This week, we have another story by Stacy Spencer Thompson. Stacy is a copy editor and writer currently pursuing her MFA in fiction through the University of Southern Maine's Stonecoast program. She lives in Somerville, MA, with her husband and three cats. You can read her story "A Pair of Peacocks" here.
The Sea
You listen to the waves through your bedroom window propped open. This early, you can’t see them, but you can smell the salt water in the air, can taste it on your lips. You close your eyes. Once you’ve experienced the sea, you never forget.
In your dream, you can feel the weight of him in your arms. The feet kicking from inside the swaddling. The way his head fits perfectly into the space that exists between your chest and shoulder. You wonder how the fingers know to clasp yours. You count each of them. Ten. You know you will go back and check the toes. When you look into his eyes, you see your husband. It is enough to make you cry.
On the morning you lose him, when the red mushroom stains the white sheets, you do not react. You do not know then that pain can reach inside of you and pull something out.
“It doesn’t matter,” you tell your husband later. It feels like a terrible thing, being said. For months, sleep eludes you, keeps itself hidden in the dark corners of the room where the moonlight doesn’t reach. You watch the curtains make shadows, shapes, on the carpet. And then the dreams come.
You get out of bed and walk to the window. When you see your face in the reflection, you look strange, lost. You realize now that you’ve been pretending you were someone else. Someone never visited by her baby in the night.
It’s light now. Pinks and oranges spread themselves over the horizon like watercolors on canvas. You put a hand against the glass and watch as the fingerprints dissolve one after another.
Someone brings you a china cup of tea, inquires about the milk. The saucer shakes in your hand, makes a noise like chattering teeth. You drop a square of sugar into the beige abyss and wonder how long it will take to sink to the bottom.
This afternoon, you’ll walk to the sea. You’ll take the big cloak off the peg and feel the wind billowing through the folds. Your toes will curl into the sand as you close your eyes and listen to the waves. And then, when you see him in your dreams again tonight, you’ll wonder if he can feel your heart. You can always feel his.
