Waiting To Speak

I ran into my friend, S. when I picked Claire up from a Saturday cooking class. We leaned against the wall in the small classroom and waited for our girls to finish up. 


"How's the writing going?" I asked.
S. looked at me. Tired eyes.
"Well, I've had this character sitting at a kitchen table for the last ten years," she said. 
"Ten years?" I say.
"I can see her at the table. The window's behind her. Her fingers are wrapped around a cup of coffee. She's been sitting there so long the coffee's turned cold. Her fingers are numb and she doesn't even realize it. There's a man there too. He is coming down the stairs. He's about to walk through the doorway to the kitchen. You know how you can feel when something's about to happen? The man knows something's about to happen."
"What's about to happen?" I ask.
"I don't know. She hasn't told me yet." 
"Does she have a name?" 
"Nope. She hasn't spoken yet. I'm waiting for her to speak."
"Wow. Ten years? I wonder what she's going to say?"
"I don't know. Ten years is a long time." S. says.


The girls came over with tupperware containers full of cake and apple crumbly. We hugged goodbye. 


I keep thinking about the woman in the kitchen.


Ten years is a long time not to speak.


What have you wanted to say for ten years?