Yes. She said yes. Yes, please. And she’ll say yes again, every time. Not that there was any no left in her. As if she ever had “no” in her for Jim.
Everything else, but never no. Every refusal, every denial was just another unspoken yes. She never understood then how he heard anything else. Why her answers mattered when there was never any need for questions between them. And when there was, finally, still she never said no (never, ever said it). There was I can’t and I’m sorry and you have no idea and I can’t, and a final unspoken yes that wasn’t. And then, too soon, he was gone and too late, she found “no.” No Roy, no Mom, no Michael, no no no no no.
And then he came back. She felt him – she felt yes – approaching like an oncoming train. First the faint tremor under her feet, a pinprick of light in the distance. As the murmur swelled to a roar, yes became a weighted, tangible force that sliced through the inky black – a searchlight that threw all of her questions, answers, dreams, and fear into high relief. Her yes illuminated dark corners that were dusty and forgotten for so long. But away from her, he had also found no and the train was gone and she was left cold in the dark with questions and no.
But now, he’s asking, and she’s asking. And there’s a time for no, but months and years of no are done and there’s nothing left in him and nothing left in her but yes.
mcmuffins is the author of 2 other stories.
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