. nathan had abandoned rose and their life in number 7 lakey street because he had developed a yen for somethiong that was unpreditable , spontaneous , and glamorous . he wanted to try another way of living before it was too late ." your flat is perfect ," he had said , flinging himself down on the (necessarily ) small double bed ." " we are free of all those tedious domestic complications ."
i did not tell him that he was not seeing straight . that would have embarrassed him . no one wishes to be told that they are trying fruilessly to turn the clock back .
" you do understand ?" he asked .
i stroked his face ." we 're free as birds ."
i did not confess to entertaining an attractives mental picture of a woman moving around the kitchen at number 7 ....or a woman presiding over the dinner table .... clean socks in the drawers , milk in the fridge , soap in the bathrooms in a house where there was plenty of space . that woman was me .
the clock said five-ffteen A.M . I RAN MY HAND OVER MY BODY , AND FELT my rib bones outlined more sharply than before . my eyes stung . my head was thick and heavy . there was no more sleep to be had that night . i got out of bed , went downstairs , and let myself out into the garden .
it was chilly , and i shiverred , a spot or two of rain fell onto my face asi picked my way over the lawn .
i should have been honest with nathan and told him . we won't be free . it isn't like that .
his death - his untimely , stupid death - deserved to be marked by more than small eruptiopns of anger between rose and me . nathan was owed a banquet , a cinermatic farewell , a clash of cymbals , i owed him an august sorrow thast would clease spite , guilt , and disappoinment .
i kew this . i knew it very well . yet i found myself staring down at the rose . i reached over and grasped it by the stem . a thorn drove itself into th base of my thumb , and a pinprick of blood appeared . with a little gasp of pain , i pulled the rose from the earth .
i did not tell him that he was not seeing straight . that would have embarrassed him . no one wishes to be told that they are trying fruilessly to turn the clock back .
" you do understand ?" he asked .
i stroked his face ." we 're free as birds ."
i did not confess to entertaining an attractives mental picture of a woman moving around the kitchen at number 7 ....or a woman presiding over the dinner table .... clean socks in the drawers , milk in the fridge , soap in the bathrooms in a house where there was plenty of space . that woman was me .
the clock said five-ffteen A.M . I RAN MY HAND OVER MY BODY , AND FELT my rib bones outlined more sharply than before . my eyes stung . my head was thick and heavy . there was no more sleep to be had that night . i got out of bed , went downstairs , and let myself out into the garden .
it was chilly , and i shiverred , a spot or two of rain fell onto my face asi picked my way over the lawn .
i should have been honest with nathan and told him . we won't be free . it isn't like that .
his death - his untimely , stupid death - deserved to be marked by more than small eruptiopns of anger between rose and me . nathan was owed a banquet , a cinermatic farewell , a clash of cymbals , i owed him an august sorrow thast would clease spite , guilt , and disappoinment .
i kew this . i knew it very well . yet i found myself staring down at the rose . i reached over and grasped it by the stem . a thorn drove itself into th base of my thumb , and a pinprick of blood appeared . with a little gasp of pain , i pulled the rose from the earth .
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