Swing
I groan under his weight. Weathered wood creaks, double loop chains twist and strain. I hold tight to keep eye hooks from pulling out. Please don't swing, Bob. He's gotten heavier the last few years.
She comes out of the house. They used to swing together, whispering, caressing, kissing. I'm ashamed for being grateful she doesn't sit next to him anymore. Their combined weight would destroy me.
"Bob," she says, tired, empty. Love is an action and a chore, no longer a feeling and a delight. "It's time."
"Marla," he's exhausted from the weight of existence. He doesn't know how he got here, carrying twice the load any man should have to carry. He doesn't know if it's his fault.
Bob gets up, pushing against my armrests as gently as he can. "I'm sorry." He gives her a sweet half-smile.
Marla's eyes soften. Some feeling remains. Enough. "It's ok."
They walk down the steps to their car and drive off.
When they come back, he's wearing a plastic bracelet. He sits, out of breath from the short climb up the porch stairs. Wordlessly, Marla gets a cup of water, hands him a pill. He swallows it, and leans back, closes his eyes.
I sway heavily back and forth, I... know... I... know... I... know...
***
Bob loses weight, and his hair. He sits so Marla can shave off the rest. He looks pretty good bald. He's aged 10 years, Marla looks the same.
"Do I look like a bad boy? I've heard good girls like bad boys."
"Oh yeah, the baddest." Marla strokes his bald head gently, he can't see her smile, but we both hear it. She cleans up the hair and says, "Let's go."
She helps him down the stairs.
When they return, Bob moves awkwardly, painfully, Marla helps him from the car. They sit, tenderly. There's a space between them, just big enough for the child they didn't know they wanted and now they'll never have. The space looks insurmountable. But they reach out and hold hands. They cry. Marla rests her head on Bob's shoulder.
I sigh quietly the words unsaid, love... you... love... you... love... you...
***
Bob and Marla swing friskily, she's humming a tune and playing with his hair. It's grown back a different shade and texture, perpetually sexily tousled.
"Last chance for who knows how long," Bob murmurs huskily.
"We'll find a way," Marla kisses him with warmth. "It's time."
They bounce down the stairs together.
When they return, they open the door for a young child.
He looks scared, uncertain, hopeful. Bob gets the boy's belongings. A pitifully small bundle.
The boy looks around, searching for danger or safety. Then he sees me. "A porch swing! Can I?" He looks at Marla, at Bob.
"Of course Jake," Marla says. Bob just nods.
Jake runs up the steps and throws himself on me. I hold his slight weight easily.
I whisper what we're all thinking, know... love... know... love... know... love...