MORNING TENDER

MORNING TENDER

          Ray woke earlier than usual, refreshed as from eight hours sleep, which in reality had been four. He rubbed at his eyes and turned, a fear rising inside his stomach. Still there! He saw the same blonde curls cascading over fluffy blue pillows, the same small hands gripping the comforter. Smiling, he brushed his fingers over her skin, silk velvet under his rough touch.
          With effort, he rose, slipped on his shoes and left the bedroom, the remnants of sleep fading, and the desires of a new day asserting their needs. He thought about breakfast and taking a shower, but instead he lit a cigarette as he walked outside into the morning sun, whose gentle heat began to erase the rain of the previous day. He smoked in silence, while still and quiet, nature seemed to sleep at that early hour, not a bird or car moving, leaving him to his thoughts, alone.
          He dragged his foot along the gravel in distraction. The world entire seemed to stop, his thoughts pounding insistent within his mind.
          “What now?” he asked, to nobody at all, to the blue of the morning sky. The question dissolved into the morning shine, silence enveloping him. With a flick of a wrist, he threw his cigarette into the street and putting his hands into his pockets, went inside.  
          He stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. She shifted onto her stomach, her fingers arranging blankets knowingly and looked up at him.
          “Why did you get up?” she asked her voice thick with morning.
          He sat down on the bed, his fingers finder hers, caresses and words exchanged through touch.
          “I needed some air.” 
          “To smoke,” she said, smiling.
          “Yes.”
          “As always. The same every day, nothing changes.”
          “Get off it,” he said, crawling back into bed. He tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away with her hand.
          “Ray!” 
          “What?”
          “You’re like a little boy, you never learn.” She sighed, but kept smiling.  
          "Sorry mother.”
          “Please,” she said, turning away, pulling the comforter with her.
          He looked at her, her back bare and tender, and reached for her, pulling the blanket over her.
          She sighed again and turned her head to look at him.
          “Go wash your mouth, you smell like an ashtray.”
          “No,” he said, in mocking defiance.
          “Fine, then go back to sleep.”
          He laid his head on the pillow without a response and to his surprise, sleep came once again.


          Black clouds rushed in from the west, shaped to cover the light, rain begins in torrents, scathing the roof tiles, threatening to wash it all away.
          Her face in a cloud, frowning, next to wolves...
          “Did you really think?” a voice whispers, exploding inside his mind. He hears laughter, mad cap shrieking laughter all around him.
          ‘No, no, no,” he whispers.


          He woke with a start and jumped to his feet, the bed empty beside him. He rushed into the living room: empty, empty and still, empty.
          “No,” he muttered to himself, his teeth clenched together. Motionless and trapped in thought, he stared about the room. 
          Did you really think He heard again, this time it sounded like her voice, insistent and filled with accusations. He spun round, but the room remained empty, stubborn hateful empty. He sat with a thud upon the rug, his face in his hands, too scared to feel tears, trying to hear the voice.  
          He thought of the day he lost her at the zoo. He ran round, tracing the paths walked, the animals seen, which growled at him, watched him, asking and begging strangers to remember her, but to nothing. He sat down at a cafe, exhausted and pulling at his hair. With tears in his eyes he saw her sitting at the bar, talking to a strange man, who wore a pair of jean shorts and a skin tight white tee-shirt. As he walked towards them, trying to calm himself, he heard the voice again.
          “Ray.”
          He looked up and saw her, in a blur, holding a white paper bag, a cup and a newspaper.
          “Where did you go?” he managed to choke out in a scratched hiss.
          “I got breakfast,” she said, placing the bag on the table. She walked to him, quick and light steps and came to a stop, kneeling next to him.
          “What did you get?” He pressed his face into her shoulder.
          “Your favorite,” she said, holding him tight.
          “Cinnamon raisin?” 
          “I got a cinnamon raisin bagel, toasted, with extra cream cheese, a coffee and your morning paper,” she said, stroking his hair. He clung to her, his hands linked behind her.
          “What is it?” she asked.
          He remained silent, pulling her closer.
          “Ray.” Her voice sweet and soft in his ear, her breathe against his next warm and tender, her fingers massaging his temples.
          “Don’t leave,” he said.
          “Ray, what is it?” she asked, kissing his forehead.
          “Just don’t leave me, Rose,” he whispered.
          She rocked him slow in her arms, humming low and sweet.
          “I won’t,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Tonight makes two years, Ray.”
          “I know,” he answered. “I know.”
          He kissed her as the sunlight broke through the blinds, bathing the room in yellow warmth.