Liminality

Each night, at precisely 9:00 pm, he turns the television off – click – then shuffles to bed.

“I was watching that.” But 36 years had rendered her invisible.

They’d faltered and cracked under the colossal strain of marriage. They’d built armor with TV, ear buds and cell phones.

Would he miss her? Truthfully? Maybe.

Beyond the door, the midsummer light retreats while streetlamps cast a phosphorous glow. The house gathers itself and prepares to expel her.

Her knuckles flex against the handle of her suitcase. She steps across the threshold and disappears like the fading sun.

Laurie Swinarton is a reader, writer, and loose-leaf tea aficionado. She's currently researching her great grand-aunt Louise's 1919 travel diary and has recklessly decided to recreate Louise's 7,000 mile journey in the new year. When not writing, Laurie's sipping tea and plotting ways to escape her day job. Tight clothes and bras make her cranky.