Part 4 of 6 by Peter Wild

You’d changed out of your clothes, out of what you were wearing at the dog track (standing there, exposed in the doorway, dripping and expectant of imminent anguish and earache, I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was you’d been wearing) into your PJs and you were lounging on the couch with a half-filled glass of red wine and your book, The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters. I cleared my throat – not to attract your attention so much as to actually ensure I could speak without the cold and the rain and the walk and all of that getting the better of me – which, apparently was all the prompt you needed; you looked up, mouthed the word Oh, and sort of clambered (in a way that was at once both beautiful and ungainly) to your feet, placing the glass of wine gently on the floor and leaving your book to flutter closed. I wondered if you’d flipped your lid and considered making a run for it – leastways until you got to me and took my hand (the hand I’d slapped the kid with) to your mouth, kissing each knuckle in turn as you said, my – big – brave – man. You kissed my knuckles and you kissed me, softly, on the lips and then you said, Let’s get you out of those wet clothes. You said Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, I shouldn’t have left you, it was wrong of me and then you said the magic word: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what was going on (didn’t know what to make of the way you were behaving) but, as you led me by the hand up the stairs and to our bed, as you undressed yourself and slipped in besides me, as you gave and gave and gave and gave, for my sins, I didn’t care.


Peter Wild, author of Deerhoof, Part 3, makes his online home at Part 5 arrives on Saturday, March 24th.