Afterwards

I rounded the corner and was taken back by the stillness of the parking lot. It was dark outside, a thin layer of frost covered my car reflecting dimmed lot lights. How long had I been in there?

I push the thought from my mind.

It was so quiet, even by the freeway there was no sound. Quiet, empty, silent. Like the room I had just left.

I push it from my thoughts, too.

I grab hand sanitizer first, pumping the cold gel onto my palms and rubbing it over my hands, wrists, forearms, under my nails. He was sick, I couldn't risk taking it back to the house. I count the seconds as it dries, like I had counted his breaths.

I push it from my mind.

I open the large trash bag, step into it and take off my shirt. My skin puckers in response to the nighttime air. The shirt drops with a soft rustle into the bag and I replace it with an even colder one from the car. My pants are next and my legs yell at me in protest as I slide freezing jeans over them. Socks and shoes stiff with chill...stiff...and cold… I had held his hand for so long.

I push it from my thoughts.

I tie the bag and throw it into the back of the car. I wait for the car to warm, eager to race away from here, terrified to drive with these thoughts in the back of my head. My stomach is sick, my eyes burn, my head hurts, my heart races.

I put the car in reverse, back out and then pull out of the parking lot. Am i leaving him behind again, he wouldn’t know, i don’t see the road through my tears.

I take a shower, message my kids saying he died, I ask them to let me sleep. It's 6 am. I don't think I’ve slept since then.