by S.L. Jordan

My right ear was directly over his heart, whilst my thumb gingerly raked over his right wrist. I could hear the erratic beating, feel the blood racing through his veins. The silence was killing me, but I waited patiently – for the outward sign that he had heard me. I knew he had. We laid cuddled under the oak tree in our backyard. It was the perfect Saturday afternoon -that sweet spot between Spring and Summer, where the sun had yet to reach its full potential. The neighborhood was alive with life; children laughing, the sound of the ice cream truck slowly rolling down the street intermingled with the occasional honk of a bicycle.

He cleared his throat. From my position on his chest, I could see in my minds eye the bobbing motion of his Adam’s apple as he did so. A nervous twitch of his. I was surprised by his hesitancy, probably as much as he was surprised by me bringing it up. He had spent the last six months trying to wear me down, and now that the time had come, he seemed … timid.

“Are you sure?” he asked, little beads of sweat started to form and pool in the hallow of his collar bone, another sign he was nervous.

“No” I said, but I was lying. If I were to be honest, this could possibly be the way out. The easiest way, where I wasn’t the villain. Not that he was the villain, nor did I want him to be.

He shifted his body and I sat up to face him. Now the serious conversation could begin.

“No? Then what are we talking about here …” was his gentle reply. He reached out to hold my hand, and I stared at that hand. The wrinkles. The texture. So many changes through the years, but still so familiar. So comforting. I blinked back tears. He still had his shades on so I couldn’t see his eyes. Was he looking at me? I leaned in a gently to remove the glasses and watched as his eyes darted away.

“Well, I would be a liar if I said things hadn’t changed between us. That I hadn’t noticed the way you lit up when the new neighbor moved in next door, or how the cute young barista at the coffee shop always made sure your donut was fresh with your coffee. I see how that attention pleases you” I replied.

“You know that – “he started, but I stopped him because I knew what he was going to say and while I think he thought he meant it, it did nothing to relieve what he assumed was hurt. Was I hurt?

I suppose in a way I was. In the way you can be when you spend majority of your life with someone, only to be told one day that that someone now wanted to bring another person into the life you’ve created together. But not in that utterly devastated heart-breaking way, like I said if I were being honest, I had lost the excitement for him too. Not the love, but that newness. The freshness of blooming love. Here we were 20 years after pledging our lives together. A grand total of 33 years, from childhood to adulthood with each other.

“What are you scared of? You know I love you. I love us. I love what we have, but ….” this is when he begins to stutter and lose his way. What he wants to say is, “but you’re the only woman I have been with and I want to try something new, possibly even something younger” – but he doesn’t. He always stops short of saying that, as if that would be the knife in my heart.

How do I tell him that I understood? That 14 to 47 was a long time. That I wanted to try some of that same newness. I wanted to light up again. I wanted attention that pleased me as well.

I griped his hand. I had to do it. Just rip the band-aid off.

“I have a date next Wednesday” I said looking directly into his face.

I felt the grip on my hand loosen just a fraction, before he let it go completely.

Author’s Note: I am random. This story is random.

ENJOY.