Under the Covers

"Yet another creative writing attempt! Constructive criticism always welcome."

So tonight I looked under the covers and found a speck of dust that was your body. I put my finger on that dust. It dissolved into the sweat that was on my skin. Now you’re lost somewhere inside of me, cruising around my body, mingling with the red blood cells and running away from the whites. You’re a foreign invader; they’d get you if they knew you were there.

The next morning I looked under the covers and I found nothing there. The little dust speck that was you had fled from my body. I don’t know how you escaped. I feel certain that the whites didn’t get to you. I can feel your presence in the world. But you’re not inside of me anymore. You’ve left. Maybe you left through my tear ducts, which would be an appropriate way to go. Or perhaps you left through one in a billion pores, taking a ride on the sweat train. Another appropriate way to leave.

I went to work and then to the chiropractor and then to the grocery store today. I thought about you the whole time. When I got home I had forgotten what happened. I rushed into the bedroom and threw back the covers and there was Marty, that dumb white cat you insisted on buying in July. I hissed at the cat and fake-lunged at it. He bolted from the bed and torpedoed out of the room at 100 miles per hour. I searched frantically for you on the bed but all I found was cat hair and dander. After an hour or so I remembered you were dust now.

That night I looked under the covers and found a crumb that was your body. I put you on my tongue and tasted you like I’d done so many nights before. You were chocolate and Burberry and conditioner and now you were inside of me again. I went to sleep peacefully. You were not foreign tonight. The whites would not get you.

The next morning I looked under the covers and I found Marty again. He had snuck in during the night and curled up on your pillow. I petted him and he purred his appreciation. We talked about you until my boss called and asked if I was going to come in today. I told him I was sick, which isn’t a lie, but it’s not the truth either. He told me I was going to have to get on with life soon. Marty licked me with sympathy when I hung up the phone. I wish you had told me you were leaving.