Voices

But I Sure Do Love Hearing Your Voice

The concrete was cold and wet against her hands. She jumped, and steadying her grip on the ledge, she peered into the thinly draped window. She saw two figures seated, divided by candlelight.

The shadows got up, and came together to form one. They folded together into an embrace, and made for the bedroom door behind them. The door swung wide and knocked against one of the chairs, they giggled at this small mishap and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

She dropped herself back to the ground, her feet sinking into the mud. The rain had slowed but the sound of water dripping from the rafters echoed in the air. She followed the wall, one hand tracing along to steady herself along the uneven ground. She kept her head down across the windows, all the way to the back of the bungalow. Reaching the screen door, she sat for a second and searched for the can of accelerant.

With the accelerant in hand, she gripped the door handle and tested it. Unlocked, as she had expected. She slid it open slowly and crept her way into the house. The tiny table was set, two half-eaten dinners looking empty on the table with a single candle thinly lighting the room.

She sat by the door and waited, feeling the dry heat of the room against her cold clammy skin. And when she heard two bodies falling onto the bed, she slid the door closed and unscrewed the cap of the can. She walked in slowly, holding the can upside down, hearing only the rain dripping against the windows and the soft gulps of the can emptying itself.

She found herself drawn to the candle, the light blazing into her eyes a beacon in the surrounding darkness. She could not stop staring at it, thinking it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen. She circled around the table once, before breaking herself from her trance and set for the room across the house. She found the door slightly ajar and pushing it open, it gave a slight creak. She stopped. And waited. And listened.

But there was no movement.

She continued into the room and feeling the last of the weight shift out of the can, she tossed it into a pile stuffed animals in the corner.

The crib was at the far end of the room and she walked towards it in slow careful steps. She had imagined the outcome of the moment a million different times, in a million different ways. And always, she had imagined rushing towards him, grabbing him to her breast and savouring the warmth of his body pressed up against hers. She had imagined burying her face into him, smelling his smell. That single sensation replacing every one of those days he was lost to her. She had imagined him crying, wailing- desperate for her touch but instead found him asleep, ignorant of her loss.

She lifted him up to her, he gave a slight coo. But it sounded foreign and when she dug her face into his, the smell was foreign. As if it wasn’t hers. The baby awoke to a cry and voices lifted and sounds rose from across the house.

A door slammed open, a chair bumped against a table, a table knocked over.

And as the flames traveled along the walls, across the floor; the image of a burning doorway stood in front of her, welcoming her. She held the child close, and knew that they would be together for the rest of their lives.

THE END