Roasting Vegetables

As it rained the water started seeping in through the roof, leaking down the walls, and falling quick and blade-like into puddles. I stood in the cold house, breathing the damp.

After it had rained for three weeks the air was clean and crisp and. He still hadn’t woken up. He’d said he was tired while we were making dinner, and then he just sat down on the cold kitchen floor, tucked his legs into his chest, and rested his head on his knees. He was next to the stove. I thought he would just close his eyes for a moment, he’d always had a dramatic air and. He didn’t wake up. He was still breathing, air whooshing in and out, whispering through his lips. And the pumpkin and potatoes and carrots were still in the oven, turning from golden, to brown, to blackened. Later that night I ate them, and they still tasted good, but I didn’t have much of an appetite, and I wished I’d taken them out sooner.

As it rained the water started seeping in through the roof, leaking down the walls, and falling quick and blade-like into puddles. I stood in the cold house, breathing the damp. I dropped saucepans to make loud sounds. I splashed rainwater on his face. Nothing made him stir. Eventually I propped up an umbrella to keep him dry. I used the big one, and for a while I sat under it too. I kept talking to him, my love, to tell him what was going on. Little updates about our neighbours, and tv shows, and not about things that bored him like his dieting and law degrees. But I got lazy talking when he never answered me. I’d trail off mid-sentence. It wasn’t like it mattered when he couldn’t hear me. I thought. He was comatose. He was held in sleep or dreams or total blackness.

I moved his resting body onto the bed. It was heavy, and by myself I was slow when dragging his lithe figure. His torso seemed longer when dragged through the cluttered hallway, his foot catching on our never-unpacked boxes from when we moved last year. By then, his once taut legs were droopy and bendy like cooked linguine. At that point I started sleeping on the sofa. I took the pillows from the bed, they were the good and soft sort. I took blankets too and I cocooned myself.

When the water stopped seeping through the roof, and the sun returned, and the repairman came, I thought something would change. That he would just wake up, and wonder why he was in bed, and be glad I had tucked him in, and be confused about my pillow’s absence.

But he did not. And I was beginning to feel very tired too. And I told him I would just.

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