Sunday Shorts: One night, while you slept…
By Sarah Cate Anstey, Aug 14 2016 07:23AM
I tried on your name, for a moment, just to see how it would look on me. Seven letters, three vowels, four consonants, two syllables; a perfect fit. The right shade against my skin. Then I sneaked it back to you, uncreased. You never noticed.
While Saturday was named after Saturn; Monday, the moon; Sunday, the sun and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday the gods Tui, Odin and Thor; for the Norsemen, Friday was the luckiest day of the week. Named after their goddess of Love, Frigg, it was the day for weddings.
Your Name hangs in your wardrobe like a dinner jacket, only worn on special occasions. And those are as few and far between as you can make them, preferring your battered denim to a suit and tie.
Autumn, with its short days fully of fiery colours; a temperamental child.
Winter, cold and dark; always the mysterious stranger.
Spring, full of youth and vitality; an acquaintance, long forgotten.
Summer, with its drawn out days and warm nights, a welcome friend.
It hangs between us, the unasked question, although you don’t seem to notice. I keep the Reply safely hidden in a box, concealed in paper. While you are out, I unwrap it gently and, a covert Pandora, sneak a peak. Three small letters, but what a word! Full of potential, optimism and certainty. Then I shut the lid and put it back; lest, released, it wreaks havoc.
Sun chases Moon across the sky, dodging stars and meteorites in its wake. Earth runs its own race, always ahead of Mars, but trailing behind Venus. Never quite picking up speed, eternally trapped between headstrong lovers. Three hundred and sixty-five and a quarter – it’s personal best.
One evening, late July, we said “goodbye.” A simple word to sum up the past five years, but sufficient. You went your way in your old denim jacket, your name packed safely at the bottom of your suitcase.
I wrote my name I the sand, painted it on the sky and shouted it from the mountaintop.
© copyright Sarah Catherine Anstey 2016