The Long First Day

The Long First Day

Her body was still, standing at the floor to ceiling window and though her gaze appeared to be aimed at the sights outside, there was only her own reflection. It was dark on the lake, hell it was dark everywhere nowadays she mused.

She had no work in the morning, those days were done, but there were duties that required a refreshed body and mind. Her head turned to see the clock, nearly ten and she wasn’t tired enough for bed. Her heart ached for rest though, it wanted to not be beating for awhile, if that were possible without killing its host, she was sure it would just put down its pain and crawl between the sheets without her.

Her mind had been on autopilot for weeks at this point. It had been helping her physical self deal with what was coming. The visits, the endless discussions about ‘afterward’. It didn’t want to be awake either, it could easily just join her heart in bed and leave her standing here empty.

Her body apparently wanted to stay up, kind of like a teenager, alone in the house for the first time. It wanted to roam through the house, nibble on un-healthy snacks, crank the tunes and pick up the bottle she’d left on the coffee table. She knew she’d been drinking too much since, well since the disease reared it’s ugly head. She had lost a lot of people in her life and hadn’t ever taken to drinking alone before. Those times though, he was here and commiserating with her. The very fact that she was now alone in the house hammered at her again. She thought she’d been prepared for it all. The silence and the darkness wasn’t even on the same level as funeral planning and the eventual meetings with the financial team.

Her hand came up and met it’s reflective mate on the glass. A shape flew by in front of her eyes and startled her, she didn’t really think about birds flying at night, the phrase caught her funny bone and she laughed out loud. “The dark bird flies at night. Sounds like something out of an old spy novel.” She shook her head, drew the blinds, and turned back to the living room.

After locking up the house, she slumped into his recliner and picked up the remote control. With a couple of different movie channels, she was blessed with choices but escape wasn’t what she wanted, not on the screen anyway. She poured herself another tumbler of Shiraz and scrolled through the channels until she found an old soccer game. It was his team playing against hers back in the eighties. To distract herself from the painful coincidence she instead focused on the difference in the strips, the crowd of fans and the players. Many of them just names in history now. She watched the whole hour and a half though and was strangely satisfied when his squad won. To celebrate she found the YouTube channel and found his team’s poignant melody. She sang along and felt the tears tickle her cheeks on their way to her chin.

Drying her eyes on the sleeve of her hoodie, she picked up her glass and took a deep draught while her fingers found the off button on the remote. The sudden silence was odd but not unwelcome. She swept her gaze around the hung paintings, and the pictures on the fireplace ledge. It was nearly full of family photos from both sides of their lives. Her deceased family and his, intermingled in some bizarre reunion. It was a space that hadn’t really changed since she moved in. There was newer furniture, some knick-knacks and what have you, but the carpet and walls were the same pale blue, the side tables and stereo remained from his bachelor years. With a shock she realized she was now able to go ahead and change it all if she wanted to.

He'd been resistant. Not to the change so much as the upset in the house as happened when you pulled up carpet and repainted walls. For herself she loved the bones of the house as much as she’d loved the bones of him. While she watched him fade daily in the hospital bed, they talked off and on about her world without him. In her core she was repelled by the casualness of his talk, but she’d had this kind of conversation before and it didn’t shock her.

She sat on the hearth, with the gas heat of the fireplace warming her back and a face already flushed with wine. Cradling the glass in her hand she considered being dramatic and throwing the half full glass across the room. Her emotions were at the top of her throat, practicality won out though as she was now the only one around to clean up the mess. Her bleary eyes found the clock and noted the time of half past midnight. It was late for her, typically a ten o’ clock to bed kind of gal. Those were the days before he got sick, when she knew he’d make his way up the stairs and go through his rituals. She was sadly aware that it would take some time before she stopped waiting for him to join her. The months that he was in the hospital she’d drag herself home only when she knew the nurses had time to spend with him.

Her head dropped again, she couldn’t stop weeping. Any one of her friends or the hospice volunteers would tell her it was normal, expected even. She wasn’t a crier though, at least not one of those who express themselves all over the place at any time. She was shattered, weary, and drained, her body was looking forward to joining her mind and soul under the covers. She pushed herself up off the stone hearth and just stood there for a minute absorbing the absolute sound of silence. In the distance she could hear cars driving along the main road. It was a Friday night and lots of people thought taking that route would help them avoid the police going home from the pub up the street.

Her hand found the dial for the gas and she turned off the fireplace and it’s fan. Gathering her glass and empty bottle she wandered into the kitchen. After cleaning them both, she  acknowledged his influence on her cleaning habits even when she was tanked and smiled. He’d been a teacher and a mate, her lover and financial guru. At nearly twenty years her senior he had a lot of wisdom to pass along and he did, even when she was frustrated at the inference that she couldn’t figure things out herself.

The lights were turned off and taking the handrail on the stairs with her right hand she pulled herself up the stairs to an empty bedroom for the first night of many to come.