Six Years Gone

I sipped a hot cup of coffee, reading over the daily mail on my laptop. Another offer for me to appear as a guest host on The Voice. I clicked my nails, agitated, across the keys. No amount of money was going to make me do it. No means no.

“Honey, don’t forget Jasmine’s appointment today.” My wife Julia called from the bathroom. I clicked harder. It was my bad genes. That’s why she was sick all the time. Stupid chromosomes.

“I won’t.” I said.

“I’ll be home around five-thirty tonight, if all goes well at the office. Did you want me to maybe pick up something for dinner?”

“I went grocery shopping yesterday.”

“Did you?” She asked. I stopped typing and turned around in my seat, staring at her. She was dressed in black dress slacks with a black blazer, gold buttons adorning the back of the jacket and on the sleeves. Why did she always dress like she was ready for a funeral when she went to work at the firm?

“Do you ever listen to me?” I asked. My eyes flicked over to the television screen. Morning news trash.

“Of course, I just have so much other stuff on my mind right now.” She said, and looked at me for the first time. “About the Voice…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I said, turning back around.

“I think it’ll be a great opportunity. You love singing, and it would be nice to see you singing somewhere else besides around the apartment…”

“No thanks, Julia.” I said. I heard the crowd screaming on television, and my wife’s drab heels click across the floor, sitting down on the bed.

“Tom doesn’t seem to mind it.” Her voice was clipped at the end. I turned when I heard the guitar strings. My wife sat at the edge of the bed, and in front of her on the television screen was my brother and his new band. He had on sunglasses, and his hair was trimmed short. He had on a blue jean jacket and jeans that were ripped up at the knees.

“I’m staring at a broken door, there’s nothing left here anymore, my room is cold it’s makin’ me insane.” He sang. My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I listened to the lyrics. My wife turned around, apology written in her eyes.

“I still think you sing it better.” She said, sullenly. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No point. Et es wie et es*.” I said. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, running her fingers through my hair like she did when Jasmine or Sophie was upset.

“Oh baby, I love it when you talk German to me.” She said half-heartedly. I smiled at her dorkiness. I turned my head kissed her, and for a moment it was just me and her in the universe. She let go, touching her nose with mine.

“I’ll be home soon.” She reassured me.

“I’ll be waiting.” I kissed her. “Ich liebe dich.”

“Ich liebe dich auch.” She answered, before leaving the room. A moment later, I heard the front door shut quietly. I sipped my coffee.

“Together we’ll be running somewhere new, and nothing can hold me back from you, through the monsoon, through the monsoon.” Tom continued to sing with his new band. Without turning around I flicked the remote in the general direction of the T.V. Tom’s voice was cut short, and I was in silence. I got up and walked to the window, opening up the light blue curtains. It was a little after seven, and New York City was just beginning to wake up.

“My twin is somewhere in this city, right this moment.” I thought to myself. Even without the television, I always had that feeling when we were close by. It would make me crabbier with everyone, more anxious, and more alone than ever. For the first time in a long time, I really wanted a cigarette. I rubbed where my watch was on my left arm, tracing the scar marks up my wrist on my arm. There was past, whenever I needed to be reminded of it.