The Well V

Kate looked in the bathroom sink, trying to avoid her own reflection. She ran her finger under the water until it grew warm. Finally, she was forced to face herself. Her eyes looked hard and worn int eh hard morning light. The wrinkles were getting deeper. The dark circles were getting darker. IT was six months since they had wheeled Terry's body down the path to the waiting ambulance at the front of the house. Six months since she found him lying there, cold, with dried vommit caked down his neck and pooled on the sheets by his head. Six months. Six months. She had aged six years.

The glare of the white tiles made her wince. But there hadnt been a bruise under her eye, or on the side of her face since that day. Just a hard knot of emptiness, tightening a little more with each passing day. Dave had left stubble around the edge of the sink again. The bathroom had a permanently damp odour about it. The knot got tighter. It was suffocating her, cutting off oxygen, or water. Was it hate? Or dissatisfaction? Thirst? Or love? Her days were and endless list of reasons why Dave was becoming another reason to find another well to drink from. Or was it something else? Some unidentified, shadowy bulk, all shoulders and smoke in a door way far back in her mind. Far back in the past.

She noticed there was pubic hair and splashes of urine on the rim of the toilet seat. It was asign to her that he no longer cared what she thought of him. Or, was it a sign that she didnt care? She didnt care to think about it. She didnt care.

She sighed loudly and it accentuated the silence, the emptiness. He passed the open doorway and their eyes met in the mirror. She was leaning in close, applying eyeliner. They were ignoring each other now. The ground was once again becoming parched and cracked. Kate turned back to her sagging reflection in the mirror and wondered if she was done with making vows. If she was done with drinking from empty wells.