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❁ུ۪۪
It was just a smear of red. But the fiery tint on the edge of the paper was so blatantly a stain of lipstick, and Wilhelmine hardly even glanced at the words that Heinrich had spilled out with such restrained vulnerability. Derived from that streak of color was all that she needed to know. Her only son, the one that she had once toiled away at work for, had found someone new.
The realization stabbed at her gut with such ferocity, and her heart was capsized like a sailboat in a cyclone. He did not need her. Everything that she had done, every beat of sweat and every sleepless night, all to waste.
Though we know that he had not done such a thing, Wilhelmine jumped to conclusions based on her perception of reality, not the truth. Her eyes were black pools of emptiness, swirling with the toxins of solitude. Such an infection spreads easily in isolated people, for they are most susceptible to the impressions of renunciation.
Her reaction might seem irrational and ludicrous, but do not forget that any assumption can awaken buried emotions. Just the thought of losing Heinrich forever dug up the feelings that Wilhelmine had tried to bury when he moved away.
So naturally, she tore the letter to pieces. She could not bear to read the lines that were surely the last he would send to her.
Communication is a vital part of maintaining relationships. And yet, it was her fit of anguished self-pity that tarnished the already-struggling bond between mother and son. So maybe that bit of resentment towards herself was deserved.
•••
Heinrich walked home briskly, a pair of pants that he had forgotten to pack tucked snugly under his arm. More than three weeks had passed since he stuffed the muted contents of his heart into an envelope and sent it off to Germany. Three long weeks without a reply.
Marjorie had already gotten back and had begun to pore over the pages of a novel when Heinrich finally arrived. "Hello again," she said with a laugh as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
"Hi," he replied, glancing at the muted blue shape in her hands. "New book?"
"Yes, I was just about to start it. Do you want to go out tonight for dinner?" Acutely aware of the informality of her ordinary grey dress, Marjorie shifted the collar, suddenly wishing that she had kept her work uniform on. It felt too plain, too dull for an outing.
He nodded and smiled. "Sure, that'd be nice. Where do you want to go?"
"I know a place." In that moment, she let go of the stress that been ingrained in every inch of her skin like a bodysuit of anxiety. It was clothing she never removed, for it was a part of her. The ocean inside of her reached such a strange point of placidity, and she felt as though her clouded goggles had been removed.
Tying her hair back with a long yellow ribbon, Marjorie killed her insecurities. She reminded herself that every day should be savored and that she should cherish each moment with Heinrich, for the future could only hold more adverse news. Better to have those few months as good memories rather than spend them pondering over what would happen next.
