Exorcism

I got up this morning and there was a dead bird on my front porch. Right outside the front door. It was just barely stiff, one eye open and the other one half-closed. It was a sparrow, bigger and fatter than the sparrows I know but I still recognized it for what it had been. Soft brown feathers, almost red like a cherry coke. I dug a hole and buried it in my daffodils, certain that it was another sign.

I had a dream last night. It was the first time I'd ever dreamed of him walking. There was a storm and we had to take cover. He jumped up with me and we began to run. I looked over at him as we ran in the rain. "You're running!" I shouted, grinning and nodding at his legs.

He laughed and we ran in circles, not even trying to get out of the storm. When the rain stopped, he walked back to the house. He sat down in his chair and fastened the belt around his waist. "What are you doing?" I screamed, "What's wrong? What's wrong?"

His body got smaller and he moved away from me with one of those odd shifts in perspective that you only get in dreams. I stood there, completely astounded, while he shook his head slowly but never said a word.

When I woke up this morning, I told him that I didn't think we would ever see each other again after this. He understands me well enough to know that it was said, not to wound, but simply as a matter of fact. We sleep, we laugh, we fuck. It's almost as if everything worked out and we are living the life that I came here for, in between my packing boxes and secretly wishing I were already home. I try to say all of the most crucial things now...feeling like I don't want to leave myself with any words that belong to him. "There will come a point in your life," I said, "where it will be very important for you to know that someone really, really loved you." I tell him that he should never doubt that, but even as I say it I know that he won't hear it until he needs to. So I tuck the words into his pocket like an emergency handkerchief, knowing he'll remember when it's time.

He seems to believe that this is not going to end, no matter how clear I've been. I don't discuss it with him because there's no point. He's almost child-like in his relief that I am not angry at him. He takes my patience and understanding as a sign that he has not lost me completely. He'll understand soon enough, so my attempts to prepare him for the finality of things are half-hearted as best.

I buried the bird, said a quick prayer to honor its journey, and then came inside. I opened the fridge, pulled out the bottle of champagne from our wedding that I'd been saving for our anniversary. I popped the top, made myself a mimosa and began reading Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates by Tom Robbins while I sunbathed on the deck.