metaphors, pink elephants.

she sat perched on top of one of the larger cardboard boxes. it was one she had packed, her large, frantic sharpie scrawl announcing; DISHES. beneath that, she had apparently tacked on: “and old photographs/records.” he wanted to shake his head; her organization/pairing skills confused him. she was wearing a dainty, cream lace bra and a pair of his pajama pants. her tan from the summer hadn’t quite faded, and her hair  escaped down her back in loose, brown curls. it had been two years. he looked at her, and was still entranced. suddenly, she pulled her hair back into a tight knot in frustration. “i do not have it in me to start over anymore,” she told him. her eyes had darkened.

“it’s only our third move. it should slow down, i promise. and it’s not like we have anything tying us here.” he had been in the  midst of cleaning out the liquor/wine cabinet, but he stopped after pouring the last of some rum down the drain. he saw her start slightly as he did so, as if she was going to reproach him. “what do you want to do with all this? take shots of all our leftovers?”

she rolled her eyes. “i make homes wherever i go. maybe there’s nothing tying you here, but i grew roots and i can’t help it. i can’t do it again, the ripping, the tearing, the silence, the starting over.”

he gripped the counter. “you knew this would be our life when you married me. you knew it. i told you to not fall in love with a pilot; everyone told you not to marry an airforce boy. on our wedding, you told everyone you didn’t care where you went as long as ‘you were chasing that boy’.”

she pulled her knees up to her chest. the top of the cardboard was weakening under her slight pressure; he saw it begin to dip slightly. “i didn’t know it would be like this. i didn’t know you would be gone all the time, coming home late, leaving before i’m awake. i didn’t know i would always be leaving everyone and everything behind.” she sighed, and he did too. “you know,” she ventured, “it doesn’t have to be this miserable. we don’t have to pack another box. you can retire.”

he stared at her, went back to opening bottles and pouring them out. “retire? how are you so beautifully naive? do you listen to me at all,ever? retirement demands years of service, recognition. to leave now is called quitting, not retirement.”

“well who cares about recognition?” she replied. “i’d have you. we could find somewhere new,somewhere we liked, and stay.”

he threw an empty bottle into the bin with the rest. it clanked shrilly against the other glass. they both shuddered involuntarily. “you realize you’re asking me to give up my career, my future, and my dream.  what makes me happy. you don’t understand cause you don’t fly.”

“happier than me?” she twisted her ring.

he tightened the cap on an empty whiskey bottle, looked at her, threw it in the bin.