Not A Word

She didn't say anything when I told her.

'It's over,' I said. 'You're moving out today.' That damn song started up in my head. She didn't even have a rubber duck.

Never did say much. I liked that about her. Rare quality in a woman, silence. She had a stillness too. Except sometimes, when being still wasn't any fun at all. Come to think of it, she wasn't completely silent then. The first time, seven years back, she surprised me with what she said – and what she wanted. I liked that too.

We met at church. Four small towns ago. This town is small too, only two churches, both Baptist. One on the other side of town is the Negro church. Ours is bigger, but I bet theirs is more joyful.

We've run out of towns before... This time? It'll be just me.

Change your name, another mail-order certificate. Another 'burg.

She was light. Out of the chair and into the carpet. Out to the car and into the trunk. The car started first time. I looked in the rear view mirror and remembered how much she'd liked that clerical collar, when her legs were around my back.