death 1129

It is late. Close to midnight. He still hears the traffic from the nearby interstate. It hums. People traveling. Going someplace; visiting someone. He sits in the dining room. Not thinking. Not doing. Just sitting.

Two days ago, his wife died. Suddenly. Car crash. She was young, or at least younger. They were a pair. Now, not so. He hasn’t yet come to understand the loss. Now, he only feels it. Later, he will struggle to make sense of his life. He will be numb, then, and for days and months to come.

The phone rings, but he doesn’t answer it. No need. There was no one else. Just her. And it isn’t her.

So, the ringing continues. He waits until it stops, then stands, walks across the room and unplugs the phone. He is desperately alone and feels the need to be even more so. A car across the street pulls out. Its headlights crease the room’s blackness, its stillness, and he cringes.

He shivers, pulls his arms in to warm himself, then begins to weep, again.

He will sit, weeping, for minutes more, before heading for his bed and an attempt to sleep. He will dread the morning, but it will come.