a sixth new story...'anniversary'

So Julie said she did not want to live anymore.  We were in a bar, drunk as sin, on what would have been our tenth wedding anniversary.  ‘You don’t mean that’, I said, refilling my tumbler.  And I looked up and there were tears rigged in her eyes.  ‘This could have been our tenth’, Julie said, shrill emphasis on tenth, bottom lip beginning to tremble.  I bit mine, to stop the lump rising in my gullet.  Couldn’t speak for a whole minute.  Julie was staring at me, as if I was supposed to say something profound, searching me for an explanation as to why we were here.  I didn’t have one.  Except that I wanted to see her – nothing more, nothing less. I am a simple man.  I sunk my whisky in a single gulp, the lump in my gullet sliding back into the pit of my stomach.  ‘Julie’, I said.  She was on the brink.  ‘Julie’, I said again, uselessly plumbing my gin-soaked brain for something, anything.  Julie’s pretty features looked as though they were about to cave in.  I imagined a black, fleshy wound were her face remained, agonised, imploring.  I put my hand on her wrist.  Julie had been grasping tightly to her whisky tumbler for a full fifteen, as if her arm and hand were petrified.  ‘I care for you’, I said.  A big, gloopy tear rolled down her cheek. I reached out and let it come to rest on the end of my fingertip.  It tasted beery, and salty.  ‘We can see each other again’, I continued, uncertainly.  Julie clumsily dabbed her eyes with a scrunched up napkin in her free hand.  ‘Our tenth’, she said quietly, pathetically, her sad gaze returning to the floor.  It was then I did something stupid.  I leaned awkwardly towards her and tried to kiss her on the mouth, she didn’t present her lips, I kissed her on the teeth.