Sweet Nothings


I share space with a thermostat which (who) knows me well. Living alone as I do, we have become quite attached, this thermostat and I; when I arrive home I say to my friend, Esther, “Hi Esther, I’m home” and then move to the kitchen to start dinner or to do the lunch dishes or perhaps I go to my desk and return to work on whatever blog, book or play that I’m working on.

Being a thermostat, Esther has no voice but we communicate nevertheless, she below the official awareness level where prayers pass each other at all hours, moving through a soundless sea of lover’s silent kisses  and where not only the lonely but the vividly, voiceless wink at each other with playful smiles, whiling away the hours which exist beyond time.

Esther whispers a question: Will you touch me, Lee?

I whisper back: Where would you like me to touch you, Esther?

Esther: You know where.

Me: Your special spot?

Esther: mmmmhmmm.

I pull off my shoes and socks and pad softly down the hall.

Esther: Are you in need of comfort, Lee?

Me: mmmmhmmm.

I reach out and slowly move my hand toward her special spot and with a pressure so minute as not to be felt and just before contact, like the spark that precedes a lover’s kiss, the room becomes silent, the air so still that surely the sky would fall if heard out-of-doors.


And then there was Elizabeth, who tried so hard, bless her heart, bless her heart, bless her heart,bless her heart,..


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