Two Right Feet

Patricia Craigen

It had been a violent argument. Hurtful words thrown with knowing aim. Painful truths that found intended soft spots.

And now I thrash on the bed, conjuring up anger to avoid tears. He lies ridiculously still, in obvious counterpoint to my raw emotions.

The king-size bed yawns wide. We are less than a yard apart. Sleep eludes us.

Right. Wrong. Does it matter? Another impasse. Years of practice, years of surprises. We are incompetent arbiters of our own dilemma. Minutes pass. An eternity.

And then a movement fills the silence. Tentative at first, me on my stomach, hubby on his back. Our toes touch. We pause, then our right feet hook together. Faithful friends.

In the stillness of the moment, in the unexpected truth, our world rights itself.

Copyright ©2000 Patricia Craigen. All Rights Reserved.

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August, 2000 Issue #52

128 Words

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