They played these games in bed at night when they thought the other was sleeping. Backs to each other, feet occasionally touching, they’d speak in complete silent conversations with themselves; talked on the inside, mouths never moving, just quiet.
And, he no longer knew what she wanted from a man. Used to be she wanted some kind of American myth. A Marlboro man. Something that would stand the test of time. This long tall drink of water that would stay silent. Not let her know what he was feeling. Just be there to hold her hand in church on Sundays. She wanted a quiet man. That’s what her daddy was.
She’d lay there throughout the night. Lonely. Cold. Never enough blankets to cover her. Now she craved warmth. More than anything she wanted this man to turn into someone she could talk to. Wanted some kind of understanding from him. That was her dream now. To have that. She mumbled in the dark.
This man of her’s. Wanted Jane Russell. A woman with fire in her belly. Some woman who took care of his needs. He’d lay there dreaming of Jane Russell in that haystack rollin’ ’round with the tight top on. That was his dream. Lay on his side wonderin’ what that’d be like.
Come morning they’d remnain in silence. Each one displeased with the other; with themselves. They never wanted this; this silence between them. They wanted vacations to Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon. To ride horses down paths towards streams to take a dip into. That’s what they wanted. It’s amazing how things change.