Their Cat

The sunlight is fleeting. Maybe the sun thinks if it disappears, so will their conversation, and maybe they'd leave happy. With the new darkness save the exposed and dying lightbulb, they sit across each other at the dinner table. Her head tilts upward, then quickly down when she sees their head still focused on their shoes.

Little does she know they want to look at her. To see her eyes, all brown and likely filled with tears. They used to wipe those tears for her. Used to. But "Things change" she had said those weeks ago. And things did. Moving out they could only wish to wipe those tears for her. Now they rub their knees slowly, noting the scuff marks on the floor from all those times they rearranged the furniture. They want to look at her, and say how she completed their life, and say they will do anything to have her by their side again.

She looks at their hair, a long blonde braid, missing the hair clip she gave them for their birthday. It was light blue, and was always with them. It was in every photo of them, every memory. And how she wishes for more memories with them. She wishes she could make the words they said go away, and so now she says nothing. Maybe she'll make another mistake.

If she begins to speak maybe they'll jump in to just get this over with and take the cat. Their cat, Star, black with white paws, had grown used to her apartment. The couch is now decorated with claw marks and fur, and she will miss vacuuming it while Star watches from her bed, intent on directing some sort of curse of the vacuum, his pupils expanding, his tail whipping back and forth. As if Star could sense her reminiscing, he slowly walks between her feet, and rubs his head on her calves. And finally her tears begin to fall.

They hear her breath hitch, and they finally lift their head. It is their strongest instinct to reach over and hold her hand, and say everything will be okay. Instead they watch her mascara begin to run, and notice Star at her feet. Star was winding between her feet but is now still; sitting motionless with his full attention on them. They look into his green, owl-like eyes, and see what they need to do. They knew it all along, but simply couldn't muster the courage. They remember their neck brace. The fact they cannot speak. The fact they had been reckless and stupid and had made her worried. Star jumps onto the table and stares at them. He lets out a small "meow" and the noise startles both of them. Five more seconds of staring and then Star disappears down the hallway.

Finally their eyes meet, her eyes then falling to their neck, then looking upward to try to prevent more tears from falling. She reaches up to wipe her eyes, and when her hands come back down to rest on the table, their hands are already there for hers to fall into. Her heart skips a beat, forgetting its task, and she looks down to see their hands, bandaged still, but looking better, holding her own. Their eyes meet again and she finds tears rolling down their cheeks. She'd never seen them cry. Not once. Slowly, she reaches up and wipes their tears, and a look of shock crosses over their face, before it melts into happiness. Their face softens, and they reach into their pocket, pull out a post-it and pencil.

She watches as they scribble, and notes their irregular breath, and the shaking of their leg. They slide the post-it to her with a shaking hand, and she looks down and reads the words: "I'm sorry, and I don't want to go". She looks up and gives them a face that says she feels the same.