insides cringe. My heart starts beating a thousand miles a minute..... Beating.

Near You Always

Please don’t say, “I love you."
Those words touch me much too deeply.
And they make my core tremble.
Don’t think you realize the power you have over me.
And please don’t come so close,
It just makes me want to make you near me always.

Please don’t kiss me so sweet,
It makes me crave a thousand kisses to follow.
And please don’t touch me like that,
Makes every other embrace seem pale and shallow.
Please don’t look at me like that,
It just makes me want to make you near me always.

Please don’t send me flowers,
They only whisper the sweet things you’d say.
Don’t try to understand me,
Your hands already know too much anyway.
It just makes me want to make you near me always.

And when you look into my eyes,
Please know my heart is in your hands.
It’s nothing that I understand, but when in your arms,
You have complete power over me.

So be gentle if you please,
Because your hands are in my hair,
But my heart is in your teeth.
And it makes me want to make you near me always.

Him...

You’re lying face down on the bed, pressing your cheek against the pillow. The sheets are itchy and stiff because you bought them the day before, just for this occasion. The little pink flowers in the print are too feminine for your taste, but they match the new painting on the walls of the room and that was what was important at the time.

You hear his footsteps enter the room. You close your eyes and pretend that you’re dozing, hoping he doesn’t realize how much his being here means to you. You begin a steady rhythm of breathing and silently willing your heart to slow.

He crawls into the bed and the mattress slumps under his weight. The combined scent of him and new sheets fills your nostrils as he settles himself next to you. His leg wraps around yours while his arm drapes over your back, fingertips lightly rubbing your skin through your shirt.

You feel his whiskers scratch against your upper arm. You turn your face towards him and absorb his features, hoping to memorize every detail, so you can remember them on those nights when you’re alone and needing that space filled. You know his eyes are gray-brown and that his face is round. But you had forgotten about his slight overbite and his cleft chin. You’re surprised that you forgot about this, the one thing that had attracted you to him in the first place.

You reach your hand out and with your index finger, push against the tender skin of his chin. You smile at his reaction of sighing and closing his eyes. Your heart swells and you feel the lump of tears that always seem to come when you’re with him, threaten. You stop yourself from telling him the truth that would scare him away if he knew. You chant over and over to yourself that this moment is only what it is: a moment.

He opens his eyes and turns to face you. He smiles sheepishly and hugs you tighter. He rubs his nose against yours and his smile grows wider.

“Have I told you how glad I am to be here?” He asks.

You feel your stomach grow warm and the back of your neck tightens. You smile back and stroke his face with your fingers.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” You whisper. “You don’t even know how much.”

You feel him squeeze you harder in reaction. You grow very still and stare at his mouth, remembering how his lips feel when they touch yours.

As if he hears your prayers, he brings his head forward.