Shelley's Letter to Howard

(from OPHELIACS ANONYMOUS)

SHELLEY:

It’s a letter in case I ever got the nerve to leave Howard. (Beat. Everyone is silent.) Okay... So... uhm.... (She reads. But eventually she doesn’t need the pages and it’s almost as if Howard’s there.)

Dear Howard,

Here we are. Inside and outside each other at the same time, tossing and turning, sweating bullets, the fitted sheet popping off the bed. But your eyes are vague and your touch feels distant. I can feel the bumps along your spine and I can see you looking through me, never at me. Where have you gone? What changed? Where are you, now, my love? Are you with me or are you gone again? Is it back with her? On the stairs where you fought? In the office you first kissed? In the bed where you slept? WHERE ARE YOU NOW, MY LOVE?

The ceiling becomes my friend on nights like these. I lay there, staring at it, silently asking my questions. Does it know where you’ve gone to? (Aside.) His body is sweaty and I can feel the heat. The constant ins and outs of the sex begin to feel like ticking away the days, or writing "I will not..., I will not..., I will not...," on a blackboard for all the world to see. (Back to him,) And I can sense your boredom. I can taste your absence. Jesus... I can see the space between my love and your lust.

We wait, the ceiling and I, until your breathing slows. You've turned onto your side. Should I turn, too, so that our bodies touch when we drift off in our little boats of sleep? Or am I over-analyzing the fact that you enjoy sleeping on your side? I dare not move because of your stillness. Have you fallen asleep? Or just left me again? Because, if that's the case, I need to get up, walk, move, pace, find some room to breathe because I am being stifled in this bed. I am DYING in this room. I CANNOT BREATHE HERE IN THIS SPACE BETWEEN LOVING AND LEAVING.

The blanket's to the side, thank God, as we're warm from our dull intercourse. The mattress is firm enough that I can slowly get my way to its foot, placing one leg on the ground at a time. Its solidity, and the coolness of the wood, feels great on the soles of my feet. I rise and freeze. Have I waken you? I can hear you snoring, though it's more like a breath or a very quiet groan. I take my steps to the window carefully and open it up. OH, the air is FRESH. OH, its chill feels so wonderful on my naked neck and chest. I've forgotten about you as I breathe in and out as hard as I can, sucking in all the oxygen possible, trying to find my way back to earth, my way out of this panic. And suddenly you stir. I turn and watch you move, finding comfort in the empty space in our bed, letting your body open and relax, no acknowledgment of my exit. Annnnnd, in that moment, I'm suddenly ready. Suddenly ready to leave because... I realize you've been gone all along.

No, no... It isn't me you touched. It isn't my sweat you smell, or lips you taste. I'm just a fraction of a greater whole. Something to fill your empty void. I just pass the time. Alas, the ceiling has never had the heart to tell me so. And so, I've got to go.

(Beat.)

I left him there. Somehow I mustered up the strength to walk out on him while he slept. Maybe it was burst of air at the window. (Chuckling,) Maybe it was the way he hogged the bed once I left it. Oooorrrrr maybe it was just time. I don't know... All I know is I was getting dressed. I tiptoed out the door and put my shoes on outside, giving my feet a second to feel the cold cement. And then I called Jane.