The Light Changes

The light changes, grows brighter. 

The she of this story is nineteen—although she looks much younger than that—with a shy smile and gray green eyes.  She is beautiful, but there is sadness about her, as if she were already halfway to another place.  Not death—mind you, but just somewhere else all together. 

She stays in bed all morning waiting for his call.

The he of this story is twenty-seven.  Not much can be said about him, especially in comparison to her.  But he does have some beauty to him—the smoking of cigarettes kind of way.

They are lovers.  But this is obvious, especially to you and me.  The mother does not know—or maybe I should be more honest than that—the mother does not want to know.  The she of this story doesn’t try to hide him from the mother. 

When he does finally call sometime in the yellow of the afternoon, the mother enters her bedroom at the same time the phone rings.

The things the mother does know…
The she of this story sometimes won’t come home for days.  Those days she is alone, the mother forgets she has a daughter.  When the she of this story returns home, the mother is always quite astonished at the sight of her, but never says a word.  The truth is that the mother knows that her daughter is one of those women no one can really possess, so one can never really control her.  The he of this story knows this as well. 

The mother and the he of this story have a lot in common—at least when it comes to her.  They have both given up on trying to possess her.

The she of this story makes plans with him right in front of the mother.  The mother pretends not hear.

They—the he and she of this story—have been meeting like this for two months now.  She waits in bed, usually until noon, for his call.  He calls and tells her what time they will meet.  The spot is always the same—in his part of town, where his kind of people live—his apartment.  His apartment has olive gray walls.  One light in the far left corner lights the entire room.  Sometimes they make love on the floor, but mostly they lay naked on his white bed.  Summer heat sweats their skin. 

The apartment is on the first floor facing the street.  Shutters cover the windows.  Sometimes when the he of this story sleeps, the she of this story watches the lights and shadows of people passing by.

The thing the she of this story does not know…
When the she of this story is not home, the mother lays in bed imagining waiting for his call.