happily ever after

This week, K. Syrah (http://www.shoesneverworn.com/about/) challenged me with “Unravel a fairy tale after the Happily Ever After.”  I challenged Bewildered Bug with “describe your favorite travel moment” and you can read it here: http://bewilderedbugs.blogspot.com/2011/07/my-favourite-travel-moment.html

Unravel a fairy tale after the Happily Ever After

She was wrapped up in the moment.  Literally, wrapped up in the soft, thin wool shawl and wrapped in his arms.  They stood that way for a long time, not able to look at each other, just standing so close and both taking the time to try to manage their breathing.  How could standing still make you so out of breath?  The heart-racing was taking over and the breathing didn’t slow down.  She didn’t know who moved first.  They were of similar height so the slightest movement brought their faces together.  She could feel his breath, warm and wine-drenched, as he stood there overtaking her brain and body by just being.  She had thought about it so many times, but those times didn’t come back to her now.  It was just here and now and happening and there were no thoughts but of her heart racing and her breathing and now his breath.

She moved in closer, touching their lips together, not really kissing, just nudging, and that was it.  Everything about her was moving closer to him.  The kissing was strong, all the energy she had put into slowing down her breath was forcing her forward through time with him.  He held her face in his hands and she wrapped her fingers around his and felt their kissing through her hands. 

It was too much and not enough at the same time, so she closed her eyes and lowered her head and pushed her forehead against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him to her.  The darkness was a respite from the surging everything and when she lifted her head, she was in her bed, taking in the room around her.  What happened?  She felt her face, searching for his hands.  He wasn’t there.  Oh my god, what had she done?  She sat up, lurching forward to push back time.  She shook her head hard – maybe it would all go away if she could shake it out of her head.  “No you didn’t, no you didn’t” was all she could think, the repetition becoming song-like and higher and higher pitched in her head.  Trying to swoop time backward, she waited for that vortex feeling of taking it all back. 

Only a matter of seconds later she came to and realized that no, she hadn’t.  It was just a dream.  So charged and passionate that it was hard to believe it wasn’t real.  But thank God it wasn’t.  No matter the passion, nothing was worth that feeling.

She looked over at him.  He was still sound asleep, snoring mask doing its magic.  Even sleeping, he looked haphazard.  He was in need of a haircut, an intervention and a month’s worth of exercise.  But this marriage; this life   - - it was the makings of each cell in her body.  There weren’t other options.  Okay, there were other options, she thought, again shaking her head hard to remove the recent dream.  There are always other options, but her mind and her body would collapse if the life they built came down to one passionate moment with someone else, even if it was as amazing as that dream.   Each day was a building block – just one block.  

Took forever to build that life and one act of passion, even a short one, would tumble the whole damn thing.  Bruise it forever.  Never to be returned to its normal state.  She knew more solidly each time she woke up from these dreams.  It was etched on her brain and heart because of that dread she felt.  That sucking in air as to back up time. 

Their marriage had started out great.  To this day, people still compliment them that their wedding was the most intimate and wonderful they’d ever attended.  The setting was idyllic, the partying so fun.  The 90 close friends and family wished them well and blessed them on their way.  With a start like that, how could anything go wrong? 

“Life gets in the way,” she thought.  What a common, unintelligent phrase.  An excuse.  How do you live like you say you will, like you think you will, the way you felt at the wedding or the honeymoon?  And just what is happily ever after?  Today, on this sunny warm morning, this version of happily ever after would be good enough for one more building block.

And we're Off . . .

This week, Staffani (http://www.iffyinklings.blogspot.com/) challenged me with "And we're Off."  This isn't an ideal topic for me, but I kept going back to it every time I thought of the prompt.  I challenged Kiki Harshman. 

And we’re Off!

What does it say about a person who buys pregnancy tests at Costco?

Sometimes I’m so frugal it’s odd.  Especially when I don’t know if I even wanted to be pregnant yet.  The concept was exciting.  We were happily married, had the cute ranch house in the suburbs.  Good jobs, great dog.  But really, Costco?  The other item on the check out belt was, of course, a king-sized bottle of white wine.  Not sure if I was going to cork it or not.

What does it say about a person who takes said pregnancy tests alone, in the middle of the day? 

Not a good idea.  Wait until the husband is home.  He may have convinced me that two positive pregnancy tests were enough.  But there were, after all, three in the pack.  Lined up, all showing that same line, there was nothing in the pit of my stomach that could turn its way around and believe that we had actually made a baby.

Was it bad that I lied to my husband to get him home early that Friday evening?

Complaining of a headache and something about the dog bothering me (???) I asked him to come home as early as he could.  As soon as he was home, I told him.  Same look I saw earlier in the mirror.  Was that fear?  Was that sadness?  Surely fear.  But then I saw his wheels turn and he smiled and assured me with his eyes that we would love this new adventure before us.

So did I cork the wine?

No, no, this isn’t a story about a woman who finds out she is pregnant without a whisper of a try and then drowns her fear in a large bottle of cheap wine.  Instead, I asked my husband to drive me to the bookstore in my pajamas and buy that terrible “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book.  I figured out my due-date.  I paced.  I did not sleep.  My husband, who  reacts to stress by sleeping, was snoring on the couch.  Good training for a new daddy, actually.  

And we’re off . . . . that night will always be remembered as some time spent on the high dive, looking down.  Knowing we couldn’t go back, knowing that what lay ahead was scary but also exhilarating.  I do admit that I long for those responsible-free Saturday mornings with the newspaper and overpriced lattes.  Or less laundry.  Or times with my husband that revolve around us instead of the kids.  But I wouldn’t trade that Friday night for the world. 

Only through karaoke can one get to heaven

This week, I was challenged by Brad MacDonald with "Only through karaoke can one get to heaven." Thanks, Brad, I think!  

She groaned as she heard the music down the block.  “Karaoke?” she thought sullenly.  The night ahead was going to be enough of a challenge without a bunch of drunks wearing fake courage, slurring and drooling into the microphone.  Maybe it would be easier if she liked to drink.  Or sing terrible songs to strangers.  Or both.

There was really only one thing she was looking forward to tonight and the anticipation had made her delightfully sick since she got the text that afternoon.  Taking a deep breath, she forcefully relaxed her face into a dull, bored expression, and swung open the door.  The music came through the floor and matched her heartbeat.  “Don’t look around too quickly,” she coached herself.  “Look surprised when you see him.  Then smile with your eyes so he knows how happy you are to see him.  Don’t let anyone else catch that first moment you have together.”  She had practiced it in her head so many times.  She never did feel like she got it right.  Always a bit too anxious to see him, then a quick nervous look around and a nervous pull of her hair over the mole. 

She saw him before the other six in their group.  Not that he was taller.  He was just radiant.  Whether he was engaging the group with his silly stories, holding his extra-long arms stretched wide or tossing his head back to laugh openly, he seemed to embrace everyone in the room.  When she saw him, he was sipping some clear mixed drink and nodding at her friend’s story, undoubtedly the same one she told all day to anyone who would listen.  He didn’t look bored, though.  He was engaged with the story -  nodding, smiling, focused.  She had to get that focus on her soon or she’d run out of breath. 

As she crossed the room, a wide woman in skinny jeans stood on stage, eyes closed, humming the first verse of “True” by Spandau Ballet just to herself.  Lame.  She seemed too entranced to open her eyes.  No one was looking at her.  Still, she felt embarrassed for this woman who seemed so exposed without knowing it.

“Hey!  Hey.”  Damn, too excited again.  She looked right at him but didn’t look away as planned.  He matched her eye contact.  She saw the look that she knew was only for her but it was quicker and more poignant than before.  Then it abruptly transformed into the look he gave all the others.  As she turned to greet the rest, she replayed the moment three more times in her head.  She knew she saw it.  And then he ended it so quickly.  Maybe he was already drunk.  But it was more, a harder look, with more energy.  But the turnaway, it was so harsh.  She felt like a punished child and ached to look at him again.  Instead, she looked down, folded her hands so she wouldn’t touch the mole.

She took her time blinking.  Made her aloof face.  Smiled at the conversations around her.  How long was it before she looked back at him?  Not more than two minutes, but it felt longer.  He didn’t look back at her.  They were all involved in the conversation, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze.  She stepped outside the safe zone and asked him a question directly.  Oh the coy was on now.  A bit of teasing about his drink being empty.  In just moments, she had lost all of the plans and was reaching out to him without hesitation.  And he didn’t return it.  She tried laughing louder and instantly felt dumb.  Once, she actually bobbed her head way sideways to catch his eyes and he smoothly moved his glance right across her face and onto the next face without even meeting her eyes.  She thought she felt the breeze as he looked on by.

Two of the women announced it was time to sing.  The worst of song titles were thrown up for vote.  She wasn’t part of the conversation, just laughed nervously, holding her breath until he’d look at her again.  There was no way she’d ever join her friends up on stage, but they were beckoning her anyway.  “Come on, sing with us.  Relax, you stress ball.”  She saw him laughing out of the corner of her eye.  As the women climbed on stage, he was clapping and hooted obnoxiously.  She took three large steps (was she running?) and met up with them as the last woman was climbing the dirty carpeted steps to the stage.  “Wait!  Ok, I’ll sing with you!”

The cheap lights confused her vision for a bit.  She’d start singing, pretend to be having fun.  Nod to the other girls as she mouthed the words.  He’d be watching, clapping along.  And then she’d have her chance to look down and get that delicious morsel she needed from him.  That warmth that spread down her arms when he looked at her with his chocolate brown eyes and held her gaze.  Her longing would be hidden in the spotlight.  Was this awkward foot stomping to the beat worth it?  Yes, he’d soon look up and she’d imagine his hands on her cheeks they stared at each other. 

Her friend yelped song lyrics into the microphone, making her wince, waking her out of her thoughts.  As they hit the chorus, he turned away to look at something behind him.  She actually took a step forward, sang louder.   She saw him reach up and back with his long arm, bathed in his white dress shirt, wrinkled from the work day.  When he pulled his arm forward, she saw her.  He kept his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him.  He kissed her on the lips in greeting.  They laughed, not at the singing, not at anything anyone else knew about.  They held their glance, small smiles still lingering.  His wife.  And there were still three more verses to go.