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A few minutes ago she had not been able to see the chair over by the door, brut now it began to loom out of the semi- darkness like the wreck of some old ship under water. Little tendrils of soft light were sneaking around the edges of the window curtains, spilling down onto the carpet, being soaked up in its dark nap.The young wife had been lying like this for several hours, ever since about three in the morning, staring into the blackness around her, unable to close her eyes. Sleep just wouldn't come, no matter what little tricks she tried, and she'd tried everything from counting sheep to some simple yoga mental exercises she had once seen demonstrated on television, but nothing helped. She just lay there growing tenser and tenser. It would have been bad enough to the young woman if it were just a matter of having drunk too much coffee the night before, or one of a dozen other simple causes, but she knew what was really the matter, why she couldn't sleep, and the knowledge made. I left her apartment shortly after that. I know what you’re thinking: she was throwing herself at you, idiot! Why didn’t you boff her brains out?! Not that easy. We’d spoken of love, and I could have proclaimed my undying devotion on the spot, but I’d been burned before. I needed time to think, and re-evaluate everything. A quickie was NOT worth the long-term devastation, not to me, not that evening. I saw her again the next day. All had apparently returned to normal. It was like that for a few weeks. One Saturday evening, much like the big one I’ve described, we were once again sitting, on my couch this time, smooching, talking, loving, when I felt the time was right. ‘Dana,’ I said, very softly, ‘would you be my wife?’ She leaned her head back, she was grinning as she said, ‘Wondered what took you so long.’ We kissed again, a brief peck. She said, ‘You know what today is, don’t you?’ I shook my head. ‘Thirty-two days ago yesterday, we had our little talk,’ she said, her eyes.
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