Journey to the Centre of Myself
“Not to repeat the scene from ten days ago when I made my speech and left.
Instead, I sit on the sofa in the living room. I put the TV on though I can’t concentrate. I want it to look like normal life is taking place.
He enters the house and I hear his keys hit the dining room table on his way in; the routine we have for the evening. As he’s locked the door and moved the keys, I can’t make a dash for it.
He comes into the room, slowly. I’m appraised as if I’m a frightened kitten, poised to startle and retreat.
‘Let’s try to sit and talk,’ I say.
The tension held in his face softens. ‘Okay.’ He takes a seat in the chair nearby and kicks off his shoes. ‘Do you mind if I make a drink?’ ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll have a coffee.’ ‘Okay.’ He nods his head several times, and then gets up to prepare the drinks.
I sit, rubbing my fingers. Lost. Wasting minutes of time in confusion. I wonder where to start.
He brings the drinks in and sets them down on the coasters on the coffee table.
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