It Was Such A Small Place

It Was Such a Small Place

It was such a small place, but they say love grows best in small houses. My mother gave me a small love seat, with wooden arms, and recovered it in stark white fabric. I had a large papasan chair, and I made a coffee table out of a cheap, full length mirror and two bargain bin plaster columns. My television was 12 inches, and sat on my coffee table. This was my living room, and it was more than enough for us.

He was a big man, standing well over 6 foot, and weighing over 250 pounds, in such stark contrast to my frame. But, he made the room bright everywhere he went. Even his soul smiled. Henry was a football player when we met, at the Junior College in the big city. He could destroy the biggest of them, and in my small Texas town, that made you a God. To me, though, it was his smile, and the kindness with which he spoke, and the softness of his touch. I was his from the moment we met.

When I finished high school, I moved to the big city to go to college, to this small place where love grows best. Our small kitchen could not even fit the two of us at the same time, and we had no place for our clothes, but there was a small bed for two, and a window where the sun shone every morning as it rose.

I lay quietly on his chest, listening to the ebb and flow of his breath, and my heart sang. Rain drops slid down the window soundlessly, as stark grey clouds hovered in the air. I loved the day, as the bleak, dark clouds outside seemed to make my world inside that much brighter. I wound my fingers in his, and leaned back into the pillow. Henry touched my cheek, and I found that I was already staring at him. Yes, I thought, I married the right one. And again, my heart began to sing.

Henry rose and began to dress for practice. I lay still, wanting to stay in this exact place forever. But, he had to practice, and I had to study. I sat up, and as he closed the door behind him, I saw his wallet on the floor. I ran to the door, flinging it open. I peered down to the street, shouting his name. As he looked up, a red truck came around the corner. She never even looked at this man who held my world. He rolled three times after she hit him, and didn't move.

The police came. And firemen with EMTs, and then a helicopter. The people stared from their homes, and from the roadside. The rain settled around us, covering everything, living or dead.

When we got off the helicopter, the trauma surgeon said that he would lose his arm and leg, that they had been crushed. I stood by the hospital bed, and wound my fingers in his. I looked into his eyes, and his soul no longer smiled. It was empty.

Two days passed and five surgeries. His mother cried, and prayed for her son's arm and leg to be saved. The hospital room filled with football players and coaches. It filled with professors, and friends, and family. And then weeks passed. Henry's mother went home. Henry's father went home. Henry's sisters and brothers went home. It was time for me to make a trip home.

I rode soundlessly through the rain, until our small apartment appeared through the clouds. I walked up the steps dully, not feeling, not really hearing, not really seeing. I opened the door mechanically, and walked through. The door to the bedroom was open. The sheets were still thrown across the bed from that day. Henry's pillow was exactly where he had left it the last time he slept, the last time we had been together.

I set about getting things done so that I could get back to him. I took my shower. I packed clothes. I cleaned. And lastly, I sat down to make sure the bills were paid. I opened the computer and began searching the history for bills. I'd never paid bills before. My mind wandered to the bed again, and I remembered the sun rising in the window, and the sound of his breath. All I wanted at that very moment was to bring him home. I didn't care about his arm or leg. That is not what I loved. I just wanted him home.

I opened several files looking for our bills, until I found a folder with no name. Her name was first, Amy, but her pictures and videos were not. Apparently, they were not his favorites. Henry had saved Sharon's pictures and videos first in his computer files. Those dated back almost to the day we had met. But, Amy, he was still seeing Amy. Right now. He was seeing her right now.

But Henry was in ICU, and I was looking at pictures of him having sex with his girlfriends, in my small place, where they say love grows best.