by Grace Dickinson
Davison High School
He sits opposite me. Young, healthy, happy, free. New York’s illuminated night screaming behind him. The night air brushed through my hair even thought the window was open a crack. He ran his hands through his hair, a smile playing at his lips.
We're in the same spot. 8 years later. The rain shattering the silence between us. He had become petulant, irritable, so much different than when we first met. We used to laugh and travel; exploring places we'd never seen. ‘Let's get out of here. Be free like we used to be.’ I declare. Exasperation was now playing on his face.
We're 45 now married and bickering. Forever bickering. I've been seeing other men. I've been lying. To them to him. Him. Our young love, beautiful and crazy. Sudden trips: the excitement of them. The erratic emotions of I; love, lust, our hearts entwined and beating as one.
Now our hearts beat separately. Mine without his, in the hands of other men. He now sleeps opposite me on the same train. The same vicious winds crashing against the carriage, slowly cracking the walls getting closer and closer to us.
15 years later: 60 and still going. He found out. My secret: the other men. He shouted. He shouted and smacked and shouted even more. I was scared but he said sorry. He kept on saying sorry. Every time. I can't leave him, he's an anchor, my rock. I may not be in love with him but he's always there. When I look at him the sporadic beat of my heart slows to a bored pulse. He bores me; his jokes, his clothes, everything. The rain outside was getting worse. Splintering the glass and pounding his head. Not mine. Why? Does he deserve this? The controlling, the bruises, the constant screaming and yelling. Yes. He does deserve this.
85 now. He's ill, unhealthy, troubled. The further we get down this road, the worse he gets. I stay the same, my path has been different to his, fun. But now I must follow his path and reconnect with his heart as the walls to this carriage slowly fall. And my heart stops. All the pain and fear avoided from our re connection. Our lawful bound still there. “Till death do us part”. Our journey has ended and the train has stopped.