Bill used to sing for me. Out of nowhere sometimes, he would swing me around with one strong hand and sing along to the music throbbing form the stereo. Rich brilliance just for me. My eyes would glue to him, this performance, this gift. I could eat it, his voice, the cream was so thick. He would dance with the voice of a dark throated seraphim. The sound would glow. I could see it in the dark. Vibrant and rich and love. Singing like intense coloured earth, life you could get trace with your hands along.
He reads this sometimes. Usually takes things from it that would never have occured to me. “Yeah – read a bit too much. You having to deal with someone’s erection is what I read”. I don’t understand his filters and he may be right, I may never, but I hope he reads this. I want him to. I want him to take what I’m feeling from this. I want these words to capture what we were. For him to know how hard it is to listen to what I’m listening to, with his voice under every word. In between the tears there was so much that just felt. That voice singing.
I catch myself wanting him, just wanting him to be there. When I’m tired late at night I might find something on-line and almost call him to come look at it. His brown hair brushing against my shoulder as he leans over me to see. That’s when it hurts. Now is when it hurts. When I can hear that voice that I still love so very much. When I know it’s not going to sing for me anymore. When I know he can’t even look at me.
Do you remember? I cry now because I miss you, not because you hurt me. I gave you everything I could think of and I want you to know.
———-+
So tonight I’m heading out to a play with Jaques. Braving my way into the Fringe Club. Trepidation time ladies and gentleman. “Where’s Bill?” “We, um, aren’t together anymore.” I don’t know how many times I’ll have to explain that I’m divorced, but it will be easier with certain people and really bloody hard with others. Yes, too, I hope Trish won’t be around. Let her be there tomorrow, after I’ve dealt with myself some.
We’re going to go see something by Monster Theatre at Performance Works, then we’re going to hang at the Club for a bit. Being in Performance Works is going to sting like a salted wound, but Sincity comes up next. That’s my domain. Stars in your eyes? Don’t touch me. We’re going to pick up Mishka and bring her some costume. I’m set already. I’m going to brazen the Fringe in costume because damn – like anyone’s going to think I’m odd in a theater maelstrom? Yeah – right. People will ask what my show is and if I have leaflets. Dancing will be fun. This whole night will be fun.
All the corners of the buildings….