The hot, smothering air of the room offers very little nourishment for my famished lungs. As exhausted as I was, I figured that sleep would overtake me quickly. But now, I cannot even close my eyes for more than a blink.
I roll onto my left side and instinctively throw my arm over where she should be. As my arm finds nothing but an empty side of the bed, my heart fills with that ache again . . ..
I sit up and run my hand through my sweat-drenched hair. There is a slight shuffling beside me and then I feel a slight weight settle on my leg. I look down to see, by the streetlight that streams in through the bedroom window, our little longhaired dachshund, Minnie. Her chin rests on my leg and her eyes look at me affectionately.
She was Sarah’s dog first. Long before I became Daddy to Minnie, my love was Mommy. I love the little wiener-dog. She brings memories of those loving arms holding her, gentle hands scratching her affectionately behind the floppy ears . . ..
I sigh and climb to my feet. Padding over to the window, I lift the shades and slide the glass open. A cool breeze blows through the screen. It feels good as it washes over me, chilling the perspiration that runs down my face and drenches my T-shirt. I lean into it and peer out at the backyard, noting the barbecue grill that I never use and the shed that the previous owner unwisely built in the center of the backyard.
I can see my beloved out there, her flawless teeth framed by her full, red lips that are stretched into a smile that melted my heart the first time that I saw it and every time since. She had to approve of the backyard where Minnie would be playing. I recall her saying that, despite the poor location of the shed, it was perfect.
The sky outside moves slowly back to night as Sarah and her radiance fade from view. I turn from the window and walk out into the hallway. Maybe the attic fan can pull some of this heat out of here.
I stop just outside our bedroom door. The fan is in the ceiling between our room and the spare bedroom across the hall. I’ll have to open all of the main floor windows for it to work. I look up at it and smile. It sees like an awful lot of trouble, I can remember saying when we were looking at the house and hearing about this feature.
She just flashed that smile and replied, I like it.
I pad down the hall to the living room, Minnie close behind. Our house doesn’t have one large window in the main room, like most houses I’ve seen. Instead, it has two smaller windows, which are spaced about two yards apart. I open them both, then glance at the imitation grandfather clock on the wall by the hallway.
It’s eleven-thirty.
I’m going to be so useless at work tomorrow.
I scan our VHS rack. Maybe I’ll get a movie to watch when I go back to bed. I look at the top shelf . . . her shelf. Holiday Inn. Singing in the Rain. Moon Over Miami. Her classic musicals (or antique movies, as I’ve always called them) could always put me to sleep. Funny thing. She never got mad when I dozed off, as long as I kept my arms wrapped firmly around her.
I sniff and wipe my eye. I need to dust tomorrow. It’s causing me to tear up.
I step into the kitchen, the sixties-era tile cold against my feet. Sarah’s Blue Heart decorations are everywhere. Pot holders, hot-pads, the washcloth that is draped over the faucet, the dishtowel that hangs from the handle of the refrigerator door. She’d been collecting this stuff long before she met me. I guess that she was the last of the hope chest keepers.
I can still see her, in our first apartment, so filled with joy the first time we used her treasured dinner plates. I sigh and wipe my eyes. More dust.
After opening the windows in that room, I move back out into the living room. Directly across from the doorway in which I now stand, a ceramic cross hangs on the wall. My friend, Jack bought it for us as a house-warming present. It wasn’t painted yet, so Sarah finished it. Now, it’s the most beautiful decoration in the house. She gave the cross a wood-grain color. A gold ribbon, ceramic like the rest, wraps from the upper right of the crossbar to the lower left, where it ends in a bow. A dot of red on each end of the crossbar and at the bottom of the vertical bar represents the places where Christ was nailed in place.
I turn and walk back down the hall toward the bedrooms. Opening the door to the spare room, I step inside and switch on the light. This was the first room that she finished decorating. The single bed, which was hers before we got married, sits against the far corner along the left wall, from where I am standing. The window, perched in the wall opposite the door, separates the head of the bed from Sarah’s plush toy collection, which includes everything from a 1983 Cabbage Patch Kid to a three foot tall Scooby Doo.
Along the wall at the foot of the bed is a white, double-door cabinet. It’s almost as tall as me and was used as our pantry in our apartment. Now it holds all of our board games. Everything from Clue to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: the Game can be found there.
On a shelf above the cabinet sit two ceramic hands that hold a ceramic Bible. It also holds a tiny basket that she purchased for charity. Considering the fact that I can practically hold the basket in the palm of my hand, I hadn’t exactly felt that this was the wisest eighty dollars that we’d ever spent and I had told her so.
She had just looked at me, flashed that smile (the Lord knows it would get me every time), and said, It was for charity. It had made her so happy to have that basket and, since happiness led to more of those smiles, I couldn’t say no.
I move to the window and slide it open. The breeze causes me to sniffle. I should blow my nose.
Back in the hallway, I turn the control to the attic fan to the high position. It grunts its displeasure at having been disturbed this late at night as it begins to greedily suck in the air currents from all the open windows. Within seconds, its groans end as if it is now enjoying its midnight snack.
Minnie charges around my feet and leaps onto the bed in the master bedroom. She digs at the covers and climbs under them and then, sticking her head out, barks sharply one time at me.
"I know," I mumble. "I’m tired, too." I turn out the spare bedroom and master bedroom lights, then sit on the side of the bed closest to the window.
The breeze that moves about me on its way to the hungry attic fan feels delightful. I lay down, not bothering to pull my sheet over myself, and close my eyes.
They pop back open.
It isn’t the heat that is keeping me from sleeping. I turn onto my left side and see that empty space on the bed. I can feel that same emptiness inside me.
I close my eyes and, as I feel tears well up and push through my closed lids, thank the Lord for my time with my beautiful Sarah.
The phone rings. I wipe my eyes again and reach to the nightstand for the cordless and speak into the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hi." It was the sweetest voice in my world . . . a voice that matched a smile. "Did I wake you?"
"No," I reply.
"What were you doing?"
I smile. "Realizing that I couldn’t live without you."
I hear her chuckle. "That’s sweet."
"When are you coming home?" I can feel the longing in my voice.
"Grandpa gets out of the hospital tomorrow," she says. "I want to stay with him one night at home to see that he’s okay. I should be home on Saturday."
I sigh. "You mean I have to sleep here another night without you?"
"It’s just one more night, honey." I can hear her move around on her bed. "I can’t sleep without you, either."
"Will you call me again tomorrow night before bed?"
"Yeah, I will." I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, "I love you."
"I love you, too."
I wait, as always, for her to hang up first. After I put the phone back on the nightstand, I close my eyes and begin to drift off into slumber. As I do, I thank the Lord again for my time with my beloved.
Past, present . . . and future.
End.
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