Goodbye

              He was so peaceful when he slept, so still he barely rumpled the sheets around him, his breathing so shallow, she had to watch for the rise and fall of his chest.  She envied that serenity.  She hated nighttime, tossing and turning for hours before finally drifting off into a half sleep; the tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.  She slept fitfully, and he never moved.

         Tonight she was relaxed.  She had taken three Vicodin to calm her, give her courage, ease the pain.  She brushed her hair and realized the beauty of it, the red mixed with the brown, the thickness, how it hung loose and weightless down her back, shimmering in the soft light of her vanity.  She laughed at how high she probably was.  She’d never taken pills, even when they were prescribed, never even smoked pot.  Standing at her mirror, she shook her head dramatically, the way they do in shampoo commercials, and watched her hair swing back and forth across her shoulders, trying to follow the strands of auburn hidden in the folds of chestnut.  No wonder he loved her hair, how it felt in his fingers after a long day’s work.  He’d hold a handful of it as they watched TV at night before bed.

         She looked over at him, sleeping easily as always.  She thought about kissing his cheek, was overcome with the urge but thought better of waking him.  It would be their last kiss, and she thought she owed it to him, after all that would happen.  She debated as she moved to his nightstand, opened the drawer noiselessly, and lifted the gun from its hiding place.  It felt lighter than she had expected.  It always looked so heavy in his hand; his arm seemed strained, the veins popping in his wrist.  He bought it to keep her safe, he said, and every so often he’d take it out and show it to her, reassure her that it was there for her when she needed it.  She never liked the sight of it, even now, as it offered peace and comfort.

         The pills were making her sleepy, and she thought she’d better get on with it, before she drifted off and it was too late.  The morning would come, and the misery would never end.

         But she paused a moment, staring at the gun in her lap.  She tried to remember why she was doing this.  Was it really so bad, her life?  She had a man and a home.  No children yet, a good thing, since she wasn’t so sure her husband would want to share her with anyone.  She had friends who had seen the pain on her face, the darkness around her eyes.  They’d come to the house after work to check on her, make her laugh, take her out if they could.  She had family who loved her, who lived close but were rarely able to visit.  She had a garden she couldn’t tend anymore, thanks to the bad back she got last summer after falling down the cellar steps.

         Her mind was beginning to drift; she rubbed her eyes to clear it.  Her head was pounding.  She was confused and tried again to remember why she was doing what she was about to do.  She looked at her husband and smiled fondly, loving him wholly as he slept, so calm and gentle now, so still.  She touched his chest softly, daring herself to wake him, to give her the courage she needed to follow through.

         She remembered the day they first met, how happy she had been with his interest, how beautiful she felt when he touched her face the way he did, letting his thumb slide across her cheek and around her mouth.  He kissed her so softly she wasn’t sure their lips had actually touched.  He pulled back his head and stared down at her, intently, until she broke the stare with a giggle.  On their first official date, he had brought flowers and candy to her house and took her dancing after dinner.  He moved in the following week, and they married barely six months later.  He’d become more passionate since their wedding, which surprised her but made her feel more loved than any other woman in the world.  He liked to run his hands along the length of her throat when they kissed, feel the vein that pulsed in her neck.  Sometimes he kissed her so hard and long that she couldn’t catch her breath and her knees would buckle.  He chuckled at the force of his own desire, then snatched her around the waist and thrilled her with his strength, his craving for her.

         But they made love less and less now.  What could she expect, what with the demands of his work, the long hours he put in every day, his need to come home and eat a good meal, kick back, rest easy, and fall asleep.  It’s what he wanted, and she was glad to give it to him whenever she could.  He always seemed happy at the end of the long, long day, smiling with satisfaction as he closed his eyes, his hand sometimes still wrapped in her hair, or clutching her arm.

         She felt numb now, no pain.  But that happened sometimes, when it was quiet and she could rest for a bit.  It would come back by the morning, when life hit her all over again.  She slid down in the bed and tried to get more comfortable.  She wore flannel pajamas so that she wouldn’t get blood on her silk nightie, the one he bought for her on their honeymoon.  He loved that negligee, the way it flowed around her thighs and hung loose on her shoulders.  He’d torn it off of her four or five times over the last 8 years, ripped it clean off her body.  She spent more than a day sewing it back up after the last time.  It seemed silly to dirty it up with blood now, after all that hard work.

         It seemed silly to think about the damn nightgown at all.  No wonder she was such a mess, thinking about such trivial matters at a time like this.  No wonder she was in such trouble.  She was ashamed of her foolishness, of her weakness, of her ingratitude.  She raised the gun and looked at the barrel.  She could get help.  It wasn’t too late; she was young and her husband loved her.  There were places where she could go.  But she was too tired to seek them out.  It was easier this way; she wouldn’t have to put up a fight.

         She raised the gun and aimed.  She couldn’t keep the gun steady as her body rocked with strong, silent sobs.  She closed her eyes to calm herself.  The tears flowed easy now.  Her arm was getting heavy and the gun began to fall.  She aimed again and fired.  The bullet entered above his right ear.