Monday, October 21, 2013

The remote control

I walk into the living room. I grab the remote lying on the coffee table, lean back and switch on the television. I tune into sports. Some old tennis game between Agassi and Sampras. I put it back on the coffee table and sigh. Life is truly about these little things. How I miss them.
She walks in with a heavy tread. She grabs the remote and angrily switches it off. She is in a mood, that's what it is. She goes back to the bedroom.
I think I will play with her for a little while. I so love irritating her. I switch the television back on, tennis again, but this time a little louder. She runs into the room and switches it off and runs back again. She doesn't even look back. Hmm..I can play longer. I turn it on again. This time she doesn't come running. So I switch to music. I play my favorite, "Scarborough Fair". The tunes are haunting. I listen to her quickened breathing. She walks out of the bedroom. She is a convert too. She hated this song initially, but grew to love it.
She sits on the couch and stares at the unchanging screen. Tears stream down her face. She closes her eyes.
I sit beside her.I hold her hands in mine. She gasps and sucks in her breath. I close my eyes too.
I miss these little things in life. How do I move on? I look at her ring finger where the pale skin shines. She only removed the ring yesterday. Maybe I ought to let her move on too. I kiss her forehead.
I switch the song off. She looks around, sorrow and relief fighting to be foremost.
I walk by the withered flowers that our friends sent. I walk by the phone that has unheard voice mails, no doubt carrying sympathy and condolences. I walk by the pictures, the memories that I share with this woman. Life was truly about the little things.
I walk out, through the door.