Us

Us

It was in the morning when Sarah Preece apologised to her husband,
Steven. Outside, leaves which had dried in the sun waited for a wind to
take them away. She pushes her hair off her neck and opens the orange
juice with her other hand. Steven smiles and says she does not need to
say sorry. The toaster clicks at its building heat. Sarah's eyes are
still closed slightly, like she has not awoken yet, and she smiles,
rubbing her neck, feeling a scar with her fingertips. She says she does
have to apologise, but she can not make it change. Steven's eyes shift
to the grass outside that flows like a wave away from their window with
the breeze. His eyes shift to a bird on the ground, touching at the
dirt. His eyes will go anywhere but to hers.

He would say it is not an issue, but they both know he is lying. Sarah
pushes a finger around the inside of her eye, reaches across the
newspaper to touch her husband's skin. Maybe you should just go, she
says to him, feeling the tiny hairs of his hand. I can't just go, he
responds quickly. Steven Preece leans his forehead onto his palm, grabs
at his hair, looks like a child in trouble. I've told you before, he
says, I don't feel right. Sarah lift his face with a hand on his chin,
lets her eyes connect with his. Steven's eyes shift to hers, glinting
with the morning. His eyes feel weak. She leans across and touches her
lips against his nose, gently, gently. Sarah Preece smiles, satisfied.
He puts his hand into her hair, moves his thumb softly across her
cheek.

She opens her eyes to him again and sees him crying, the drops fading
the print on the paper.

Steven Preece drives his car down the same street for a seventh time
that day. He has done this before, this street. He has parked like this
before. He is not lost, he saw what he was looking for the first time
he passed it. Sweat tickles along his forehead. He still holds the
steering wheel, engine off, and he watches a plane in the sky. Watches
a car on a distant street. Flicks the radio off. Steven knows what he
is looking for.

He had memorised the number, the colour of the door. He had watched the
building, watched the lights turn on as daylight faded. He had done
this all before. He'd watched it and talked to himself about it. He has
the address on a piece of paper that he had screwed up, unfolded,
screwed up again. Steven Preece had fallen asleep in his car seat
waiting for the nerve to walk along the concrete path. Up the
steps.

He'd checked his car twice, held the handle as he did. Locked the door
and checked again. Steven crossed the road, his hands in his pockets,
his pulse building. Back home, he thought, Sarah would be thinking of
him. Back home, this is what she wanted. Steven's heart rumbled in his
chest. He walks up the steps, closes his eyes as he turns the handle
and shuts the door on the daylight outside.

In a room of dim light, they lay around on chairs. They sit looking at
Steven, talking to each other on couches. Steven looks at the carpet
patterns by his feet and apologises under his breath. The woman at his
side touches his back and says it's okay. She says other men like him
had done this many times before. He nods, takes a breath through his
nose, touches his chest nervously. I don't really know, he says. His
eyes shift to the design on a lamp nearby. Shift to anything but the
women looking expectantly at him. The woman at his side calls a girl
over to them. The girl smiles and holds her hand out for Steven Preece
to take. She leads him into another room. Steven looks at the door.
Steven looks at the girl.

She lifts her hair off her neck as she walks across the room. Steven
looks at her legs as she moves, shakes his head slightly. The girl
touches his skin, his neck, asks if he is okay. Yeah, yeah, Steven
assures himself, but speaks the words to her. She smiles and says there
is no rush. He pushes his hands deeper into his pockets.

She takes a glass of water and speaks to Steven about his work. Steven
tells the girl he is sorry. His eyes shift to the girl. He says he is
sorry, but he is not saying it to her. A small gap in the closed
curtains shows a inch of sky. Steven holds her hand and tells the girl
how he loves his wife. He tells her how he found Sarah at a party, she
was alone like him. He tells the girl about photos he has that open the
most beautiful memories. He tells the girl how they got married on a
beach in the sunset. How he has a photo of just their hands together.
How they danced in the sand and Sarah laughed at him for missing steps,
she could see his mistakes in their footprints.

Steven Preece says this. He tells the girl about his wife's breast
cancer. He tells her about the cloud over her life that has followed
her through months of questions. Steven says he has touched her scars
which have changed the body he once knew so well. The smooth skin in
lines across her heart. Steven Preece says this. He tells the girl how
Sarah no longer wants to touch anymore. She is not interested in
contact with him. She cannot make herself. He tells the girl that Sarah
had told him to come here and be with her. Sarah said it was okay. She
wants him to be happy. Steven tells the girl about looking into Sarah's
eyes. The girl touches his cheek, says nothing. Only then does Steven
realise that she is catching his tears. Only then does he notice he's
been crying. He asks the girl, who smiles gently, is it okay if we
don't do anything?

With the leaves, dried from the sun, rising in the breeze along the
street, Steven Preece watches them drift through the night from behind
the glass of a phone booth. He holds the plastic to his ear and speaks
over cars flashing by.

Steven says hi. He says, It's me. Sarah, I love you, baby.

More than anything.