scar tissue

A muggy afternoon and we were laying around in bed, too hot to do anything else. Occasionally she'd get up to change the CD. She'd put in a Paul McCartney live album, and it wasn't helping the temperature in the least, but at least it became a way to mark the passage of time. It seemed to stretch on forever.

"Since when do you like Paul McCartney, anyway?" I asked, mostly trying to make conversation.

"Huh? Oh, uh. I guess I don't really. I just had the CD lying around."

Perhaps I was imagining things, but she seemed a little more distant, a little more withdrawn, after that. I didn't press the issue, but it started to bother me. I didn't know the significance, if there was any at all.

The CD came to an end after an eternity and she put on The Long Winters, and eventually I forgot about the conversation.