THREE KISSES
Three Kisses
Ma. Elena L. Paulma
T
hese mornings, Nina awakened not just from the cold that numbed her nose, but also from a deep sense of loss, of something missing or forgotten, the cause of which took her some time to remember, perhaps because she did not want to. The cold, although still unbearable, she had learned to live with, but this new sadness which greeted her even before she opened her eyes bewildered her, so that her first consciousness was always that of confusion.
On this her first morning back from the hospital, she wondered at how this bed she was lying on and the gray ceiling above her had remained unchanged. Slowly, so as not to awaken the sleeping man beside her, she turned her head a little so that her eyes just made out the closed door, next to which stood the walnut wardrobe, brought all the way from the old house.
Inside would be clothes, his on the left side and hers on the right, neatly folded and hung, carefully arranged according to their colors. Facing the bed was the window. Outside, the flower shrubs that lined the path toward the entrance of the apartment building would be covered with December snow by now, for the flakes had begun to fall last night as they were coming inside. The half-light of the early morning filtered through the coral blue curtains which she had chosen for this room, half-drawn across the window to satisfy both her need for it to be pulled back completely and his desire for it to be fully drawn. Ruben had packed the old beige curtains from the old house, but she had insisted that they buy new ones for the apartment.
Paulma
57
She turned her head away from him, sleepily aware of the hazy outlines of the nightstand to her left, on which resided a lamp and a small picture frame standing a little askew. She had dusted and looked at this picture so many times before that she could remember each detail even without looking at it. In it was a photo of a couple during happier times, the younger version of herself
Ma. Elena L. Paulma
T
hese mornings, Nina awakened not just from the cold that numbed her nose, but also from a deep sense of loss, of something missing or forgotten, the cause of which took her some time to remember, perhaps because she did not want to. The cold, although still unbearable, she had learned to live with, but this new sadness which greeted her even before she opened her eyes bewildered her, so that her first consciousness was always that of confusion.
On this her first morning back from the hospital, she wondered at how this bed she was lying on and the gray ceiling above her had remained unchanged. Slowly, so as not to awaken the sleeping man beside her, she turned her head a little so that her eyes just made out the closed door, next to which stood the walnut wardrobe, brought all the way from the old house.
Inside would be clothes, his on the left side and hers on the right, neatly folded and hung, carefully arranged according to their colors. Facing the bed was the window. Outside, the flower shrubs that lined the path toward the entrance of the apartment building would be covered with December snow by now, for the flakes had begun to fall last night as they were coming inside. The half-light of the early morning filtered through the coral blue curtains which she had chosen for this room, half-drawn across the window to satisfy both her need for it to be pulled back completely and his desire for it to be fully drawn. Ruben had packed the old beige curtains from the old house, but she had insisted that they buy new ones for the apartment.
Paulma
57
She turned her head away from him, sleepily aware of the hazy outlines of the nightstand to her left, on which resided a lamp and a small picture frame standing a little askew. She had dusted and looked at this picture so many times before that she could remember each detail even without looking at it. In it was a photo of a couple during happier times, the younger version of herself