THOUGHT OUT: DONE

The sun has just set, yet my bedroom is bright enough for me to read the Evening Post, if I so wish. I do not wish. I drop the bamboo shades until they hit the windowsill, shudder and lie silent. Faint light still disturbs me. Pulling the heavy drape cord completes the job, plunging me into darkness. It tastes black, smells like death. Perfect. I want to lie in the coffin next to Donnie. He should have murdered me, let me be first in our double grave.

A faint odor comes in the keyhole. It curls like a rattler about to strike my face. I sniff, sniff again. It is body odor, Donnie’s body odor after sex. Teasing, I would push him out of bed, kick his ass and call him ‘Stinko.’ Together we’d laugh. Sometimes, special times, he’d push me away, whip me with a handy towel. ‘Get in the shower, Stinky,’ he’d say. I’d obey and have company before the water was  warm.

The heavy drapes flutter a tiny bit. My heart flutters a lot. Nausea climbs steadily up my throat. Donnie had all the windows weather stripped last year. What has moved the drapes? I pull the cord and they slide easily back. There, down near the sill, is a round hole in the bamboo shade. A pebble lies between it and the drapes. The window isn’t broken, not even cracked. It seems to speak to me. I hold it, kiss it, taste semi-sweet chocolate. My clothes get heavy, begin to drag me down. My blouse unbuttons itself and flies to the bed. The zipper in my slax slides open, chills me, thrills me as they drop at my feet. Stepping out of them, I crawl into bed, throw back the quilt and lie on the cool silk sheet staring at the ceiling.

‘Wait, wait, Stinky. Wait for me!,’ I sob. He looks white. His handsome face is bloodless. Wide open eyes have no pupils. I cannot look further. ‘Go away, go away, Stay where you have been put. Just as we planned, our marker has both of our names. All that is needed is to fill in my date.’ I go in the shower and wait for Stinky to join me. He doesn’t.
When I come out, I don’t dry myself completely. Still damp, I go to my desk, take my will out of the file drawer, read it slowly, carefully and leave it on display.

From the bathroom medicine cabinet I remove every pill for longer sleep time, depression, anxiety. It takes two cups of water to swallow the foul, garbage tasting, peace producing prescriptions. I lie down on the bed, cross my arms and close my eyes.

Somebody will find me Sunday.