Stay in Sheets by Emily Macdonald
“Stay in bed,” I sing to you. A line from our favourite song.
“Stay in sheets,” you reply, and we laugh and tumble again, tangle in white cotton.
When my breathing slows, I lie back under your arm, eyes closed and watch a slide show of my own making. A movie of sunlight dancing on water, tall palm trees swaying against a pale crescent shoreline. The sea, I decide, is calm with a perfectly formed wave peeling left to right, rising with a clear glassy face before breaking in whitewash, clean and frothy as bath soap.
I take flight in my day dream and soar over the pristine beach where we walk on the crystalline sand and into snug tussocky dunes. I see silver fish darting through the aquamarine, a lone yacht with a laundered triangular sail and those waving palm trees, they’re beckoning to me.
At the end of the beach, I place a shack with a tufty thatched roof. Out front a few tables, shaded by a vine growing overhead, bursting with tangerine flowers trumpeting a heady scent, intense as incense.
I sit us there, you and me, and we drink cold white wine. We eat crab, or scallops or fat flakes of fresh snapper which now you will like. We squeeze lemon, tear bread and lick our fingers. I lick mine then I take yours and lick them instead.
I push our chairs back from the table, light lazy cigarettes and you won’t disapprove. I cast you as a man who asks questions and listens—with full attention—while I phrase my replies. You look into my eyes while I’m talking and murmur ‘go on’ when I hesitate.
A knot in the bedclothes pokes into my back. I arch and try to pull at the sheet, but your arm is heavy across me. I keep my eyes tightly closed but now I’m forcing the pictures.
We’ve finished the wine and in the vine overhead, sinewy stripes in black, coral, and white snake through the drooping bruised flowers.
I take us back to the beach, walking hand in hand. We cool our bare feet in the shallows, but a sharp wave smacks my knees. It throws me off balance. You catch me, but a little too late and the hem of my skirt is drenched by the sea.
I try to relax, try to take back control but my head hurts and I open my eyes. You’re restless beside me.
“Stay in bed,” I say, laying a hand on your chest to hold you there but already the sky is clouding, the sea is rising, the fish have darted deep below the darkening waves. And the palm trees are bending in a sudden wild wind like they’re shooing or brushing me away.
“Stay in sheets,” I say again though I know I sound like I’m pleading. You place a token kiss on my forehead, turn your back on me and rise from the bed.
Author's Note:
I go stir crazy if I’m inside for too long. I garden, I walk, I run (slowly). I love to swim. The sea always makes me happy. I grew up in Auckland, NZ, a city on a narrow isthmus between the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean. I yearn for a beach if I’m away from one too long.
Reading, of course, gives me great pleasure and I love sharing good food and wine with friends. And I’m a sucker for live music. I can’t resist the excitement and fellowship of a sweaty gig.
Quite a few of these elements have found their way into my story.
Emily Macdonald is published in anthologies and online journals. She is a Pushcart (Flash Frontier) and Best Microfiction (Raw Lit) nominee. She has shortlisted twice for the Bath Short Story award. Her collection of driving related stories, Wheel Spin and Traction, was published in November 2023 by Alien Buddha Press.
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