A Cold, Stiff End
The young couple lay next to each other as the open window let an occasional breeze of cool September night air into the small room, drying the residue of their sexual energies. To the man it was a welcome relief—to the woman it was chilly.
He lay on his back as the call of sleep began to wrap itself around him like a warm, cozy cocoon. When her hand wandered over to his arm, he rolled over on his side and pressed against the wall, as was his routine. The bed was small, only a full, but he was determined to move as far away from her as he could. Her hand moved with him, and it still lingered. He felt he had to tolerate its presence—he wanted to move it. As far as he was concerned, there was no more need for physical contact.
She didn’t feel so well and began to feel worse. Her mind was processing thought upon thought. Why do I have this empty feeling? Why do I feel completely alone?DoeshereallylovemecanheeverlovemecanImakehimlovemewhyamIherewhyamIsooocoldandempty? Everything seemed to be racing through her mind. She was disconcerted and nauseous. She rolled over and snuggled up to him, but he was unresponsive. She wanted him to respond to her in any way other than sexual. It was becoming more and more clear that she needed more than sex in their relationship. Sex was not the sustenance in a relationship, she understood suddenly.
“Honey are you awake?” she asked.
Thirty seconds passed before he responded. “I was trying to get to sleep. I was almost there.” He was not interested in pursuing “the” conversation, and it registered in his voice.
“I’m sorry, but I need to talk. I feel, I feel so very cold.”
“Shut the window, then.” He was speaking to the wall. It was cool and felt good against his warm body.
“It’s not that. It’s something different. Something different,” she said as if she knew what it was, but couldn’t quite articulate what she felt. She wasn’t sure if words were insufficient to describe it or that she didn’t possess the vocabulary. She was compelled to express herself however, so she proceeded carefully, like walking on a slick frozen pond.
Not this shit again, he thought. He almost didn’t want to have sex with her because she always pulled this shit. He just couldn’t understand what her problem was. She always wanted to talk about something. Man she can be irritating, he thought. There was nothing to discuss. They just had sex, no big deal, and now he was tired. He felt she was deliberately trying to agitate him, and it usually worked; he was mildly irritated to say the least. She sensed his irritation. A short while passed before she spoke. She would proceed step by careful step.
“Why do you move away from me?” She started at the most basic level. She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“I was tired and trying to give you room.”
“But I don’t mind if we stay cuddled up together. I like that. It makes me feel connected to you. I want to mean something to you.”
“Well, I need space to sleep. It’s too hot and uncomfortable, so I need to make some room to sleep. We’ve been through all this before.” Although he was agitated, his drowsiness dulled it. He was hoping she might shut the hell up so he could sleep. What else did she want for me, he thought. Goddamn it.
“I know, but something doesn’t feel right with me. I mean, I feel really cold.” Although there was a profound seriousness in her voice, he wasn’t concerned enough to discern it. He barely comprehended what she said. “Shut the window then,” he mumbled. Sleep was a stronger influence than her stupid issues, and besides it was always the same with her anyway. He was slipping into sleep and was comforted by the thought that he’d wake up and have sex with her in the morning—his sincere and only attempt to assuage her.
She snuggled up to him and pressed her cheek to his back. Something wasn’t right at all, and panic was beginning to course through her. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear. He was awake, but pretended not to hear. He was so sick and tired of being dragged into this conversation. He just wanted to sleep. What was so wrong with that? He chose to ignore her, like normal, and resigned himself to make her feel better in the morning. He was warm.
“Do you love me?” It was an important question she always asked. He usually said he did, but she sensed insincerity to it. She wanted to believe, so she constructed many rationales to convince herself that he was indeed genuine with that sentiment. She knew his parents divorced when he was young and thought this was the reason he had trouble opening up to her. She thought that if she loved him enough, he would love her back. That love’s all you need to reach someone. But now she wasn’t so sure and her suspicion was reaching its apex. For some reason she was unable to understand, she desperately needed to know if he loved her or felt anything for her other than sex. The thought that he might love her sparked a locus of warmth in her stomach—a small shred of hope, which she did not believe was true. The warmth quickly dissipated with that specious thought and fueled the coldness, which started in her stomach, and branched out numbing her limbs. It was creeping up toward her head and centering in her chest. She was beginning to feel sleepy. Her body felt numb, like frostbitten ear lobes—a lack of feeling when you knew there was sensation before.
“Rodney, I need to know. Please wake up.” She shook him, gently then more violently. But her strength was limited and she got tired quickly. “Rodney, do you love me? I need an answer. Please. Help me.”
He felt the edges of sleep welcome him with a warm embrace. It felt so good after a hard night’s work, too. His body was tired and needed to rejuvenate itself. His mind became aware of some call, a type of beckoning, but as was his custom he chose to ignore it. He lay there and finally, when her cold hand slipped off his body, the warmth of sleep ensconced him, like a child’s favorite blanket his mother had just wrapped around him on a chilly winter’s day.
When he woke in the morning, he felt really good, great in fact. He was well rested and horny. He vaguely recalled some dilemma his girlfriend was experiencing the night before, but he wasn’t concerned. She was prone to creating problems for herself, he thought. He was confident that he could rectify her problem now. Why interfere with a person’s sleep when all could be cured in the morning?
The window let in a ray of sunlight which fell across his exposed foot. Its warmth felt virtuous, in some strange way, as he could sense the vivacity contained within the ray. It occurred to him that life needed warmth and how that was important. Inspired by his cognizance, he decided to give his girlfriend some warmth. He rolled over to his girlfriend and proceeded to mount her. Although rigormortis had stiffened her and she was a bluish purple, it took him a full fifteen seconds before he realized something was not right. He felt a penetrating coldness.
The window let in an occasional breeze of cool September morning air on the man and the dead woman.
