Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Bits and Pieces...
(Boredom at work = incomplete, unpolished bits of fiction)

The room seemed larger at night. The corners receded into black; the walls pressed back by shadows; everything coated in a thin veil of blue-gray moonlight. It spilled in through the sheer curtain, flooding the wooden floor. The air was thick, and it smelled like us; sex and sleep. I was swimming in it, alone.

It took her hours to fall asleep. The blankets and pillows would disappear, swallowed between her knees. She grunted and sighed and shifted well past our last goodnight. She was miserable. We were miserable. It was her stomach that had awoken me; swollen and tight like a drum, it nudged against my back.

I was careful not to disturb her as I slid from the bed; gingerly lowering my feet to the pool of wavering light. I quietly eased the door enough to press myself past, into the hall.

The nursery door was cracked open, a wedge of blue light cut across the dark floor. I pushed it wide and leaned against the doorframe. The room had been easy to convert; a few layers of blue paint, a truck or two on the dresser. I stared at the crib's solid wood legs pressing inch-deep into the new carpet. The changing table was the same, a little wooden cart with a lip so that the baby doesn't roll off. But the crib was new; the thing she insisted that we change.

I closed the door behind me and followed the wall into the kitchen. Her fat gym bag was sitting beside the door - waiting. I nudged it with my toe, remembering the soft weight of it over my shoulder the first time, as we hobbled to the car, stopping to breathe at each flagstone.

I reached down and tugged the side pocket open. Lip gloss, hair ties and a soft cover book. I shoved a packet of cookies in and pushed the bag back against the wall. I sat on the counter with a glass of milk and stared at it. Ready to go.

I held her for weeks after it happened. We'd never slept so close; my nose and lips resting on the back of her head; the soft curve of her back pushing against my stomach. I could feel her heart beating under my arm. Neither of us slept well, but we were too afraid to pull apart and feel the chill of it all alone. Exposed.

Do you think she felt anything? She asked me calmly, as I lay behind her. It was the first sentence she spoke about it without her voice wavering or faltering to tears. I tightened my hold on her, burying my face in her neck. She was warm and smelled sweet like vanilla - like coming home. Her hair fell around my eyes. I felt my lips brushing over her soft skin, as I answered, no



Blogger Neo said...

I know i'm probably gonna sound stupid for saying this. But is that about a couple losing their baby?

(looks like a part in a much larger story)

Blogger Mella said...

Yes. It's just a little piece of something that I wrote at work yesterday...not sure where it came from or where (if anywhere) it's going.

Blogger Neo said...


You write with a lot of detail and passion.

I can visualize it in my mind's eye. That's what happened when I read something and it sparks off the mental video in my mind.

Like when I used to read Clive Barker books. You have a gift Mella.

Blogger Mella said...

Thank you, I appreciate that.

Blogger Susanna Rose said...

Wow! Beautiful! I love the detail you give to your writing but so subtly. I love to write as well so I will have to come back here regularly and get inspired! THanks!

Blogger Neo said...

mella - Not a problem. Thank you for writing.

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