The Sound of Your Voice – a short story

The door opens but you don’t come in. Not yet- preparing yourself. I can hear you, out there, whispering the words you’ve rehearsed. Your voice sounds like an echo from a half-remembered memory, and suddenly I’m sixteen again, sitting in some sweltering English classroom, watching as the sweat treks its way from your brow to your cheekbones, your cheeks to your chin, before slipping away and disappearing down the collar of your shirt. That was the year Mr Brunson’s clock broke and everyone complained, speaking of how the hour stretched out to eternity, but I never minded. I had other things to keep me occupied. Even now, I can’t tell you the plot of Great Expectations, but I can remember the smile you gave me on the last day of school as you left that classroom for the final time.

That’s how I think of our life together- a series of smiles, stares and hazy memories

That’s how I think of our life together- a series of smiles, stares and hazy memories.

Whispers in the hallway: “I can’t breathe when he’s near.” Sitting in the shade to watch you win some stupid football match. That moment when your eyes finally met mine. My face flushes. This, I never live this down.

Touching hands in the dark of a cinema hall. Bodies touching, late at night. The sliver of light let in from the window. The sound of the electric fan. My heart beats when you breathe.

Growing up. Sharing smiles across a crowded room. Thinking I could read your mind, guess every thought that came fleeting across your face. The feel of your skin against mine. White dress. White sheets. Stumbling for words. Promises that it’ll last forever.

You start a sentence but stop. Stop before you’re even halfway through. The silence stands between us. We’re never alone anymore

But nothing lasts forever. Summer ends. The leaves begin to drip from the trees- they’ll be dead by the time they touch the ground. Your hand hangs, separate and cold. Mine stays safely in my pocket. You start a sentence but stop. Stop before you’re even halfway through. The silence stands between us. We’re never alone anymore.

It’s so easy to describe being in love. The stars shine. The ship sets sail. The flowers bend in the wind. The volcano bubbles, builds, boils. Explodes. The rocks sweat in the sun. The world has been built to be looked at through a lover’s eye. How, though, do you describe the opposite? What words do you use? Can you compare the night’s sky to a face you thought you knew?

Now inside the room, door left open behind you, you stumble your way through your pre-planned speech. I sit slightly to the side and refuse to offer any encouraging words. My silence isn’t confusion, or shock- it’s not even anger anymore- I’m just tired. Frost coats the outside of the window and my breath comes out in plumes. You complain it’s cold. It is cold, and deep inside, I know I haven’t loved you for a long time.

You stop and sigh, “You break my heart.” I don’t reply- How do you reply to that?

You turn and leave, the door clicking shut in the lock behind you, its sound like the ticking of a clock.

I have watched you walk away for the last time.