At Last

At last my love has come

Approximately 500 words

Caution: suicide ideation

At Last
by
Max Griffin

         At last my lonely days are over.

         The homey aroma of sweet rolls in the oven fills my kitchen.  My love rests across the table from where I sit.  His puppy-dog eyes and quirky grin wrap my heart with warmth.  Music swells from my phone, where he’s created a playlist of classic love songs. He murmurs, “Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream.”  The singers croon an enchanted confirmation. Dream, dream, dream…dream...

         I know he’s right of course. He’s always here, always with me.  Now that he’s come along, my life is like a song. I look at him, and stars fill my sky.

         The rolls will be done soon.  It’s time to finish preparations for our dinner. I pull up the recipe on my phone and set the screen timeout to “never.”  Soon, garlic and onions are simmering in a skillet on the stove while linguine boils in a pot.

         I pour myself a third glass of Lambrusco and add tomato sauce and meatballs to the skillet.  My phone continues to serenade me with love songs from a bygone era.  I recognize Etta James’ husky contralto and steamy lyrics.  At last my love has come along.

         The timer dings, and I pull the rolls from the oven. I drain the linguine, add it to the skillet, and prepare two plates.  I pour myself a fourth glass of wine and place the plates on the table.  With a flourish, I light two candles and dim the lights. 

         I place my phone next to me on the table, leaving the screen timeout on “never.”  It continues to sing.

         I start to pour a glass of wine for him, but a crooked grin bends his lips and he declines,  “Your lips of wine are all I need, any time, night or day.”  The singers on the phone concur.  Dream, dream, dream.

         There’s no need for us to speak. Our intimacy becomes a gossamer web that hangs suspended in the air, drawing us together.  He's a dream I can speak to.  A dream I can call my own. The thrill of pressing my cheek to his, a thrill I’ve never known, that thrill is all I need now.  Or ever will need.

         Dinner finished, I pour a final glass of wine and head to my bedroom.  I place my phone on the pillow beside me and reach for the amber vial on my nightstand.  I count out six yellow, oval capsules, put them in my mouth, and wash them down with the last of my wine. 

         I lay back and wait.  The spell is cast.  I reach out and caress my phone.  His lips kiss my fingers.

         Soon we will be in heaven.  Soon, we will be together forever.

         At last.

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Two songs inspired this story.  Both of them are classic love songs, but if you stop to think about the lyrics, they can have a darker subtext.