for one night

We are married. I am a writer and he is an archaeologist. Although we’re not together a lot, we love each other and we’re reasonably happy. I am starting my book tour in New York. There will be other stops: Portland, Cincinatti, Springfield, Detroit, Scranton, Winnipeg, Saskatoon. I still get nervous before each reading. He is off to his latest dig in Kamtchatka. It’s cold there and he doesn’t entirely want to leave. He tells me that he thinks I have it better than he does. We don’t have children but I think there might be pets. We have an apartment together somewhere, but I can’t recall where.  At night, all I remember is the perfection of falling asleep to the sound of no one else.