Two-Day Weekend ~ Day Five

We joked about it for years. When life nearly broke us, the e-mails would start. “Let’s just leave it all behind and run away,” you’d write, “I’ll come pick you up.” I’d smile when the words appeared on my computer scream, my heart skipping a beat because part of me wanted that. And badly. 

“Sure, I’ll pack the food and music,” I’d reply. We’d banter back and forth. It would ease us back from the edge, the despair softened for now.

Soon enough we’d conquer the crisis of the moment and move on. Because we are both strong women. 

Last Friday you e-mailed and started with the usual words, but the tone changed quickly. I felt that in some way I did not quite understand, this time was very, very different. My heart was in my throat. 

Because my face was flushed, and my skin clammy, when I made excuses to my boss that I felt awful and needed to leave there was no question. 

You said this time you were coming and I believed you. 

In the silence of the house, I moved quietly but quickly through the rooms, stuffing a backpack full of comfortable clothes, rummaging for piles of food, stuffing a tote with music. 

I had just hung up after talking to my husband when your car pulled in. Your long black hair tousled, your smile radiant, your eyes shining with a sultry mix of desperation and adventure. I had told the truth. “I’ll see you Sunday night,” my voice assured him with a confidence I did not entirely feel, “Thank you for understanding.” 

That phone call was five days ago. We have not returned. 

In the early afternoon I am driving. I know we are in Nevada, but am not entirely sure where. The wide-open desert landscape is very different from our East Coast home. You are dozing in the passenger seat. I glance over, and am once again stunned at how beautiful you are. 

We have spent the past few days driving by whim. We stop whenever the mood suits us. We have spent endless hours relaxing by a lake or a park. We read, we nap, we eat, we talk, we just sit. 

In a local hotel every night we bring in our backpacks, but never unpack as if this is just casual and temporary. From the first night we have clung to each other in the darkness. Every night and every morning we make love. This feels entirely normal yet could not exist outside of now. We do not discuss it. 

Tonight our fingers intertwine with unspeakable intimacy as I am once again shattered and brought whole by your touch. I kiss you lightly as we drift towards sleep. I understand in my soul this will not last. That soon you will simply turn the car for home and drop me off to the silence of my house and the arms of my patient husband. 

Or maybe you never will. 

Then what?

-- written by Moonspun