Week #3 Story #3

May 24th, 2015 by Ash



I went to Christchurch last weekend to visit my Dad. He’s a writer and we sometimes talk about our different approaches on the craft. Sometimes I think it’s one of the hardest things to do and other times it feels the easiest. This story, the 3rd in my short short story collection, was written in bed in Dad’s spare bedroom, just before I went to sleep. I had this intense feeling about my life, hard to describe, I felt I had to create something so I could get some sleep – otherwise I think I would’ve been up for sometime with my thoughts rattling around.


Just before bed

Is he sleeping with her? She said to me as I stood in their bedroom door way.

I don’t know, I said.

I just need to know, she said as she propped herself up in bed.

She had been reading before she stopped me and the book sat open on her lap. The bed side lamp was on and she was surrounded by their familiar walls, lined with band posters, family portraits and wedding photos. One of their two dogs, Milly, was on the bed with her.

I know. I would tell you if I knew, I said.

She looked at me closely. I was moved by her vulnerability, her expression looking out at me from such a domestic scene. She tucked her fringe behind her ear and it promptly fell back over her eye. How could anyone leave her at night, I thought, that sweet face of homeliness, wrapped up in warm pyjamas.

It’s not right though is it? she said.

Another silence. I sighed and leaned against the doorway.

No. If I had to make a call about it, no it’s not right.

Thank you, she said.

If I was brave, I would’ve crossed the invisible line of their bedroom, that I felt was somehow sacred and gone to her, to console her. Something about her expression was breaking my heart and making me yearn to connect with someone, to know someone and be known. I stood there, for too long. Everything that needed to be said, had been. But I still stood there.

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