instinct

she was alone in the house with the christmas tree lights turned off, because her parents were celebrating the new year in vienna and she was waiting for him to call. they had made plans to be together on new years eve, to see each other for the first time in six months, for the first time since the summer when they were finally able to be together.

she thought it would be silly to turn the lights on now, after christmas was over. silly and kind of sad. so she turned on all the rest of the lights in the house, because light bulbs and the din of the television had always made her feel safer, and waited for his call. she had taken the train into the city that day and on the way back at dusk she still hadnt heard from him, but women already had their makeup on; the train smelled of perfume that rarely got tried on.

she knew that she was the only person alive who was going home to an empty house, whose high heels werent clicking on the floor, whose phone wasnt ringing with people telling her to hurry up. she knew that he wouldnt call and that she would spend the night curled up by the fire, watching reruns and talking to her best friend, long distance, about every half hour throughout the night. but she came in and checked the answering machine anyway, in case he had forgotten her cell phone number, and unwrapped the saran covering from a christmas cupcake. she placed it on the counter and called him, her first call of the day.

hi! its me, just calling to see where you are. let me know- talk to you soon! bye-

she hung up and ate the cupcake in two bites.

the next day her brother called her and asked her if she was sitting down. yes, she said, though she was really walking down the stairs. she knew that he had a tendency to exaggerate, and that even if the worst did happen, she wouldnt faint like he would.

opa died today.

it came as no surprise, really. she had seen her grandfather just a week before, in a nursing home in atlanta, and had known that the end, thankfully, was near. she had no tears to cry for this man, this man who had, with his carelessness and arrogance, basically yanked tears from everyone in their family, and then demanded they be put back. it was impossible to put tears back where they came from; she remembered that as she heard her brother's strained breathing on the other end.

oh. wow.

yeah, i know. i know. i think, though, that it was time.

he had a way of deeming useless things beautiful, as if in their very irrelevance they became heroic. this, she had always known, was utterly senseless.

she was scheduled on a flight back to london, where she was living, the next day. her brother, who lived in california, told her there was no good reason she should change her flight, and that him being there would count in spirit for them both.

she wondered if she needed to say goodbye. like in her mind, or on a piece of paper, or through sobs and sobs and the personification of grief. it was over, the pain he had caused. this had to be the last chapter of it, he couldnt go on hurting her if he was gone. she decided realizing that was all the saying goodbye she needed to do.

her brother called her the next morning, hours before the taxi would come pick her up for the airport. he was crying on the phone, muffled, tired cries. he said he couldnt do it, he couldnt step foot on the plane. he had gotten married a few months before, and he told his sister, through the screeches of the airport intercom, that he had this sick feeling that if he got on the plane, he would never see his wife again. he cried like he was defeated, like a hand had reached out that morning and took the very best of him.

its ok. its so ok. i think its always best to trust your instincts.