She Remained Within Herself

Sharon Rashbam Prop

She remained within herself.
By herself.
Years of living together.
Each one for the other. Each one against the other. Each one against the other.
Each one with the other, never alone.
When they had a feud, when she drove him mad, he would stand against the bedroom wall,
Turning his back on her and mumbling: "damn woman, damn woman".
Became sullen. Reddened.
Then calmed down, turns to her,
Appeased.

She always wanted much more. More. More. He wanted less. Little. Different.
His crossword puzzle books were more than enough for him, solving them, then erasing repeatedly.
And the long transistor radio, white, its shrill sound carried from the bathroom, the balcony, the armchair.
She wanted to live. To savor. To bite. To slice life.
Flamboyant clothes, necklaces, shoes, shirts and perfumes.
And food.

Dragging along behind her, Gazing down. Saying yes to most of her requests, like a child.
Did he ever have any other choice?
And many years. Together. Passing by. Without noticing. Here comes old age.
Alone together.

All of a sudden she is all by herself. He is not in the bedroom. Not seated in the armchair. Not waiting for his cup of coffee at half past four.
The crossword puzzle books forsaken, erased, awaiting. A silent transistor radio.
Turned off. Another day without news.
She tried to grab her late independence with two hands. Going out and coming in, in and out, traveling alone on her electric scooter back and forth. Seated in the center of her seat but a little aside. Wearing lipstick. Vigorous moves, confident, shaking...she is out of the house, her back to the door, shrugging her shoulders, expectant.

Drove away. Dined. Swam in the pool.
Went back home, her hair pulled back, alone.
And suddenly, the void at home. The empty home. The void living there with her,
replacing him. Doesn't argue, showing no annoyance, enveloping her silently.
Her alone was so lonely...
until she couldn’t see the point anymore.