Brother Skunk wakes into the morning’s earliest hours, night still
perceptibly dark behind the curtains of her room.
Adjacent in the bed, and moving on toward the endgame of her pregnancy
ache1 has lately not been sleeping any too well and, now thus
disturbed, finds she is wide awake before he himself is fully conscious;
groaning, he reaches for the lamp-switch at his side of the bed, and sits
himself up a little.
ache1: You okay? Skunk? You dreaming?
Skunk: You were...
sighs
Skunk: You were dying and you knew it and you kept saying to me “I don’t
want to leave you. I don’t want to leave you.” over and over, and it was just
the
wiping quickly at the tears as they spill out and down his cheeks, and
then overcome places his face into both hands.
ache1 (not unmoved, but keen to get back to her much-needed
sleep): I’m not poorly, I’m pregnant.
There’s a difference, cowboy.
with, making its presence felt, her E.T. doll a random lump against her
leg.
