Gone

He watched the melting wax as the candles gently flickered, casting soft-focus shadows on the dining room wall. Every light in the house, along with the TV and the answering machine were turned off.

A Bach sonata, all but silent, floated through the house.

Three candles for three decades. One candle for each ten years of increasing solitude, seclusion and, although less measurable, peace.

She’d left while he was at work. Left without a word.

No note. No explanation.

He’d pulled into the driveway in the rain that Tuesday night, and called her name into the cold house. At first, he figured she’d gone to the store or a meeting or something. He learned the truth a couple minutes later when he walked into their bedroom. She’d taken every stitch she owned. She’d even taken the hangers. Exactly two-thirds of the closet was empty. His shirts, three pair of slacks and the same suit he’d worn to weddings and funerals for the past seven years, hung silently, well off center.

Her dresser was empty. It was apparent she’d taken the time to dust the dresser top. The dark mahogany shone softly. Her house key and garage door opener were on his nightstand—right next to her wedding ring.

She was gone.

The bathroom, clean as ever, held only his toiletries. She’d left 4 new, unwrapped sets of sets of matching towels, hand and wash cloths. Her shampoo, conditioner, moisturizer and toothpaste were gone. The trash can was empty.

She was gone.

He slowly walked through the rest of the house, noting the holes in his life her packing had produced. No blinking lights on the answering machine-- no notes on the refrigerator door. No smiley faces on the mirror and no coat and scarf hanging by the door.

He found himself in the kitchen, staring into the refrigerator. He took a tumbler from the drainer, filled it with crushed ice and bourbon. He studied the amber liquid and ice. Setting the glass on the counter, he walked into the dark front room and sat on the ottoman.

She was gone.

For the first couple days he sat in the front room waiting for her to come back. She’d cry, he’d cry and they would find some way to fix whatever was broken. He didn’t go to work, didn’t call in, and didn’t go to the store. He left the mail and the newspaper where they were. He just waited. Quietly, patiently, waited. He drank glasses and glasses of milk. Twice he’d risen to adjust the front window curtains.

It wasn’t like he was actually thinking about anything. He’d turned his brain off—or maybe it had turned itself off. Still, when he closed his eyes and was still, she floated around the edges of his consciousness, but would evaporate if he tried to actually picture her.

The kid who delivered the paper was the one who first made him start living again. The boy kept politely knocking, until he was forced to stand up and answer the door.

The kid said he needed $6.75 for the next two week’s paper. His wallet was on the kitchen counter. He gave the kid a 10 and closed the door in the boy’s face.

He looked at his wallet. She’d given it to him for Christmas a couple of years ago. It was black, smooth and felt different. He opened it a saw that she’d taken every picture of herself out of it. She’s taken the three notes she’s written to him. He’d kept the notes in his wallet since she sent them to him in Vietnam. They were worn, faded and soft with the years.

He felt he was moving into something here… something new and hard.

Mostly, something hard.

She had taken careful steps to completely erase herself from his life. He walked through the still house once more, looking for any part of her left behind.

Nothing.

Not even an echo. Not so much as a whisper.

Nothing.

After three days, one of the guys he worked with stopped by to see if he was OK. He jumped when the doorbell rang, but slowed a step when he’d seen who was at the door. He made a feeble excuse about having the flu and said he’d be out the rest of the next week.

He closed the door and returned to the front room.

He had been embarrassed to admit that she’d left him.

With a start, he realized his biggest embarrassment came from not knowing why she left.