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There he is, his head tilted down at me, greeting me with one of those soft smiles that makes his eyes crinkle and if I wasn't as much of a rationalist I'd say it was a blessing, and that my heart wanted to engulf him.

"You're here," I say. It's a stupid phrase, and no doubt he thinks so.

"I am." So quiet. It's a summer evening. My house sits on a small rise in marshland, and the shrill electric sound from the life in and around the creek nearly drowns out his voice.

"It's been..."

"Eight."

"Eight years."

He hands me a thin envelope. It is paler than him and unmarked. It feels like a card is inside. I don't want to look away to open it. If I look away he might disappear again. But he is looking at it and waiting for me, and he won't wait long.

Inside is a birthday card and a check from eight years ago. I tuck it back into the envelope and look up at him.

"I couldn't send it," he says. "Things were beginning to get complicated."

"I know."

We start to walk into the house. I am more tense than I would like to be. I want to pull him inside the room and keep him. The card has defused part of my desire - the more primitive section, and knowing him he could touch my skull and delineate where a surgeon could cut to take that part out. Higher order functions were still intact.

In the silence, he touches my shoulder. "I've always been with you."

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rev_marsh: a view of a sunset in a sort of dytopian city, high up in the skyscrapers, sort of isometric view (Default)
rev_marsh

October 2016

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