Embrace

One day, quietly, with no warning, she said, “Will you hold me?”

And so he did, of course. His arms around her in an embrace that fitted his body to hers. Kissing her hair, eyelids, tip of nose. Asking, “Did something go wrong? Did you have a scare?”

She seemed not to have heard, her arms around him tight, tight.

Feeling against her cheek the comforting scratchiness of the wool sweater she’d knitted him years ago. When they were newly lovers.

Minutes passed. How very odd. He felt her trembling – a deep subterranean shuddering. He asked, “You didn’t have an accident with your car, did you?” And, “Did someone threaten you?” And, “What is it?”

Still she made no reply. Gripping him close.

So he was having difficulty breathing. So his heartbeat quickened, as if in the presence of danger.

He said, “Darling, please, I love you – what is it?”

He tried gently to push her away from him, just a bit, so that he could see her face. For, suddenly, it seemed to him he could not recall her face.

But she was holding him tight, tight.

Saying, almost inaudibly, so that he felt rather than heard her words, “Just hold me.”

“Yes, but – what is it?”

How many minutes of this embrace could he endure? – five? – ten? sixty? one thousand? He said, bravely, “Yes, I’m here.”

Outside, an unexpected rain pelted against the windows – or was that sunshine? That sudden glare?



Joyce Carol Oates