It had been a violent argument.
Hurtful words thrown with knowing aim. Painful truths that found
intended soft spots.
And now I thrash on the bed, conjuring up anger to avoid
tears. He lies ridiculously still, in obvious counterpoint to my
raw emotions.
The king-size bed yawns wide. We are less than a yard apart.
Sleep eludes us.
Right. Wrong. Does it matter? Another impasse. Years of
practice, years of surprises. We are incompetent arbiters of our
own dilemma. Minutes pass. An eternity.
And then a movement fills the silence. Tentative at first, me
on my stomach, hubby on his back. Our toes touch. We pause, then
our right feet hook together. Faithful friends.
In the stillness of the moment, in the unexpected truth, our
world rights itself.
