AT EASE

W.S. Dixon

Thomas pressed his cheek to the dark, smooth wooden door. He

noticed that there was a certain heat, a slight warmth subtly radiating from
inside the room. Thomas listened, hearing the faint crackling pop of a small
fire, and knew that his wife was inside, most likely reading a book or
newspaper in front of the fireplace.
The month was September, and the brisk New Hampshire winds were
beginning to breeze in, starting to chill the browning grass of the meadows,
declaring forthrightly, the start of autumn.
Thomas, though once hardened to the climate and unfamiliar with the
frigid autumns of New Hampshire, had begun to appreciate, and sometimes
even welcome, the weather changes that often seemed to arrive slightly
early in the Northeast. Thomas' wife, Bonnie, adored the cold, having lived in
the New England area all of her life. Her Northern upbringing was part of the
reason her family was surprised to discover she was engaged to marry
Thomas, who was in every way, the embodiment of "southern,” a word which
Bonnie hesitated to use when explaining her situation. Bonnie’s mother
scoffed upon hearing this, thinking Bonnie was using it as a sort of selling
point.
Thomas knocked gently on the door, carefully gauging the amount of
force he needed to apply, not wishing to cause much disturbance to the
tranquility behind the threshold.
Thomas noticed that almost every action he performed that involved
his spouse was meticulously bridled in this way. Thomas nearly always feared
that he would upset Bonnie. However, in the past several years, his
cautionary attitude had grown into something far greater. Every thing
Thomas wished to do was run through this filter. The problem arose when
almost no action appeared on the other side of
Thomas’ precautionary gauntlet. Though they had not fully realized it,
Thomas and Bonnie’s relationship had begun to fade quickly, dissolving
exponentially every day.
Thomas waited patiently for a response, his hunger roaring loudly in
his stomach. This situation was somewhat of a ritual between them.
Everyday, after a silent lunch, Bonnie would retreat to the cozy study, and
remain there for several hours.
When they first acquired the home, Bonnie liked to call this room a
“miniature library,” though there were not many books stored there. The
room had pre-built shelves with capacity to hold and display a plethora of
literature, though when Thomas and Bonnie first moved in, neither of them
had any books in their possession to contribute, nor any money to buy new
ones. Neither Thomas nor Bonnie was dismayed by this, because both
expected, fifty-one years prior (the inception of their marriage), that the
shelves would eventually become full later on. Thomas soon forgot the dusty
extra space. The barren shelves remained with Bonnie, however, and through
the years, reminded her daily of their presence, laughing at her.
After two minutes, Thomas turned from the door and slowly moseyed
away, his hunger still aching. Thomas considered making something for
himself, but instantly decided against this after seeing the farfetched
possibility of Bonnie becoming insulted that he had not waited for her.
Curiously, Bonnie was not an intimidating woman. She was not commanding,
nor rude. Yet Thomas could not help but do his best to always please her.
He stepped quietly towards the living room, his aged joints protesting.
As he settled in his large leather chair, Thomas began to look around him at
the meager decor of his abode. The rug beneath him was torn in some
places, and the corners of the fabric curled upwards. An heirloom wall clock
that his father gave him hung on the wall, staring at him. Thomas once
believed that this clock would not be with him forever, and that he would
have a son to whom the ownership would pass. And in the summer of 1961,
Thomas was nearly correct.
Bonnie was finally pregnant. The pair had discussed it most in jest, but
eventually agreed to attempt to have a child. The entire summer Bonnie was
pregnant, which was also their second summer as a couple in the home, the
atmosphere surrounding them shined brightly. Thomas’ small hardware
business was beginning to grow popular, which meant more money for the
child’s future.
Bonnie’s tender burning love for Thomas was more apparent than ever
as she watched Thomas’ determined efforts to ensure a stable upbringing for
her baby. And in turn, Thomas grew more attached to his wife, loving her and
him (he thought the baby to be male) above everything.
September arrived. Every thing fell apart. Just as the leaves began to
turn dark shades of honey yellow, crisp red, and topaz brown, all remnants of
joy were ushered out, starting with the death of Bonnie’s unborn child.
Neither Thomas nor Bonnie ever discussed any details after that visit to Dr.
Kleman’s office, but the toll it took on the fledgling lovers’ lives was
extraordinary. As Thomas’ business tried to flourish, his silent grief smothered
every financial hope and opportunity that came his way. Hype concerning his
shop receded discreetly. The summer of 1961, including all its promises and
hope, shriveled and disappeared, and the unremarkable courses of Bonnie
and Thomas’ lives together resumed, painfully scarred by the three months
prior.
Thomas’ gaze was fixated on the clock, its delicate hands and bold
numbers now barely visible to his weak eyesight. He found himself holding
his breath as the long second hand rotated hurriedly around the clock face.
Thomas broke his stare, heaving himself up to use the restroom.
After he finished, he turned to the sink and washed his hands. He
cupped his fingers and brought them to his face, splashing the water over his
winkled, craterous skin. Thomas noticed that he was yet again engrossed in
something. However, this time, his careful eyes were set upon himself. Apart
from his hunger, Thomas detected another emotion lodged deep in his frail
bones. This profound visceral feeling spread throughout Thomas as he
discovered what it was: the need to be touched.
Thomas could not recall the last time that he and Bonnie had shared so
much as an embrace. Of course, he still loved her, but he was realizing that
no physical declaration, no kiss, no hug, had happened between them in
years. And while Thomas studied his somber reflection, he knew that only
Bonnie’s affection could lift him from this monotonous mire. At that very
moment, he decided to do away his passive demeanor and confront his
loveless marriage.
Thomas walked quickly out of the bathroom, headed for the library. As
he approached the door, Thomas heard no sound. He twisted the doorknob
and stepped into the dark room. Thomas looked at the fireplace. The fire had
died, leaving only smoldering cinders. In front of the fireplace was a large
reading chair, Bonnie’s chair. Next to the chair was a small wooden
nightstand, on which Bonnie placed her empty coffee cup and newspaper.
From the doorway, Thomas could see Bonnie’s feet on the ground in front of
the chair, but nothing else. Adrenaline still rushing through his veins, Thomas
walked to the front of the room, and turned to the chair, his back facing the
fireplace.
Bonnie’s eyes were closed. On the nightstand sat a tattered edition of
a novel whose title Thomas could not make out. Her reading glasses were
placed on top of the book, and under that was an orderly folded newspaper.
Bonnie’s hands were clasped neatly in her lap, and her head leaned against
the top of the chair. Thomas thought she was sleeping, though knew his
recent revelation needed to be recognized.
He knelt beside her, taking one of her delicate hands into his. Bonnie
did not flinch. As he felt her soft palms, he stopped. He did not detect any
response at all, only cold, frail fingers lying lifelessly in his gentle grip.
Thomas squeezed her hand, and still nothing happened. The tide of
realization began to crash into him as he dropped her hand and stumbled
backward. No sound could escape his chest; the breath was exiting his lungs.
His hands and mouth began to tremble uncontrollably as his heart beat
erratically. Thomas looked again at Bonnie, tears flooding his eyes and
clouding his vision. He could not discern any expression, only a blank,
inhuman placidity spread across her pale, beautiful skin. This peaceful image
of Bonnie remained plastered in his mind. Even as the roaring sound of gusts
of wind entered his ears, the picture stayed imprinted before his eyelids, just
before the curtains of dark fell in, and the light in his mind faded out.

FIN