Winter With Emily

Emily is staying here tonight. She looks so adorable sleeping in my bed, wearing my Yankees t shirt for a night gown. The stillness takes some getting used to though. There's no movement at all, no rise and fall of the covers from the slow breathing of a sleeper, because Emily doesn't breathe. At first it freaked me out, but that was before I fell in love with her.

She's lying on her side, her hands clasped in front her almost like she's praying. My t shirt reaches almost to her knees. She looks so innocent, so much younger than her twenty five years. Or is it fifty? She died twenty five years ago, in 1982. I've asked her a few times how she died and she says she doesn't remember. I don't really believe her, but she's entitled to her secrets.

How did she know where to find me? I told her.

She came a couple of hours ago, maybe ten p.m. Casey didn't bark when she rang the bell, but when she came in he licked her hand and followed her around the house. When she sat on the sofa he lay with his head resting on her feet. He really likes her a lot.

We sat together on my bed and watched my vhs of How The Grinch Stole Christmas. She said it was her favorite, and she was overjoyed when she saw it sitting on my table. We sang along with all the songs and she recited all the lines for Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than two. She said that when she was alive it was her dream to play Cindy in the off Broadway production. I would have paid to see that.

When the dishes were washed and the animals fed I sat next to her on the bed and put my arm around her shoulder. I think I've finally gotten used to that feeling when I touch her, it's like touching an autumn wind. She looked up at me and giggled, and it sounded like wind chimes heard from so far away, under a full moon. I untied the black ribbon that held her hair back in a pony tail, took her tortoise shell glasses off and put them in the desk drawer alongside my own.

And now she's lying there, so beautiful and so still, with a smile so subtle it makes the Mona Lisa look like a clown painted on black velvet.

In a few minutes I'll turn this computer off and lie down beside her, wrap my arms around her and wait for the all clear, then kiss her goodnight.

And you want to know what the sex was like?

You're not ready for that!