Friday Morning Writing Exercise

“Write every day,” they say and I do, one word at a time. Today, I began with a name: Jan. This is where it “went”!

         Jan woke up early, earlier than usual. It was still dark in the room and she could hear her husband snoring. It was a raspy little sound that was both irritating and soothing. She closed her eyes, hoping for more needed sleep, but she was denied. John’s snore grew louder and then stopped altogether. Is he okay? Of course, he is. He turned on his side, breathed deeply and then began to snore once more. Time to get up. Her day had begun.

            She slid from the bed, tossed on her familiar, fuzzy, green robe, grabbed her slippers, and tiptoed to the door of the bedroom. No need to wake him. God only knows he needs the rest.

The dim light of morning gave the blinds of the bedroom a lucent appearance, cold and ghostly. Sun won’t be up for awhile. Jan gently closed the door behind her and walked slowly down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen. She stopped at the edge of the hardwood floor, stepped into her shoes, tightened her robe around her, and moved toward the stove. She shivered. Tea. Time for tea.

When at last the teapot whistled, Jan poured a steamy cup and sat alone at the kitchen table staring outside. It was eerily quiet. Low fog blanketed the landscape. She could barely make out the coastal hills that were green now, finally, after being parched all summer. I’ll need to walk them soon . . . with John. He’ll like that. The two had been walking together for years with few words passing between them. It didn’t matter. Conversation only complicated things, for they seldom were in agreement about anything: religion, politics, or even what to have for dinner, They had stopped talking five years prior in order to save their marriage, for despite their differences, they were in love. It was a predicament Jan never, in a million years, could have expected, but it had come to be, and she lived with it.

Perhaps it was the loss of his parents, two deaths simultaneously, that had initiated John’s silence. He had been their only child; their relationship could not have been closer. Jan was the only person John, and his parents as well, had allowed to join the tiny family of three. She had been hesitant at the beginning, but in time, was comfortable and like a missing link, seemed to make the family whole; that is, of course, until both Mother and Dad were killed together in a fiery vehicle accident. Jan would never forget John’s reaction: a howl so anguished she could hear it even now. In the weeks that followed he was haunted by nightmares, unknowingly sobbing in his sleep, and then waking and needing to talk. For days he blathered as he recalled countless memories from his youth. In time, however, he seemed to exhaust his treasure-trove of recollections and grew quiet. The only salve to John’s despair were the daily walks, some short, others long hikes. And no matter when or where, Jan accompanied him. It was an unspoken assumption that she would be there.

Jan had been lost in thought for many minutes when she sensed John’s presence. He had entered the kitchen silently and stood before her now in his worn pajamas and tattered robe. His face was sober, his voice strained.

“Jan,” he murmured, “We need to talk.”