Before You Know It

The room was still dark when he awoke. He did not open his eyes for a while; he just kept quiet in the bed, breathing in the stale but familiar air.

He turned to the other side of the bed, not wanting to get up yet. It was still warm. He sniffed the pillow, hoping it would smell of her, and opened his eyes.

It was the morning of Halloween. The curtains were drawn, and the room had a greyish hue. It had been like that for a while now. Grey. Sort of colorless. He wondered whether that was just how it was now.

He got up and put on his favorite fluffy bunny slippers. The ones she had got him. If he did not have a costume, at least he could dress his feet up a bit. He wiggled his toes, making it look like the bunnies were wiggling their noses. He chuckled a bit, but the sound was just as stale as the air in the room. Just as grey as the colors.

He went into the kitchen. There she sat. At the kitchen table, her computer in front of her, sipping coffee from a cup. She looked beautiful. Her dark blonde hair was still messy from the sleep, and she had dark circles under her eyes, but she was her. She was just as she had always been. Simple, beautiful.

He sat down at the table opposite her. She did not look up; she just took another sip from the coffee. He poured himself a cup and took a sip. The taste was colorless. It did not even taste grey; it just felt like nothing. He thought of water, but water still has a taste of minerals and nature. This was just nothing. He quickly put the cup back down on the table.

She got up and went into the bedroom while he looked after her, noticing her slumped shoulders and her red eyes. He wanted to go after her. He desired to make her feel better. He wanted to show her the love he felt, but he did not know how.

"I'll be going out," he said. More to himself than to her, but she did not answer anyway.

It was Halloween, the end of October, so it was cold. It did not bother him. The air was fresher, and the light was whiter. Still grey, but whiter. That is at least something he thought. He took some long, confident strides. Maybe this day it would be better. Perhaps this day, something would be different.

He walked down the street, looking at all the different people. He always loved to do that, and it kept him occupied. He wondered about their routines and what brought them here on this particular day. He made up stories about the people he passed all the time. Maybe that guy with the round glasses and the tweed jacket is a professor. Perhaps he has a giant library at home and loves philosophy but also a good splatter movie. Maybe that girl with the jacket is an artist. The color of the jacket could be purple. She loves colors in her paintings as well as her clothes. She has a studio with giant windows and brick walls and plants everywhere.

Or maybe real life is not as perfect. Perhaps the guy with the glasses is a high school teacher with a tired wife and a screaming baby. Maybe the girl with the purple jacket could not find anything else on sale. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, and the jacket was not purple but dark grey. No, he thought, she is an artist.

He came across a flower shop. He always contemplated going in there. Every time he came across it, he thought about it, even though he knew it would not matter.

But this day felt different, so he went in there. The shop was decorated for Halloween with carved pumpkins around the flower arrangements and tiny, decorative skulls in the bouquets.

He looked around for a long time. Looked for anything that resembled purple. It was hard in the grey light and the Halloween themed items, but at last, he found a bouquet he felt could be purple. It was always her favorite color. He looked up at the cashier counter, but the lady behind it was talking eagerly with another customer. He felt in his pocket for change. There was nothing. But this was supposed to be the day. He was supposed to give these flowers to her today; he could feel it. He looked at the cashier again. She was still talking to the other customer. Surely, she would not notice one bouquet missing.

He slowly turned his back to her and walked out of the shop.

Now he was one big smile. He smelled the bouquet. It did not really have a smell, but still, this was the right thing to do. This would make everything okay again.

The colors did not seem as colorless anymore. That woman's hat was definitely blue. And that tree was definitely green. And the bouquet he had picked was definitely purple.

He thought of her and the warmness of her skin, the beauty of her laugh. He thought of her sadness as she went into the bedroom this morning. He just wanted to show her he still loved her. He looked down. Purple.

Now his step was even more confident. He smiled at everyone on his way, but no one smiled back. Still, he kept a grin on his face all the way back to their apartment. He almost jumped up the stairs and opened the door so fast it banged against the wall. But he did not care. He was home, and he brought flowers, and everything would be as it was.

But she was not there. His smile turned into a strained grin. Not as romantic as he had hoped, but he sat on one of the kitchen chairs, bouquet in hand, staring at the door. He still smiled a little. He sat there for a long time. One hour went by, then two. The bouquet in his hands was beginning to hang a bit. Maybe he should have put it in water, but it was too late now. And he wanted to give it to her as it was. Simple, but beautiful, like her. So, he sat still, eyes eagerly watching the door, ears intently listening for a sound, a footstep, or a breath. But everything was quiet.

The night was beginning to show itself, and the whiter colors slowly faded to grey again.

Finally, he heard something. Her laugh. Her beautiful, trilling laughter. Her known footsteps on the stairs. But he also heard something else; a man's voice. He heard the key in the lock, and the door swung open. There she was, in another man's embrace. He got up quickly.

Their two bodies were writhing against each other as they stumbled through the apartment towards the bedroom. She was dressed as a witch, and he was a mad scientist. They did not even notice his presence.

He dropped the bouquet on the floor without noticing it. As he stepped on it to run across the kitchen to the bedroom, time seemed as if it had slowed down. He heard her giggle, listened to his moan, but felt as if he would never reach the bedroom door.

When he finally got there, she was on her knees, and he was looking pleased.

"How could you?" He screamed at her. "How could you do this?"

She did not react.

"I'm right here! I'm right here beside you!" He screamed as loud as he could, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I'm right here, and I always will be." This time his voice was a whisper. "Please…"

But they did not notice him. Maybe that is just how it is when you are dead.

He could not be in the room anymore, so he slowly walked to the kitchen, and there on the floor, he noticed the bouquet. It was not purple. He wished so hard it was purple, but it was grey.

As the moaning in the bedroom got louder, he fell to the floor. He was right here beside her as he always would be. Him stuck here forever in this grey purgatory. Her moving on and forgetting about him.

He just wished she could see him. Just hear him. Know he was there. Or maybe what he really wanted was that he could not see her. Could not hear her. But he could. Her moans got louder as he fell further onto the kitchen floor, surrounded by the fragments of the grey bouquet.

That is how he fell asleep, to the sound of her, on that first Halloween night since his death.