Only the Lonely

In the darkness of the bedroom, only shadows could be seen. A black pile huddled in the bed. Muffled sobs shook the quilt Letta used to keep her cries from disturbing the children in the next room. Finally exhaustion brought quiet and sleep to the young woman, even if rest remained hidden. Loneliness stood watching, waiting for awareness to return.

"Momma?" The small girl's hand touched Letta's hand. "Momma?"

"Umm, what?" Eyes heavy from crying and lack of sleep slowly opened. "Oh, hi, sweetie. Where's your brother?"

"He's watching TV. An' you told us not to if we didn't have 'mission." She brought her dark brows together in a tight frown. "Can we have 'mission?"

"Merry, let me get up, and I'll switch the channel to something you can watch, okay?"

"'Kay." The two-year-old climbed off the bed and ran out the bedroom door. In seconds her mother heard her taunt her brother. "Momma is gonna come."

"Why did ya go tell?" Her five-year-old brother, Rusty, asked.

Grabbing her robe from the end of her bed, Letta groggily made her way to referee her children. Another day had started, but days weren't so bad anymore. She had the children and a part-time job to keep her mind occupied. After nearly a year, she could endure the days.

The day passed, as Letta knew it would. The children now slept in their beds, dreaming of whatever children dream. Letta didn't want to go to her room. She knew what waited there: loneliness and that empty, mocking bed.

She straightened the livingroom, scrubbed the kitchen floor, folded the loads of clean clothes from the night-before's work. Finally, she knew she couldn't stay awake any longer. She had to sleep. The children needed her.

Walking hesitantly, she stumbled to her room, peeking around the door before entering. She could feel loneliness wrapping her in its paralyzing force. She felt the tears build and choke her as they rushed from deep inside. Soon, she huddled in the bed again, using the quilt to muffle her cries.

The next day at work, she noticed one of her co-workers seemed distracted. John wadded up a sheet of paper and threw it into the trash beside his desk. Propping his elbows on his desk, he covered his face with his hands.

"How strange," she thought. "John never appeared so, so out of control before." Remembering how kind he had been, how helpful as she struggled with her own despair, she rose from her own desk and walked to his.

Bending close so that others couldn't hear, she whispered, "John, what's wrong. May I help?"

Jerking his hands from his face, John struggled to regain his composure. "I... I don't think so."

"Please, John, you're always helping others. You helped me. Let me help you if I can."

Heaving a sigh, John finally answered, "You know that my wife left me several months ago." He gave a strangled laugh. "Everyone knows she left."

"Yes."

"I thought I would be able to handle her wanting more than I could ever provide. I thought I could survive her wanting someone who could give her all I can't." His eyes dropped to his hands fisted on the desk. "I never knew how..." He looked into the caring eyes watching him. "I've been alone many times in my life, but I've never been lonely before."

Letta smiled a small tentative smile. "I know what you mean, John." She laid one of her hands over his. "I... Would you come to dinner tonight? I'm fixing fried chicken."

John gazed at her a moment, at the understanding which joined the caring in her eyes. "Yes, I'd like that." He turned his hand over to take her smaller one in his. "Thank you."

From the radio, playing in one corner of the office filled with desks, a haunting melody reached out to touch them. "Only the lonely..."

**The Writer's Cramp winning entry February 11, 2003**