After the Dream

He’s gone and now I can snuggle down into the bedclothes. Where he was they are damp and so I move away from that part of the bed and put a pillow between me and his vacant place. I love to lie still and quiet in the dark and remember things. It is so easy to slip back, my little gift, almost everyone I know struggles with memory as if those times are gone but to me they grow with my care. My mum struggled; she was a traditional and stolid woman. To her memories were bitter wells, where stories which didn’t need to be told again and again could be pulled up with real effort. Rarely profane she would sometimes say ‘what’s the point of polishing shit?’ I have somehow become the opposite. Even this apparent negative image of her flies me back to her love, her angry condemnation, her tidiness and the food she put on the table. Her parable was solitude and surrender and she truly believed it was the only way.

I’ve had a few husbands now. This one’s my third; he’s bright and wishful but not very practical. He’s made a bit of a hash of things the last few years and he frets about what will happen next. We had a good time while it lasted I tell him, it’ll come right again and if it doesn’t we’ll manage. I think back to when we met both us high on late flowering sexuality. It’s strange to get all the way through to one’s thirties and then discover what makes that connection. We exploded into our early relationship. Our hormone highs made for some pretty doubtful behaviour but we were hell bent on pleasure. I would still fuck about for a while; the power I felt at having more than one man want me was intoxicating, having more than one man on the same day and mixing them up inside me addictive, the immorality haunting. But within the harsh world of ‘I desire, I take, I consume’ there was also delicate beauty. This one was passionate about me and he used words to seduce me. He would drive me endlessly to places in my own back yard, places that I never knew existed and place my hand upon things so that I could sense their history and their place in the world. And physically he knew how to love me which others didn’t. I discovered that there is a big difference between pleasure that results from my insatiability and the pleasure that I gain from submission.

Today is a perfect day for me. No work, time with a friend. What I don’t want is to have a day of introspection, picking over the past. I want to be content and at peace. I know that I shall have to tread carefully, now there’s a recurring theme over the years, with my Dad I’d have to be very careful though he wasn’t there for long. First things first, some more sleep. That will get me through until mid morning and then I can get the dog out for a walk before heading into town and with some skill avoid the demons of despair that will corner me and pick a fight if I’m not careful. I afford myself a little smile of contentment as I fade back into my hidden mind.