| I would watch her sleep. I loved it. I loved her. I loved seeing her, awake or asleep. When she was awake, though, she wouldn't let me help her. Asleep, I felt I could protect her. I remember our first major fight. It was around 11 o'clock at night. It was about...hm. It was something significant at the time. About two hours later, she went to bed, still angry. I came into the room at 3 and she was out like a light. I almost laughed--she looked like and angry little kid with her brows scrunched and teeth together, pouting a bit. I remember that after making love, she'd fall asleep with her arm tossed over her head, her blonde hair fanning out with her face turned to her left. There'd be traces of a smile on her lips, and her body would still be in a sexy position, practically screaming, "Do me!" I remember when she was cold, she'd curl up into a little ball after donning her maroon sweatshirt and favorite black sweatpants. Her hands would be in between her thighs, her knees almost to her chin. Her eyebrows would be together, and her lips slightly parted, almost as if she were scared and angry at the same time. I remember this one time about two years ago when she fell asleep crying. I'd come home late and found her on the couch crying hysterically, holding her stomach. When she told me she was two months pregnant, I was shocked, thought I knew the baby was mine. I got her to calm down long enough to get her into a white nightgown and tell her that it was okay, to get into bed. She started sobbing as soon as I got up, so I went under the covers with her, fully dressed. I held her close and whispered promises in her ear: promises that we'd be fine if she was right, promises that we'd get married to support the baby, promises that I wouldn't leave her with the child. She looked at me with such gratitude in those green eyes I almost cried. "Thank you," she'd said, in such a relieved, childlike voice. She'd fallen asleep, clutching my shirt and crying softly. I stroked her hair and hummed some of our favorite childhood lullabies. She looked so peaceful, but so conflicted. Vulnerable, like she was made of glass. I fell asleep holding her at around 4 a.m. The only other time I did that was when she lost the baby, a few months later. She went on and on about how she'd killed the baby, and fell asleep completely distraught. I knew that she hadn't hurt the baby before. But about a month ago, she went inconsolable again. Said she was pregnant again. She thought she'd kill the baby again. And now, I'm staring at the impression of where she used to lay in our...my...bed. She's gone now. And she's taken the baby with her. And I know, that with the way she left, I will never see my child. And I will never see her again. Copyright © by Anne on June 29, 2007. Sheesh. The year of 2007 is half over in 26 hours! |
