The Dangers of Smoking in Bed

by Mariana Enriquez

She missed his caresses on her back, missed his laughing at her paranoia, his useless attempts to console her, the hours it took him to bathe, how he practically didn’t like to eat, the bones of his hips, his way of moving his hands when he talked; she wanted to look at his photos again and get jealous when he paid more attention to the cat than to her and to walk in the sun beside him in his ever-present sunglasses; she missed the early morning phone calls and watching him sleep and how he knew to stay quiet and how she got irritated when he stayed quiet too long and the mornings begging him not to leave and crying when he left even if he’d be back in two hours and she never, ever would have left him like that, no news, no goodbye, ungrateful, but what if he was dead because it was possible he was, no one had ever heard from him again unless they were hiding it from her, but how could they hide something like that when they’d seen her vomit blood from not eating, when they’d seen her biting her pillow until she tore the case, when they’d seen her hurting herself and drunk and waiting hours for an email with her eyes fixed on the screen until she had a headache and bloodshot eyes and was crying onto the keyboard, never going out and waiting for a phone call; they’d heard her say to hell with all that bullshit about out with the old and in with the new life goes on you have to get laid there are thousands of men out there you look great let’s go dancing I want to introduce ...