leaves and leaving

style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">It wasn't so long ago we walked together through the grounds. The leaves in reds and gold's were piled up around the bottoms of the trees, and we admired the colours arm in arm. 
We didn't talk much, there wasn't any need to, it was the comfortable silence between people who know they are where they are supposed to be
and are playing the roles set for them.

class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">When I think of how she looked that day my heart quickens and flutters. She is so perfect,
so complete, to feel her body beside me brings me a wonderful peace.

Now she is walking around the bedroom fussing with things and pulling at the curtains. It is all I can do not to just pull her down on to the bed beside me. But I let her be and take my pleasure in
watching her move.  Her breasts are held so tightly in that dress and I think about running my palm across them, feeling her nipples
harden, let her feel how good it is.

style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">I have wanted her more than anything else I can remember. Well anything more than in the last decade. Other desires have faded in time but this feels as strong as the day we met.

She leans over the bed and I can feel the heat from her body, I gaze up my eyes leak out a tear.  "Mr Wilson," she says too loudly, "Have you had your tablets? Are you ok?" I nod deflated and she plumps the pillow and leaves.

style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">Lying still, half way between sitting and lying down, propped up to aide my breathing and I wish I could haul myself upright, the strain on my neck is making my head ache.  But I stay still, what else can I do?

style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">The room is quiet, outside I can hear other people shuffling about, someone downstairs is coughing, a hacking
cough that sounds like he is harvesting a lung full of potatoes. 
But in here it is quiet. I wish she had put the radio on.  I can't abide the television, she always leaves it on game shows and soap operas, which although they are the preferred choice for most of the residents, I despise. I am not an old woman and I hate that soulless drivelling mind candy.  What I really miss is music: it is so rare to hear music here.  Countless TV's blast away the isolation in 30 separate rooms. Side by side alone and watching other lives through the window into TV land.

I remember the music the day I got married. The first song we danced to when we met, Gina, my wife, loved to dance. There was always music when the children were growing up. Sometimes the house was so full of sound it felt as if there was hardly room for me, I wouldn't have longed for peace if I had know how long I would be left with only that.

I can hear my breathing all the time, but beyond that just scuffling and mumbling as the residents of Sunny Court fumble around.
Surely we would all feel better with some music on!

class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">She comes back in and as I am imagining her slipping out of her uniform and under the covers with me, she wipes my chin and pulls down my pyjama top and the blanket up. I have to face it my body probably repulses her. Hell, it doesn't thrill me either! Disintegrating on me, how low down can you get?
Deserted by your own body.

style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">The sun is shining through the window and pooling on the floor at the foot of my bed. I long to lie down there and feel the sun and air on my skin, no more pyjama's and fusty dressing gowns.  Naked and relaxed.

class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">
A week has passed now, although little changes day to day for the residents of
Sunny Court.  Mr Wilson's heart beats softer every day, and his breathing is more laboured.  He finds it hard to rid his lungs of the stale air. He feels the fear growing as he realises that soon there will be no room for fresh air and the moth like motion in his chest will stop.

Which, as time has promised all along, it does.  And the tightly wrapped nurse will later tell his son that he passed away in his sleep.  But that isn't true; he felt it coming and he fought it hard. He wanted to stay, to live and feel vigorous again. He fought
so hard that when he left his body he didn't rise up as he was supposed to, he pinged around the room a like ping pong ball, than floated out
of the room resembling ball lightening, where he found what he wanted and stayed there. Sure it's against the rules, but as no one ever tells
us those rules who can complain when we break them.

class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">The nurse is back, she has pulled the sheet over his face and called the doctor and is
clearing belongings from the bed side table. She feels a presence behind her but when she turns it is just the home cat lying stretched
out at the foot of the bed in the sun.

style="MARGIN: 0cm 0cm 0pt">As she leaves it follows her out of the room. It follows her all day until she scoops it up and sits down to
pet it. She laughs as it buries its head in her ample cleavage and strokes it as it purrs madly. It isn't usually so affectionate, but today it is besotted.  She lets it get comfortable whilst she sips her tea and the cat settles down, exactly where he wants to be at last.