November302009
A Lack of Color
Anne brushes her teeth and cannot look away from the mirror above the sink, not on this evening, when Jon is waiting for her, and she is stalling, slowly marking minutes the way a child might look at a clock in her classroom, watching the second hand tick, desperate to escape immediately, but unable. Only the child is eager to escape the confining room, and Anne would prefer to stay in the bathroom all night. Or rather, burst from the house entirely, like the child from the classroom. But Anne cannot. She brushes slowly, softly, spits, gargles, flosses again. Anne rinses her toothbrush and nothing inspires her. She brushes her hair and nothing invigorates her. She tries to think about Jon, in bed waiting for her, and nothing arouses her. All she can think about as she finally enters the bedroom she shares with Jon, avoiding his eyes but unable to avoid her own as she passes her dresser with its mirrored vanity, is Jane.
Jane, who left her own husband a few months ago, is all Anne can think about; she wonders what it would feel like to leave Jon—to live, to be, without him. She doesn’t even know who that person might be, that Anne in another dimension. Would she be the color red? Or purple and yellow polka dots? Would she laugh color? Would she be inspired by the mere act of brushing her teeth? What would invigorate her? Arouse her? She ponders all of these possibilities, who she might be without Jon, how she might be without Jon, as the bed creaks when she finally slips under the covers, feels Jon’s legs brush up against hers. And as Jon begins to undress her, Anne lies still, kisses him back, and thinks about Jane.
Tags: /52 Stories /hisgirlsunday /A Lack of Color
