Hostage

I had a very real nightmare. I dreamed last night that I was at a wedding and this crazy man with a mohawk took us hostage. I hid under a tall table and was still as a statue. Then I heard a gun cocking and felt cold metal behind my right ear. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you!" the captor demanded of me. My mind raced but was blank. I managed to force out the words "My family" before I was able to force myself awake and out of hell in my head. My heart pounded hard for the next 20 minutes as I silently listed all the reasons why I should live.

Red

Its when you look at me, when you open your eyes that I realize how much I love you.

I have pulled you up from the couch where we fell asleep folded into each other. I hold your hand and guide you to the bedroom, to your our bed. Your eyes are closed mostly. I am quickly changing from my dress and go looking for one of your undershirts to sleep in.

"Wow," I hear from the bed. I look up. You are staring at me. Your eyes run down my body, across my red lacy bra. A bra you have already removed when we had sex in the living room before we went to dinner.

"You look amazing."

I am surprised. I don't expect this now. I thought you were asleep. You have already seen me like this.

I run to the bed to get as close to you as I can. I click off the light then remember what I forgot to do and click it back on.

I jump out of bed and pop out the pill from its packaging that will relax you and ease your anxiety and ensure peaceful sleep. I reach for your lips and you open your mouth. I can't help but think of the many times I couldn't even get you to take advil when you had a headache.

You sip water and swallow. Your lips form a kiss in the air, looking for mine. Your hand reaches in the air but then falls. You are already asleep.

You wake twice during the night. Both times you kiss me and wrap yourself closer around me.

The First One

I am stressing. I am stressed and anxious. He is coming home tomorrow. My gut knows that with his return, this return, his permanent departure is imminent.

And I want to be a good person. A solid friend. I don’t want to make our next days, define our coming time together with my insecurities. This is not about me. It is not about me right now. I need to make sure it is not about me.

So my struggle now is to be a better person, to live on my own and be strong. To not smoke 8 million cigarettes and drink vodka and more vodka. To resist the urge to create drama, to force him to give me affirmations that I am loved. Loved by him. That he will miss me dreadfully when he leaves. That he will grieve the loss of me in his life.

I saw a stop sign on the way home tonight that someone had stuck a sticker under the “stop” that said “being afraid.”