Mini Prose: Absences

Tommaso no longer speaks.

In fact, I don’t even hear him any more.

Please note, I can hear noises coming from the building and the street. My hearing works perfectly. I am able to assess the situation.

Perhaps he has nothing to say? Tommaso has always been taciturn – well, not exactly. Let’s say silent. He usually answers me, that’s all. Sometimes. My chatting tires the poor thing out. It has been so many years now…let’s see…forty-three. Forty-three years in a relationship, thirty-two of them married. My good, so good Tommaso.

I prepared the coffee. I still get excited using the measuring spoon, chosen with so much care. Minimalists before it was fashionable, we scrupulously selected each acquisition. But the coffee is strong today, much too strong. I’d surprised if I mixed up the utensils.

Odd things are happening these days. Things I simply cannot explain.

The image came with the frame.

Where is my Tommo? I admire the marble surface of the chimney; impeccably smooth. I suppress a giggle in front of the pine picture frame. Inside it, a stranger smiles, a boy sitting on his shoulders. The image came with the frame. I wanted to experiment for some time now – foolishly baffling people who would question me about them. I don’t remember ever taking such action.

I miss Tommaso. It is funny to say, because we spend our days together. My darling, so good and so adorable.

Where is he hiding? Is he napping in our room? No… He is snacking on candy in the kitchen? Not even… So then he is reading a book in the living room. No.

Why did he not say he was going out? Will I see him come home if I stand by the window?

Bold passers-by stroll along the sidewalk. Short dresses, no stockings… A ray of sunshine and presto! Hello colds the next day! Oh, a Hawaiian shirt. How I love them, with their soft patterns. I admit it is warmer than I thought. In addition, the vests that I have layered on are crushing my chest. I hope Tommaso is not cold. Did he take his coat? This would be a clue.

The closet overflows with soaps and rolls of toilet paper. Dirty laundry lies on the floor. Bizarre. Tommaso usually takes the trouble to put his clothes in the hamper. His suit deserves a good cleaning. I bet he didn’t even empty his pockets.

Well, looky here, his wallet. His keys? But . . . it’s Tommaso! He’s resting on the bathroom floor. I must make sure not to disturb him. Poor Tommo, he tires out quickly now. My darling… As I feared, he is cold: his skin is frozen against my lips.

There, I brought you our comforter. You are well covered like this. Sleep, my sweetheart…

We used to sit like that before. Bundled up under the comforter for a cozy night of television. A wonderful feeling. Maybe we can watch a movie when he wakes up.

Tommaso darling that I love so much.

Based on actual events