By Jessica Carroll
††††††††††† They had nothing to say to each other. It had been this way for a while now. He would come home from work, sit down on the couch and watch TV. She would do the same. Meals were cast in a Technicolor glow and any other activity was just a look or a nod away from the real entertainment.
††††††††††† The apartment was suffering. Its walls hadnít heard any real voices in weeks and the floor had lost its creak. The dog ran away. The cat moved out. Friends wanted to get together and play Yahtzee, but they had a different group of friends to keep up with.
††††††††††† And this is how things continued. Their life became a schedule of half-hour recurring plots and comedy hours. It was a rerun like no other with no second season in sight, until one night.
††††††††††† They were watching a midnight, mini-marathon, no different from any other night, until a laugh changed everything. She laughed from the bottom of her stomach, then looked at him, smiled and said, ďThatís funny.Ē
††††††††††† Those two words brought everything back; all of the long conversations about music and politics they had shared over meals, spending long afternoons cuddled together in bed reading aloud to each other. They never talked anymore. TV took all of their time. They had nothing to say.
††††††††††† But things had to change. After hours of contemplating, he called and cancelled the cable. Then, he dug through the closet and found their favorite book. After all, they had nothing to say to each other.