His Longing

Cold air hit his face as he stepped outside, propped the door open behind him with his foot, and bent over to grab the newspaper off the welcome mat. It was uncanny how accurate th paper boy always was, and most mornings Ben was awake to hear the newspaper smack his door and flop onto his front porch. The paper boy, whose name if he could remember correctly was Jimmy, never failed to deliver the paper whatever the weather. The whole neighborhood could be as white as chalk from snow, as it was this morning, and he somehow found the drive to get out of his warm bed and hop on his bike to deliver. Ben shook his head at the thought and disappeared back inside.

Grabbing the doorknob for balance, Ben kicked off his shoes. He slipped into his house slippers and tossed the newspaper on the rug next to the door. The plastic cover was wet from snow, and he didn't feel like cleaning up water droplets all over the kitchen floor. Not this morning. He was feeling lazy and housework didn't interest him too much anyway. He shivered as he slipped off his jacket on his way to his study. He had been thinking about finishing the fence a couple weeks ago ever since the neighbor's dog chewed through the gate, but now that he thought about it, he was glad he didn't. Winter was not working-outdoors weather. He would get to it next season. Maybe.

The study was dimly lit by only one lamp in the corner of the room, but artwork was best done with all the lights on. It helped see flaws in the artwork sooner, so they could be fixed sooner, and in turn become a better piece in the end. So he turned a couple more lamps on,careful not to knock over the one that sat on the edge of the computer desk. The last time he had done that, when Ellen was alive, she hd come barging into the room with her first aid kit, positive that Ben had hurt himself. He didn't believe he was that old and clumsy, but maybe she was just being cautious. He missed it sometimes, someone to worry and fret about him. Now he had to do the worrying himself, but even so it didn't take him long to figure out that he had been lacking in the concern-department.

Coming to the conclusion that he wasn't getting any work done standing around, Ben moved to the table against the wall under the window and sat down. He picked up a piece of the white charcoal and continued his work. The teal construction paper still looked a little empty, but Ben focused more on detail than on time. He always did this every Christmas. Usually he'd be cooped up in the study, drawing furiously while Ellen was in the kitchen cooking breakfast and probably taking advantage of his absense and sneaking more presents under the tree. He always noticed there'd be a couple more boxes underneath it when he came out, but he never asked about them. Back then his mind worked too fast for imagination and creativity, which was useful when he ended up wandering into his study. But these days he was having trouble, and he worked a lot slower than he knew he was capable of.

Sighing, he put the charcoal down and leaned back in his chair. Maybe some coffee would help. He was, after all, still only half awake. Ben scooted his chair back and made his way into the kitchen, where the coffee was just finishing up and filling the pot. Ellen had set the timer automatically, so it would start brewing at 5 a.m, and since her death he had never gotten around to turning it off. At night before bed he usually ended up dumping out a full pot into the sink. Ben opened he cupboard and grabbed his favorite coffee cup, a plain white cup with a picture of Mona Lisa on the front that Ellen had bought him. He grabbed the handle to the pot and realized it was a little sticky. He left it that way, pouring coffee into his cup and padding over to the window. It had started to snow again, and he sipped his coffee slowly as he watched it fall. A few years back Ellen would be standing next to him, snuggled warmly on his shoulder watching it with him. There was a lot of things he missed about her, and that was one of those things, probably the most. He glanced down at his shoulder and took in that the spot wasn't as warm as it used to be.