Thecold (revised)

Clayton D Colmon Creative Writing Cold The

cold,

lonely

nature

of

the

night

seemed

to

be

an

extension of my soul, and as I sank deeper under the covers, awaiting her return, I prepped mental rebuttals to statements I knew she would make. I felt within every fiber of my being that this would not be our last argument, and yet, it still seemed that it could be the end of this relationship. Thriving

on

each

other’s

intellect,

loving

through

each

other’s faults, I knew that it would only be a matter of time before something had to give. We squabbled over various little things. Neither of us willing to give in to the other, all of our time

and

energy

was

spent

in

maintaining

our

own

separate

strengths. We drifted farther apart because of it, and now, as I stared blankly at the essentially unimportant thread count of the comforter,

I

couldn’t

help

but

wish

that

the

inevitable

confrontation would commence. My mind, frazzled from the mental acrobatics

of

determining

what

she

might

and

might

not

say,

willed my senses to hear her uniquely soft and confident turn of the doorknob. Squirming

for

warmth

under

the

comforter,

my

body

was

restless with anxious anticipation. Searching for something to preoccupy my thoughts, I looked out of the window to a toenail sized moon and chuckled at the contrast between the relatively

disappointing

and

often

uninspiring

way

in

which

potentially

theatrical events such as this happen in a life that does not unfold in the pages of a book.

The stars were all but invisible

in a night sky awash with artificial light. Without heavenly bodies to provoke the pondering of life’s meaning and to serve as a visual representation of my place in its grandly orchestrated happenings, I felt dejected. The shadows of the swaying tree branches seemed to play on this new feeling as even they appeared to move with a purpose. In this night-dark room, on this unearthly cold bed, through this distinctively un-extraordinary situation, I began to feel truly alone. I needed my purpose to walk through that door. I wanted her to wrap her dark, smooth-soft arms around me and share my heart’s burden. Waiting was kill-- The door opened. “Why is it so cold in here?” she asked as she entered, closing the door behind her. “I was wondering the same thing” I replied. Walking to the window, she began to take off her night clothes

as

her

eyes

matter-of-factingly

scanned

the

room.

Everything in it but me seemed to be the focus of her attention, and, just as I thought the chill might intensify, she chuckled. Looking up, after pretending to resume my examination of the comforter’s threading, I saw her staring out of the window and, knowing her thoughts, smiled inwardly, realizing how alike we were.

“What?” I asked, slightly amused, already discerning the answer. “Well” she started, clearing her throat as if to signify the transition from her earlier ignoring of me “Sadly enough, it seems as though we’re stuck together”.

Caught completely off

guard by this admittance my head tilted and slightly recoiled. “What?” I asked again, less amused, realizing that I was beginning

to

sound

about

as

informed as

a

lab

rat. Her

now

smiling face betrayed her as it showed her enjoyment at catching me off guard. With this accomplished she walked to the bed and sat facing the window. Her gaze was seemingly transfixed by the underwhelming view of the all but non existent moon and stars. “Well?”

I

asked

with

a

twinge

of

impatience.

I

was

beginning to get annoyed at the foothold she now possessed. The room was silent. She was waiting for me to give in, to evoke her conversation. Had I not been waiting I would have been up for the game, but now, after already feeling the pain of silence, I wasn’t in a playing mood. Seeming to sense the tension building inside of me, she spoke. “I need you” she admitted. This was in specific ways more of a shock than her previous statement. Although we were in a relationship and loved each other wholly and completely, neither of us wanted to admit the dependency we had for the other. I could

see

these

thoughts

running

across

her

forehead

as

her

posture slouched. It was as if the statement were her spine that, in being uttered, was rendered inoperable, effectively relegating her

to

assisted

living.

Every

preemptive

and

defensively

argumentative cell in my person wanted to take up this advantage. This was, in effect, war and I was very obviously allowed a look at the opposition’s weakness. I wanted to tell her how much she hurt me. I wanted to communicate

my

disdain

for

her

underhanded

attempts

at

manipulating everything about me. I wanted to use my emotions to get what I wanted out of her, teaching by her example. But the gravity of those three words became as palpable to me as the coronary misstep it provoked. Despite the angering feelings of worthlessness

and

loneliness

she

previously

branded

onto

my

psyche, the profoundness of the effect that these words had on me inhibited any and every biting comment. I couldn’t think of what to say. My brain, now devoid of any snide, sarcastic, or damaging words, was useless in this game, but my heart intervened. “I need you too” I replied instinctively. With this she turned, revealing the hidden beauty of her veiled heart, and, with her tears washing away any residual feelings of ill will I harbored, crossed our chasm of pride and laid next to me. On this cold, lonely night, in this dark, quiet room, on this now filled bed, I felt I belonged.