Wintry Impasse

WINTRY IMPASS
by
Gerrie Beck

Maybe that is the way things are supposed to be. He thinks he loves me but he doesn’t, not really. He has a way of looking at the other side of things, the things that are superfluous, inconsequential, steering me in another direction, away from what I wanted to say. Do I really need this? I consider my options and urgently leave the room before the “get out of my life….” sentence is said, and return just as quickly.

“Symbolically, I believe there is a justice for everything,” I say.

He looks back at me, an enquiring look as if to say “what!” but instead responds. “Symbolically, to what? Is there an injustice here, in this room, right now?”

“I would have to say ‘yes’ somewhere in this room, right now. Yes, there is.”

“Could you be more explicit? Is there something I have done? Have I not met your needs, offended you, said or done the wrong thing?” His lips are pursed and his forehead tight; the veins in his neck seem to be shouting out.

“I would say ‘yes’ to all of what you ask. My needs, do you know them at all. Offended me – how would you know, when you don’t even know me. Said or done the wrong thing; again, I bring you back to not knowing me. I would only say to you, right now, at this moment, we have only a sensual knowing of each other. In the non-verbal, touching space of time, you know me and I know you. It is far deeper than words. You are frightened of this. I am led by this.”

He pauses now, turning his back on me. I see his head bow down. It is only moments and he is facing me again, holding me close and kissing my forehead. We speak no words. We are passionate in our love making. We are tactile, inching our way toward our deeper selves. We are filaments connecting, our eyes meet beckoning one another to understand.

In the still of the night, I leave. The full moon is eclipsed behind a cluster of barren trees, yet rays of light creep through reflecting on the snow. The wind is ice and crackles in my lungs. I walk with a slight limp, my right foot forever aching in its coldness, the ankle break never quite mended. The snow slides back and forth with my limp as I struggle to get to my VW. I am hoping that Brian is in his usual comatose sleep; that if he hears me, I am part of his dreamscape. I am almost there, at the car, when his voice shouts out in the dark, snowy night.

“Rachel, don’t leave. Rachel, come back. Dammit, Rachel.”
His voice, impatient and demanding, penetrates the dark like the windswept snow blurring my vision yet melting quickly on my still warm face. I don’t look back, my strength musters me onward. The door clicks open and peacefully I enter, making sure the door locks after me. Slowly, as the snow whispers in the night and Brian’s voice hums with the engine, I steal away.