In her he lives

Pressing the button on Fern and Phil I turn away from the television and head towards the door. Not sure where to go I step into the street. Making my way to the bus stop with breath swirling around my face, I wonder why I don’t leave this task until I am fully recovered. I pull my coat around my swollen belly and button it closed.

Head down, I stumble towards the high street like a lame bull heading for slaughter. Clenching my teeth against the whistling wind I raise my head slightly in order to navigate the corner. I stop dead with the realization that I have no idea where the bus stop is as I used to drive to work. Forced to raise my head further, the wind takes my lank hair and sweeps it my from my forehead leaving all to see my paleness and shadows.

Forgetting my quest and needing to hide away I make my way to one of the nearby shops. I push the door hard, head still floor bound and stand briefly brushing my hair down and shuddering to an upright position. The door closes behind me with a ding and the warmth of the store strokes my cheeks and puts me at ease just enough for me to take a further step forward and allow my eyes to search the surroundings.

Whipping my hands back out of my pockets and asserting my gaze to the silver and wooden objects around me. The air is tinged with oak, brass and polish and the assertion that I am surrounded by musical instruments excites me immediately.

I head over to the guitars and wonder which one to purchase. Inside I chuckle as I realize that my alter ego has already made the decision that I will teach myself to play, no arguing or discussions allowed, I thought.

Crossing the wooden floor towards the leather jacket behind the counter, I ask him politely to show me the purple acoustic from above his head. As he reaches it down he’s describing the reverberating sound that echoes from the smooth birch body and I nod eagerly. He’s asking me if I can play and when I tell him that I can’t he writes down the number of a friend that gives lessons for ten pounds a go.

Taking my card back from the leather jacket he smiles through his ginger beard and thanks me for my business. Turning and scampering back towards the door with my guitar gripped firmly, I step back onto the high street with the wind biting my cheeks.

Hardly thinking of my scarred and aching abdomen I turn the key in the door and push my way back into my hallway. I place my new purchase gently down and look to the floor. Removing my feet off the envelope that had been pushed through the door and bending slowly, I don’t bother removing the credit card statement from its nest.

Leaning against the cold steel of the kitchen sink, I fight to keep the guilt and tears at bay. Where’s my alter ego when I need it, I think, disappointed in myself. Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll take back the guitar, or I can hide it in the cupboard upstairs.

This was my first day out since the accident and I had wasted it, I thought, buying a guitar that I can’t play with the hope that it will help me remember him. I lay back on the sofa and lowered my hand until it skimmed the wet dressing. Peeling it back and raising my head to look at the gash and the thick twine holding me together I saw the truth. I saw that I had lost the one thing that had kept me looking forward to waking in a new day. I would never again feel the bitter sweet of hating and loving at the same time. So the tears came and came.

Bought back to life by the sound of the doorbell, I shuffle heavily to the door. My sleeves soaked with silver and wet from wiping the tears from my face. “Are you alright “?, asks my mother, hurrying in to the hallway with a bundle of blankets. Making my way back to the living room, I stop suddenly as I see the blankets heave. I turn slowly towards my mother and reach for the mound. What have I been thinking?, how could I forget? Reaching out my arms, she places the heap in them. The pain is forgotten right there but the ache reaches my heart and squeezes it hard. I gently peek inside and feel the warmth of her skin and the rhythm of her breath against my cheek. All at once I feel soothed as I remember that I have a reason for living after all. Looking into my baby's eyes, I muse, in her, I see him and in her, he will be.