Solitude

She approached the door hesitantly, took a deep breath and turned her key in the lock.  The mechanism scraped loudly in the quiet.  No muffled sounds of fierce squabbles over TV programs filtered through the closed door.

The door swung open.  The living room seemed almost too neat.  No shirts or jackets draped the chairs.  No wet towels or scattered toys graced the floor.  Everything was just as she’d left it.

The dining room and kitchen were also in perfect order.  No half-finished glasses of milk or spilled cereal.  No potato chip crumbs crunched underfoot.  Everything was in its place.  Every room rang with silence.

Ten weeks stretched interminably into the future.  The divorce was final now, and the two boys were 1200 miles away spending the summer with their dad.  Could she take it?  After twelve years of snatching precious moments of solitude, could she adjust to being completely alone day after day, week after week?

“You fool!” she muttered, slipping into a flowing robe.  “Now you’ll have a chance to do the things you haven’t had time for – the plays, dinners out with co-workers and exhibits you’ve wanted to attend – that drawing course you’ve always wanted to take – the books you’d like to read.  There’s so much to do even ten weeks isn’t time enough.”

“Right!” she nodded emphatically.

The bookshelf contained so wide a selection of long-postponed volumes that her choice was difficult.  Should she try a deep psychological or philosophy text?  Or should it be last year’s best-selling novel?  How about a self-help book?  She could certainly use that!  Or perhaps the latest psychic discoveries?  She randomly plucked a book and wandered to the refrigerator.  A small glass of wine would be nice – and a chunk of cheese with, perhaps, a crisp apple.

With a sigh she settled into her favorite chair and opened the book.  She leafed past the title page, dedications and contents, and began to read the introduction.  The words flowed from eye to brain, and onward, leaving no impression.  Suddenly aware that she was listening for the sound of running feet on the stairs outside and familiar tones in the young voices calling, “Mommy!  Mommy!”, she slammed the book closed.

“There’s no one else here!” she told herself firmly.  “And there won’t be for a while.  You might as well get used to it.”

She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths and concentrated on the vibrations that seemed to be penetrating from the atmosphere.  Slowly a feeling of warm calmness filled her being.

It was sure to take a little time.  One simply could not suddenly separate from someone, after years of caring attention, and immediately adjust to the absence.  Besides, loving was unlimited by time or space.  One could love deeply without the physical presence of the beloved.  The essence of a person was not entrapped in a physical body, and love was as big as eternity – it couldn’t be confined.

She rose slowly and wandered into the recently-vacated bedroom.  Gazing at the unrumpled beds, she sighed deeply.

“Goodnight, my dears,” she whispered.  “May the angels protect you.”  She turned out the light and moved toward her own room.  She would survive – without rancor, she decided – and quite possibly, she’d be a better person for the experience.


Day slid into night, and night into day.  A few books got read, a few courses taken.  A new routine was established and the weeks slipped past more rapidly than she had imagined possible.  Six weeks . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine.  There was still so much that needed to be done.


The Day arrived and she mentally checked off their schedule.  They’d now be leaving for the airport . . . about now they’d be checking their luggage . . . then searching out their gate.

They’re probably on board by this time, she thought.  Would they be terribly excited?  Were they as anxious to get home as she was to have them?  Had they missed her as much as she’d missed them?

They were probably in the air by now – making repeated requests of the flight attendants, in between numerous trips to the restroom.

She left early for the drive to the airport.  She told herself that the kids would panic if they arrived and she wasn’t there.  “Never know what the traffic will be,” she reasoned.

The nearer she got, the more anxious she became.  How would she react?  Would she embarrass them with teary-eyed sentimentality?  How should she greet them?  What would they expect?  Would they want her to grab them in a bear hug?  Smother them with kisses?  Would she, Heaven forbid, cling?

Nervously she parked the car and hurried to the gate.  It seemed deserted.  She was early, yes, but shouldn’t there be more people around?  The minutes dragged by.  She rechecked the gate and flight number.

Finally, the right Big Bird landed and taxied to the gate.  Then nothing.  The gate remained impenetrably closed.  She glanced repeatedly at her watch.  Five minutes . . . ten.  Still nothing.

At last, the gates opened and people began trickling out . . . but no kids.  She glanced around at other apparently anxious parents.  Where were they?  Had they missed their flight?  Or had they had a wreck on the way to the airport?  What could be taking so long?

More passengers sauntered down the passageway, were met by waiting friends or relatives, and left the gate area.  Then, no more came.  Only a few people were left milling about.  They each tried to unobtrusively maneuver for a clearer view down the jet way.

What was wrong?  Surely their father wouldn’t defy the court and keep them!  Where were they?  Had they slipped by her, and she hadn’t recognized them?  They should have seen her!  Surely she hadn’t changed, even if they had.

The sound of babbling young voices filtered through the passageway.  She shifted her position and watched impatiently.  At length, a familiar form broke from the pack and waved.

“Hi, Mom!”

The voice was very familiar.  She grinned as they approached and felt a lump rising in her throat.

“Hi, Brats,” she said, taking one’s small hand and flipping the other’s long-uncut hair.  “Did you have a good flight?”


Word Count: 1051