It's getting colder at night. 52 degrees, but a Minnesota 52 that carries a whisper of winter with it. Something cold from the top of the world humming underneath the breeze.
She loved this time of year. She loved nearly every time of year. I think it’s that she liked feeling the subtle changes and since the world is always turning and the orbit is always advancing the changes are always there.
No matter how warm or cold it might be, Jill would always sleep buried under blankets. She wanted the weight and the warmth. I want to be cool. At this time of year I still have a window open and the ceiling fan on. I almost always came to bed later than she did. At this time of year, I’d get in as quietly and as gently as I could but I lack coordination and grace. Even in a dead sleep she’d feel the mattress shift and she’d find me. In a minute, maybe two, she’d have attached herself to me, dragging the big ass comforter from her side of the bed over me. I’d try to push the heavy covers back on her, kick a foot, a leg, an arm out from under the sheet...anything to cool off a bit. But I didn’t want to break the embrace, or I was torn, anyway. Hot and crowded though I was I loved the slow rhythm of her heartbeat. Hot and crowded I could still feel and hear the song of her breathing. Hot and crowded, I’d still nod off and wake up two hours later drenched in sweat while my soft little heatsource, still attached, slept deeply. I can remember plenty of times I’d wish she’d just give me some damn room. Drag that big ass comforter back to the other side of the bed.
The bed is cold now. My heatsource is absent. I can pull a blanket or that big ass comforter over me. I get too hot but somehow still can’t get warm. I don't need any more room. I wish I'd wake up drenched.
I miss her heartbeat.