I wrote this some time ago. I had a dream, a disturbing dream and I needed to capture it.

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She wore a simple white sleeping dress. A shift is what they used to call it in the books she used to read. She does not read much anymore. That may not matter to you but give it some thought. She used to read book after woman-authored book. She read to imagine, to learn, to escape. But now she does nothing. She sits, almost immobilized, trapped in her head with her own thoughts. With nowhere to run. 

She left him sleeping in their bed. It was what she was used to doing. In some versions of this night she would be restless, unable to sleep next to him. Or just to sleep. She would move to the sofa and let herself be soothed to sleep by the tv. Like any other good American. Or any other woman who wrestled with unnamed demons. She was always running away. He also slept soundly. And never mentioned her waking up in another room. It was a ‘thing’ in their life. No big deal. How could it be after what they had done. 

Tonight she rose, slipped away from the hotel room and stepped out into the night. He knew she was going and that was fine. That was the agreement. She would go, do what needed to be done, and she would do it alone. He could not or was it would not? She didn’t dwell on that critical question because she knew the answer. The air was cool but moist. She was used to feeling cold, accustomed to grabbing blankets and sweatshirts to throw on her to keep her warm. Bare feet, bare shoulders and a thin cotton shift was all that covered her from the night. But tonight she felt nothing. She had one obsessive thought. Just one thing she needed to do.

The day had been full and exciting, she thought. But right now she couldn’t remember why she felt that way. She had no memory of what she had done. She had these bits and pieces that she struggled to put together. There was a performance of some kind, groups of people competing, and then there was this possibility of developing a series of talks about infidelity and other relationship issues. It fit so well with her work and her aspirations. It would raise her social profile and professional status. This was good. But first there was this thing she had to do. 

Like all important things, they didn’t talk about it, not between themselves or other people. It simply ‘had to be done.’ Even those words were never said. She spoke in fragments and codes. “You know what we have to do,” she said. He nodded, mute. He feigned mild retardation or innocence. She couldn’t figure out which it was. But he kept himself formless and faceless by being silent. But that didn’t matter in the end. The end was still destined to be the end. And so she was out in the night air, alone. 

She woke up next to him this time. Well, he woke her up. She was cocooned in the clean sheets and covers. He pulled them back making her self-conscious.  “Wait,” she cried. “I didn’t clean up yet.” She twisted her body and wrapped her arms around her body defensively, balling up the white fabric of her dress to hide the blood. It was dry but still bright red. It had the look of the work of an abstract painter who used the single bright color to splatter and streak across the canvas. The color radiated out from her abdomen, the center of it all. She grasped herself tighter and ran to the bathroom. She wasn’t hiding it from him, he knew what she had done. But she was suddenly conscious of the mess and the natural need to clean it . She had been so comfortable in the filth, like she wanted to make sure he saw and shared it. But now that she’d been seen she could wash it all away. 

The sink water ran and she rinsed her hands.  She had no memory of what she had done, she just knew that she did it. He came into the bathroom and approached her. He was still silent. She was relieved to have him there. They didn’t talk but they moved in sync. Washing hands and drying hair. She was no longer alone in it. They would leave after this. She could make the calls and set up the events and start this new stage of her life. She stepped toward the door, suddenly dressed and ready to leave. She raised her hands and grasped the edges of the doorway. He stepped behind her and put his hands over hers. She breathed a sigh of relief.