Charlotte and I are spending time with Malakai and Marek, friends of ours from Miami. I think they just want to make sure we’re not completely crazy after our cryptic messages and subdued moods. We’re both doing what we have to: reacting when we’re addressed directly, keeping at least one ear on the conversation, and more than anything, holding one another. I’m being very careful to maintain physical contact with my mate as much as we can decently get away with amongst friends. More nomads are joining us soon, some of whom I’ve never met. That will make it harder.
I know it’s foolish, this hungering for physical touch, even if we’re just holding hands. I want so much more, want to touch and kiss every inch of her skin. I want to wrap my arms around her and never let go. Perhaps if I hold on tightly enough, I can reassure myself she’s still here, still with me. Charlotte would never leave me, I know…but there was a time we swore we’d never leave Jasper. If I can sever that bond, cut that tie so completely…
My mask is in place a good portion of the time. I keep a relaxed smile on my face, but I know my wife isn’t fooled and I doubt Malakai or Marek are duped by it either. The mask slips too often as grief and anger and confusion compound, mixing with denial and some version of truth. Every time it slips, I see it in their eyes. Those are the moments Charlotte will reach out and touch me. That is when my focus will return and I’ll begin taking care of her, returning her touch. We’ll just sit like that a few seconds, Malakai and Marek not noticing or pretending they don’t notice as we look into one another’s eyes in a moment of shared pain. When we break eye contact, I automatically pull her to me, wanting to feel her body against mine, needing her scent to remind myself she really is there.
If we did the right thing in leaving, would it hurt so badly? My heart hasn’t beat in seventy years; these days, it feels as if it has been ripped from my chest. I’m trying to hide it for Charlotte’s sake, trying not to allow her or any of the others to see the pain I’m in – such a tiring thing to do. Maybe that’s why I keep slipping: I’m tired of putting on an act. I just want to put this mess behind me and forget about it. I’m sure Charlotte feels the same way. Sometimes, our eyes meet and she looks just as drained as I feel. We’re both putting on acts these days. Given time, maybe that act can become the norm, the role slipping over us and covering us like a cloak, hiding the soon to be distant pain. Charlotte and I have never been apart before. I’m not sure I could handle any separation from her now, though it may be the only way I’ll feel free enough to let go and grieve.
Back to the act. Adieu.
- Peter Devereaux
