Night Voices

This one I like.

The voice in his head was expected, but not the words.

Ben opened his eyes and there was Alison sitting in the dark on the comfort chair by his bed, glowing softly from within, hands resting on her lap. He gave her a lopsided smile, eyebrows questioning.

I’m shocked, he said in his mind. That’s the first time you’ve liked someone I’m dating.

Alison’s eyes flicked over the woman asleep beside him cradled in his arm, then looked down at the floor. Well, more than dating. She raised her face to him. She’s nice. I think she has a good heart.

He glanced down at Jane, gently extracted his arm from under her head. She shifted, rolled away from him onto her side, took a deep breath and released it, and became still again, breathing slowly and softly. He sat up gingerly and propped himself against the headboard.

He sighed. Why do you only show up after I’ve slept with someone?

Alison shrugged. Why do you only see me after you’ve slept with someone? It feels to me like I’m watching you all the time. But you only seem to see me… you know, after.

Their eyes locked, each trying to fathom in the other’s irises the answer to the riddle, the deep mystery. After a minute, they broke their gaze and leaned back.

So, he thought, Sasha you thought too calculating, Michelle too cowardly, Deirdre insecure and self-destructive – and what was it you said about Kathleen?

She fidgeted. A batshit loony.

You’ve had choice words for all of them. But Jane meets with your approval?

She turned somber. She’s smart, she’s forthright, she’s quirky. After a moment’s reflection: When you were at dinner tonight and the waiter brought you the appetizer dish with three scallops, she cut one of them in two and placed one and a half in your plate and took one and a half for herself, so you both had equal portions.

He tilted his head back and laughed silently. That’s it? You think she’s great because she’s fastidiously fair?

It’s important. It’s the little things that count. You’re a good man. You should be with a thoughtful woman.

His smile faded. I should be with you. Then, despairing: Where are you, sweetheart?

Nowhere. I’m dead. Except now and then I find myself looking over you. She gave an exaggerated sigh. And then I catch you cheating on me with one of your slutty tramps. But there was a twinkle of mischief in her sidelong glance.

He laughed inwardly again. So much for liking her.

She leaned forward, suddenly dead serious, with an unfinished motion as if she meant to reach out and take his hands, only to replace her hands on her knees. I do. I think you should take a chance with her. I think you should give her a chance.

He looked at her in anguish, then peered at Jane. But what if that means you never show up again – I never see you again? he thought, turning back to Alison. But the chair was empty.

His faced crumpled into a sad grimace. She always disappeared whenever he took that step over the threshold towards what he feared.

He lay back down. Jane, sensing the bed shift, roused and turned over to him and rested her cheek against his bicep. He wrapped his arm around her and she sank back into deep sleep.

When she woke up in the morning, she glanced at him once as she got up. Sleep-deprived, he watched her with heavy-lidded eyes as she picked up her clothes from the floor, put on her underwear, and went into the bathroom carrying her dress. He heard the water running for several minutes, then silence. She came out of the bathroom cleaned up and dressed, the tattoo portrait of Guanyin covering her entire back veiled once again. She searched in the folds of the quilt blanket and dug out her silver hoop earrings. Her face was pensive as she put them on. He thought he saw a tiny squint, a hint of trepidation in her crow’s feet.

He got up and sat on the side of the bed and stared at the comfort chair. Jane hovered near him, uncertain, then moved closer. He thought for a moment she would sit in the chair; if she had, he would have broken it clean off and never seen her again. But she sat beside him instead.

“So…” she began. He turned to her, saw clearly now that she was afraid. She reached out timorously and rested her hand on his. Her hand was soft and warm. “Breakfast?” she said, trying to make her tone light. “You said the deli down the street has bagels to die for.” She mastered her nerves and looked at him directly. “Or did you already have plans for the morning?”

Gazing at her, he recalled how he had told her last night over dinner that closing his father’s casket seven months ago had felt like he was lowering the lid on his 10-year-old self. She had looked at him steadily with those green-hazel eyes and listened quietly without saying a word.

He deliberately refrained from glancing at the chair. He smiled, leaned over, kissed her quickly, then stood up.

“It’s not the bagels, it’s the garlic cream cheese. Half a minute while I shower.”

(January 2012)