MOMENT OF YOUR TIME. | By: Terry Collett | | Category: Short Story - Reflections Bookmark and Share

MOMENT OF YOUR TIME.


Time at the moment is pretty fluid it wraps itself about you like a warm fur coat and snuggles close to you the minutes ticking ever so slowly the seconds taking their pace like wrinkly old folks crossing roads and the cigarette lit and you drawing in the smoke the inhalation a big thrill a big relief after the kids are off to school and Buckís out on the road with his job and all and you just wanting the moment to be prolonged beyond the usual process of time wanting to be able to stretch out and just take in the moment now the scent from your skin the cigarette smell the nicotine the smoke the sounds of the birds outside the window the sounds of the traffic along the back road the ability at that moment to just lounge there and feel the chair beneath your ass the hardness of it the smoothness of it as you move your ass back and forth and taking another drag on the cigarette you want to heave it back into your lungs and let it settle there let the smoke filter into your head† and heart and soul and if Buck was there with you and not on the road trying to sell those darn brushes and brooms and washing junk you and he could make out up in the bedroom and not have to worry if the kids came in or overheard or you could be on the floor in the front room and making as much sounds as you darn well liked and not having to think of the kids saying whatís up Mommy Daddy hurting you again? Thinking of that time when you and Buck were going strong and you guess the noise was getting kind of loud and little Pips comes into the semi dark and says Mommy are you ok? Whatís happening? And you had to hush her and read her a story until she had gone to sleep again and Buck had gone to sleep by the time you got back and you were left heated and wanting and him asleep and you burning for it but now you are alone with the smoke and the scent and hard chair supporting your butt and remembering the day a few weeks back when that salesman came to the porch selling hardware and giving it the hard sell and you the eye and looking beyond you wondering if there was anyone at home apart from you and you looking at him thinking what would he be like if he and you made it on the sofa the flower patterned sofa that you bought with Buckís motherís money she left us and wondering if he had it in him after giving you the big sell and the usual yak but you pushed the though out of your mind as pips was home from school that day having the shits and if she hadnít maybe you might have but that was that and you didnít and he didnít and you didnít even buy a single pot from him not so much as small knife and coming back to the moment to the cigarette between fingers the smoke being blown into the air the smell the scent the feeling of being alive the sensation of being free yet not free of being at ease yet uneasy and thinking if only Buck was here if only heíd taken the day off and wondering what to do for the rest of the day apart from the chores apart from the usual day to day things and wishing that the salesman would ome by today wishing that heíd call in and maybe you say to yourself just maybe that darn sofa that sickly flowered sofa could be could be soft against your naked butt and he making it out with you and him yakking about pots and pans and the hard sell and you not caring a figís skin as long as you had company and he was pretty good but he never did and you never did and the smoke touches the ceiling like grey fingers reaching for the sky and you sitting there smoking waiting for the why.

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