The Separation Nine

The Young Woman

The Young Man

One Question

“Closer!” the judge said, forcing a thin smile,

“I don’t want to get a crick in my neck talking to you two.”

Standing side by side,

their arms and hands but an inch apart;

as in a field of radiated energy,

as though touched by static electricity,

the ions of each were felt by the other

and both foreheads prickled with sweat.

Turning his attention to the array of smoking paraphernalia on the desk,

taking his time,

—letting the two stand closely apart—

the judge selected a pipe from the rack,

rooted the bowl with a tool,

then opened the lid of the humidor and,

taking a pinch of tobacco,

stuffed and tamped it into the bowl of the pipe,

struck a wooden match and sucked the tobacco to life.

Looking at the two through the haze of aromatic smoke,

“Young man,” he said, “here in court,

in this room you must answer honestly!

So let me ask you just one question!”

Stopping, sitting back in his overstuffed,

leather wing chair,

taking another deep draw on the pipe,

tilting his head back, exhaling,

he watched the grey smoke swirl over his head.

His eyes coming forward again,

The judge forcibly asked,

“Do you want to see your wife in the arms of another man?”

“No!”

Shocking himself with the vehemence of his soul ­felt answer.

“I do not!”

Her body stiffening,

the young woman’s head snapped to the right.

“And you,”

pointing the stem of his pipe at the young woman,

“do you want to see your husband in the arms of another woman?”

“No, sir!”

No less shocked,

“I do not!”

One arm lifting upward,

the weight of their inadvertent,

honest answers moved the other arm of the scale downward,

and suddenly each felt the substance of their love.

Their two hands came together,

their ten fingers entwined

and the touch of each to the other was as soft as fresh fallen snow,

as solid as a rock of granite.

“Okay, then,

I want you to stop wasting the court’s time!”

The judge said, feigning anger.

“I want you to get the hell out of my courtroom

and I never want to see you here again!

Understand?”

Mere seconds ago each had felt but loathing for the other.

Now both hearts swelled to near breaking with renewed love.

“Do you understand me?”

To be continued

©November 8, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman