The cold touch

She got the call late at night, while reading in bed, his voice flat like an answering machine. She sat up putting her back against the pillow, throat tightening.

“Are you serious?” she croaked.

“Yes,” the flat voice said and hung up.

Tears blurred her vision. Her gaze settled on the open wardrobe. “No!” she said to the room and swang her long legs out of bed. She put on a soft dress, her best boots, combed her hair tight and went into the city to see him.

The rain pounded the roof of the car. She kept steady speed to calm down, thoughts flitting through the car’s cabin like fireflies, head tilted sideways doubtfully.

It must be a misunderstanding. Maybe she laughed too much at the boys’ jokes. She should be sexier. She should be more mysterious. Like her sister. Wear high heels.

She got there, but he wasn’t home. He wasn’t at their usual place by the river. She hunkered down in the car. It was cold and she started shivering. She turned on the engine to warm up, but felt guilty about running it still. She turned it off and crossed her legs to keep them warmer. The rain kept falling and she was tired.

They had meet at Jim’s birthday party two weeks earlier. They talked about stars, beers in hand, eyes uncertain on the right procedure. He was tall with a cloud of curly black hair. He moved his hands theatrically, sometimes touching her arm for emphasis or rolling his eyes. His laugh was strong and warm.

They made love that night. He was different from the other guys she used to date. He wasn’t hungry for her. He didn’t lose control. He went about it slow and calm, like an artist painting a difficult subject. She tried to unsettle him with her body and with her mouth, his calmness getting on her nerves. It could all be done very deliberately, she discovered. She didn’t know it could be like that.

The days that followed were the best.

He called her every night. “How was your day? Who did you meet? I thought about you all day.” His voice warm and soft like honey liquor. She sat in bed, legs curled, caressing her nightgown, eyes closed, drinking his voice.

That week end, they went dancing. He danced energetically, muscles bulging, eyes darting like an animal. He attracted attention from the girls and anger from the boys. She stood beside him, spectator to his show.

After, they sat on red sofas in the dim lights of the disco, drinking rum and coke. She kissed him and hugged him and touched him. He stiffened first and then assaulted her with strong hands, pushing his body against hers. She pulled away from him then, ashamed of other people’s eyes.

When they talked, anything she said was a revelation to him, brown eyes boring into hers, head nodding in agreement. He laughed off any disagreement, any tension. His eyes were just for her. Not even a glance to the other girls. They were not worth his attention. Only she was.

At her birthday, he showed up with a single red rose, dressed in a formal shirt and bright shoes. His laugh filled the room as he mingled with all her friends and they all commented on her new boyfriend. “Charming! Lucky you!” bright smiles and pats on the back. Her mum said that he was very beautiful, and she waited for her to continue, but that was it.

Yesterday, he said that he loved her. He said it with the tone a conspirator revealing a secret, curious eyes fixed on hers. She shifted, shuffled. The reply stayed trapped inside. She awkwardly threw her arms around him, kissing his neck. He patted her head and stroke her hair.

Now she was sitting in the car waiting for him. Humidity fogged the windows. Wet leaves smell inside. She put her hand on the glass to clean out the fog and felt it cold to her touch. She also was cold.

He arrived in his black Mercedes and parked just beside her. She opened the door and got in. The car smelled like laundry and the seats were brown. Hard rock music filled the air and he bent forward to turn it off, his hand brushing on her knee.

“Hello,” she said flat. No reply.

She touched his face, shoulders, lower toward his pants. He grabbed her hand and held it still. “Doesn’t change anything. We can still see each other, have fun.”

He guided her hand, small in his, down, his forearm strong, tendons pushing out. She heard a siren going off in the distance. A dog barked. She knew. She had always known.

She got out of the car and looked back at him. He was looking at her, curiously, noting. She stopped for a moment, car door open, waiting for him to say anything, but he didn’t. She closed the door slowly, without anger. She had known all along.

Years later in the street of her town she saw him again. He was older now with grey hair and a brown coat. He walked surely, like someone who knows where he is going.

She felt nothing. He nodded. She nodded back.