A Man and His Story

     Right before the storm broke, he was busy slamming shut the windows, scurrying east to west, smelling the rain on the uplifted breeze as it wafted its nimble fingers through the screens. He remembered her face and paused. He knew she was gone, but in the simple remembering of her rules, she was alive again and it killed him. He felt the stab of love and he wondered why we experience such joy, if it only led to this kind of simple pain. He continued shutting the windows anyway, respect for the dead more than anything else. She would've known the storm was coming and never would have had to hurry. The windows would be closed, the tea would be poured, and she would be serving it to him before he ever knew it had clouded over. That was the basic difference between him and her.
     Most of his life he had been this way, simply struggling to comprehend the mundane. Believing that he has just awoken and taking a moment to turn and ponder last night's dream before turning over and going back to sleep. It was all he ever wanted to do anymore, literally now instead of just figuratively. His bed was now his cocoon, their bed was what it used to be, but now it was his own cocoon, but he had a feeling he would not emerge anew.  At this stage of his life, there were no more surprises, just the slow decline and incline of gradually getting older, gradually creaking apart. He used to try and stave it off with exercise, but since she is gone, he doesn't want to bother. She was his social lubricant, his inside joker and without her everything seems pointless. This is the end, but why is it taking so long?
     The thought, unbidden, kept rising. He pushed hard, harder to keep her away, but he knew it was useless. She always won their arguments or "discussions" as she liked to call them, how could he allow her to lose? She was always first and the end was no different, although he wished it could have been. He never wanted their story to have a sad ending, but sometimes you cannot control your story. The story has its own will. She would not allow him to join her today and he would never dream of disobeying her, so he bides his time. Time is all he has anymore, so he acquiesces, but he tucks the thought in his back pocket for another day. It will rest there, uncomfortably, until it is needed. She wins again.