‘The sad stillness of a caterpillar slowly crawling over sand.’

He lifted his head, chewing on his toast as he stared at her. His expression wasn’t much to speak of and it could have shown many things. Bewilderment, confusion, apathy, despondence… When she stared back at him long enough to find her gaze blurring, the hazy face before her could have been mistaken for one that was sleeping.

‘What?’ he finally asked after taking another bite of toast.

‘The sad stillness of a caterpillar slowly crawling over sand…’ she said again. ‘I was thinking about when we first met, how we went to see our first film together and we missed the bus and it was raining. Do you remember that?’

The sleeping face took yet another bite of toast as she continued staring. She watched him chewing slowly, thoughtfully, as though the recollection of that night might be buried somewhere amidst the food he rolled about his tongue and teeth.

‘You were wearing that red coat,’ he said. ‘I remember that night. I liked that coat.’

‘I liked it too,’ she told him. ‘It was warm.’

‘Do you still even have that?’ he asked.

She blinked, the sleeping face waking up as her eyes regained their focus. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said softly. ‘It’s in the closet.’

He stared at her, about to bite into his toast when he stopped, realising she’d sounded sad. ‘I like that coat,’ he told her again. ‘You look good in it.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I was going to make a coffee if you want one.’

‘Yes, please.’

She left their small dining table and walked around behind the kitchen counter, unplugging the kettle so as to fill it up with more water.

‘We should have made that a thing,’ she said quietly, her words almost as much of a whisper as the water that fell from the tap.

‘Made what a thing?’ he asked her.

She looked up and again he realised that she seemed sad.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

He wanted to ask again but that want quickly fell into himself. He puzzled over their conversation for only a moment more as he ate the last of his toast. The next moment found him having his coffee as she sipped at her own, sitting across from him.

‘I love you,’ he soon said.

‘I love you too,’ she replied.

Their day passed in many odd but strangely familiar ways, odd only for the randomness of when these ways would show themselves. He’d brush his hand at her shoulder as he’d pass her at times. She’d smile as her fingers found his briefly, moments of hand-holding that never quite reached their end.

When the night came and they lay in bed together they held each other as they fell to sleep, but once deep in slumber they untangled themselves to shift to each side of their bed. It wasn’t ever a planned distance that they held each night, unless they’d been arguing, it was simply familiar.

This night, however, after they’d long been in bed, each to their own side like small nearby islands in the sea, the familiarity fell away and he found himself wide awake. He was facing the wall but straight away he could tell that the sea behind him seemed emptier, like a lonely horizon at his back.

He fumbled for the lamp switch and, blinking in the light, he turned on his side to find that she was gone from the bed. Sitting up, he scratched at his chest, letting his head settle a moment before he shifted out of the bed and left the room.

There was no sign of her in the living room, and the bathroom had been empty also. It was when he’d found his way to the kitchen, leaning on the counter, that he glanced across and saw the sand upon the small dining table.

He walked across and pulled out a chair, sitting down with his eyes trained to the small mound of sand. He realised that he must have set his gaze on one single grain when the caterpillar came into view – how else could he have missed it? Small and green, it had bright orange specks across the back that it arched up and down as it slowly crawled over the sand.

He felt the hot flush at his cheeks then the weight behind his eyes, knowing he might cry. Not yet, though, he thought, shifting the chair back as he stood to return to their bedroom. His expression was too much to speak of and it could have shown many things. Bewilderment, confusion, apathy, despondence. As he passed the mirror in their bedroom he paused, staring long enough at his reflection to see the same sleeping face that she had when his own eyes began to haze.

He turned from the mirror and went to their closet, rifling through the hangers holding shirts, dresses, jackets and coats. The red coat was gone and he knew that she had taken it, just as he’d expected.

She looks good in that, he thought to himself. And at least she’ll be warm, he also thought, deciding that he could cry now as he made his way back to the dining table to sit down before the sand. It seemed that the caterpillar had barely moved, but he knew that it must have. There it was still arching its back up and down as it slowly made its way.

He remembered it clearly now, that night they first saw a film together. Huddled together in the rain, he’d made her laugh when he’d suggest they throw out strange lines to pass the time, trying to outdo one another.

One of his had been “Green grumpy goblins groping gregariously in a grove”.

One of hers had been “The sad stillness of a caterpillar slowly crawling over sand.”

That was the one and only night that they’d passed the time in such an odd and silly manner. They never played that word game again in their seven years together.

‘She was right,’ he whispered, ‘we should have made that a thing.’

Waiting for his life to change and begin as something else, something odd but strangely familiar, he sat there and missed her and cried, watching the sad stillness of a caterpillar slowly crawling over sand.

#LoveStory #NotLoveStory #LostLove #Melancholy #HumanSpirit #Relationships #caterpillars #sand #RedCoat
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#brettjcole #shortfiction #shortstories #actuallyautistic #autisticartist #autisticwriter