Joshua, Farewell

He snuck over twice a week -- the nights he worked late shift -- and we thrashed about throughout the constant blizzards. That winter had set a record for snowstorms and below-freezing temperatures. But I couldn't have cared less. I was never ... cold for long. He was my warmth, my fuel.

I don't remember a lot of talking. His best efforts consisted of little sounds, his own barely audible language. It was mostly the looking up at me from beneath his bangs. It hurt him to try and put words together. All he could commnicate was in his eyes: Take care of me. I can't get that from her or anybody else. What more did we have to say? "Eighty-six the scampi?"

One night after we did it and were drying out on top of the blankets, he sat upright.

"The one thing is - don't ever tell anybody about this."

Well it was way too late to tell me that. That little pony had left the barn two weeks into our affair. What else was there to gossip about with my pals.

But I nodded.

"Especially her. Especially her."

As Spring finally broke through the icy suburban sidewalks, our momentum stopped. Nothing was really wrong. We had just stalled and I knew it wouldn't travel much further. So we coasted. We were still there for each other, just talking even less.

One day, I was standing in my kitchen ironing a shirt before the lunch shift. All of a sudden I heard someone running up the back stairs. Not running -- stomping. There was violence even in the sound of it. The Nazis had found our secret attic.

But it was no foreign militia. It was him. He burst through the screen door, and there was someone I'd never seen before coming at me. He pushed over the ironing board and the hot iron went flying and that's when I really get scared. I could see from the blood in his eyes this was not about some trouble at work, some bad news from home. This was about me. I took a step back. He came toward me and pushed me back against the wall. I felt the solidness of his shoulders as I tried to steady myself against his attack.

"She knows! Who did you tell? Who? How does she know?"

He words battered me. And then the final stroke.

"I could just kill you ---"

I believed he could. I didn't know if he would. I had never seen someone that enraged and that kind of fury was certainly never unleashed on me. I glanced peripherally at what I could hit him with if it came to that. He grabbed my shirt and pulled me in so close that he could have kissed me.

"Don't you ever - ever - talk to me again. Don't come near me. You've ruined everything."

He backed up without breaking eye contact but it was still not safe. I could feel it. He was just waiting for me to breathe before he came back to finish me. But I never breathed, and finally he left. As the door slammed I locked it after him.

He gave notice to the Manager, some bullshit about a death in the family, and left after the weekend. A week later, Emily left. I don't know what happened with them. I doubt if she could have given him what he needed, especially now that his secret had slipped out. There had been so much deception between us, a blizzard of lies. Lost in the raging winter storm he could never hear his own thoughts and sort through what was real for him, what was right.

But one thing was true. There was a death in the family.