J's alarm went off this morning, early.
I felt the bed shift, fluttered my lashes open to see him curl towards the foot of the bed for a wordless conversation with our cat.
I shut my eyes again. But the baby insisted I get up and have a pee. I kept my eyes half-shuttered, wore my drowsiness like a blanket until I could get back to bed.
I drifted off.
...something about solder. "You could use the acid core. Then you wouldn't need to worry about flux."
"It'd be nice to pack less."
"You don't want to breathe it in. It's toxic. That's why I don't keep much of it around."
I looked through my supplies.
"You've raided my stash already, haven't you?"
His lips curled. He flicked a finger towards a bag or two, mixed in the array of supplies lining the long folding table.
"Uh-huh. I don't think you need all this."
It'd be hard for him to carry...
..."Why don't you hug me, before you go?"
He wrapped his arm around me, snug.
I ran my arm down his back, towards the stumps of his legs.
He does so well. How can he do all he does, without legs, without an arm?
...wait. Wait. When did J lose his...
I woke up.
I listened for the sounds of J getting ready for work.
Nothing. He was already gone.
J... no, J has legs. He has both his arms.
I had to consciously bring forth images in my mind of my husband... tall... long stride... two arms flung against the pillows while he slept...
Dreams aren't prophesy.
No.
And even when he had only one limb, he was holding me with it.
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