Where were you last night?
This is a short story by me...starting with an interesting question...
Where were you last night? The question keeps popping into my head as I try to get the coffee machine to work. I really need coffee on a Monday morning like this, and I really need to know the answer to the question. If there is one.
I remember we had a typical Sunday yesterday. Stayed in bed until late, read the newspapers and the weekly magazines. Yes, you were still there. You made a comment on that article about how much swearing goes on on television. I replied, but I don’t know if you stopped to hear what I thought on the subject.
We fixed ourselves some lunch. I suggested pasta and you said you’d have a steak instead. I remembered how you used to love cooking pasta on weekends, how we used to improvise recipes, making sauce with any ingredient available in the fridge and then giving it stupid names. “Tagliatelle alla us”. Yesterday’s were just for me. And they weren’t even properly cooked.
I don’t know whose idea it was to go to the movies. Maybe we just went cause that’s what we do on Sunday afternoons. Maybe because we both love films. Or maybe because it saves us from having to talk for a couple hours. The film was bad enough so we didn’t have anything to say about it when it was over either. Just our luck.
Later over dinner, I planned on talking about the trip to Amsterdam, we should start looking for a hotel as soon as possible. But I had forgotten the football match was on and you already had a sandwich on your lap. Your yelling at the referee brought some life to the apartment. I remembered what you’d said about swearing before. Maybe it only matters if there’s swearing on tv, not “at” the tv. The poor guy and his whistle received no pity. Could I be jealous that he was getting more attention than I was?
The bed was cold when I was reading in it and I was glad when you hopped in. I put my book down mid chapter but you fell asleep before I’d even turned the lights off. The bed was still cold.
I had a nightmare, nothing special, probably just your typical recurring dream. I woke up and looked around trying to figure out where I was. In our bedroom, on a cold night of autumn turning into winter, I looked for you. But you weren’t lying next to me. The body, the breathing, the heat coming from the pillow next to mine wasn’t yours. I know for sure you weren’t there. It felt familiar but totally unknown, a stranger. Who was it? Where were you last night?
This morning I had a feeling you were back when I heard you singing in the shower with your unexplainable workday energy. But as you sit reading the sports newspaper waiting for you coffee, I’m dreading to ask you the question. Where were you? And, are you back now? How long will you stay? I don’t think I can face a whole day or even less a whole week wondering if you’ll be here next weekend. Or the next.