Waking Together - Chris Callaghan

Often they slept spooned, one snugged behind the other. Sometimes she was the hugged spoon, sometimes he. They had no rule or habit about it. Whether before or behind, it was the touching that held importance. Though even when there was a foot of space between them in the bed, they were still connected, by breath, by snore, maybe just their hair touching. It might have been the mere knowledge that if you flung your arm across the bed you’d hit a comforting lump of living flesh.

If she awoke before him in the mornings, she might spend time just staring at his skull, the bones in his face, his silvery hair, before he opened his eyes and stared back at her. Five minutes or ten could pass staring each other full awake before they mumbled “morning”, threw the covers back and began their day.

Arthur no longer shared her bed and now when Alberta woke in the morning it was her cat, Max, who stared her awake. She still said “morning” but Max’s reply was a rumbling cat word that loosely translated meant, “time to let me out.”

She threw back the covers and began her day by letting Max out the front door for his daily rounds. She stood in the doorway for a time looking out at the day and thinking, “God, Arthur, dead ten years and I still miss you.”

Then she closed the door.