Reunion

She woke up in a familiar room in a familiar bed…the sun just a bit of orange gauze through the blinds on the window.  Her stirrings were slow as she extended her full length beneath the sheets, stretching and finding the cool parts at the bottom of the bed.  She heard the slight squeal of the wooden stairs as somebody descended…her mom, perhaps…or a brother or sister.  She couldn’t tell but it was one of them as they were all here…a place that she supposed was home but from a long time ago.  It felt different now…probably because she felt differently too…it was a warm comfort, as much as the weight of the linens upon her now…she reached slightly to the desk beside her where a piece of paper was creased and folded.  It was of sturdy stock, almost like parchment and she held it now, her finger rubbing alongside it, feeling the rather rough edge.  From below she heard the sounds of a morning being constructed, the bright bang of a pan and the scooting of chairs…the first scent of coffee invaded slowly and she sat slightly up in the bed, pulling the pillows together behind her.  His tee shirt was loose around her, and she pulled the cotton up and could barely make out a bit of his scent.  It smelled of an evening, some smoke from the bonfire and she inhaled slightly.  The sun was yellowing, the room changing slight colors and the noises downstairs were growing louder, the clear drones of conversations, a cup being set on a table and it sounded like some of the kids were now joining the fray as a few peals of laughter were heard.  She unfolded the paper, again wondering why he had bothered to type it…his answer had been “because you cannot read my writing.”  She smiled briefly at that, her hair falling a little in her face and she brushed it away.

I dreamed of you last night…I dreamt of you.

It’s a rare and distant chance to see you in my sleep, to be sweetly and gently aware of you and let everything blur behind it.

It is always hateful waking…the pull of you away and the sudden realization of a day starting without you in it…I rage at the sun, the early sky, holding onto the silk memories of your face as I try to fall back asleep, willing myself to dream of you, to see you.  To be here now with you.

It is a sweet reunion.

 

Below she heard somebody ascending the stairs and then a knock on the door.  She folded the paper and set it beside her. 

She got up, answering the door with a slight smile and began her day.

 

First Drink of an Evening

The first drink of an evening was often how he liked to imagine the progression of her against his mind...the slight anticipation, the comforting expectation...the first sweet moments that dulled the day, erased sharp edges and warmed him from the very first kiss of the glass against his lips. 

After a day of chores, the mundane...people, slightly annoying decisions...the taste of bureaucracy, and the lack of unmoving moments in a chair in an office...that first tumble of ice into crystal was compelling...a clarion call to hurry the mind and shift to a different place. 

And while that implies an addiction...well, I guess it just may be. 

But in a good way...a welcoming way, familiar.  Holding hands, a remembrance.  Quiet moments spent together with barely a noise.  These were the arc of thoughts as the arc of an arm brought a drink to his mouth and he savored the first bright tastes of the drink.

The drink was a toast to her...unspoken, silent but completely elaborative and deserving.  He simply toasted the way she made him feel...and that feeling was quietly and subtly the same way the first drink of an evening made him feel.

And the irony is that the second drink, as much as the first one made him feel that agonizingly glorious familiar way she made him feel...started to remind him that she wasn't there...and that the dulling soothing powers of the alcohol were patching up pieces of him that she had plucked from him and kept.  With the crushing weight of her distance slowly numbed by the distance between his drink and the next one.

Slowly, like watching the way an evening turns from its blue tones to grayish ones...and then you turn and it's black outside.  That first drink now a memory...but she remains blazing and on fire in front of him despite his very best efforts to let her slip coolly into the evening instead of burning that part of him that remained untouched by his best efforts to not let her linger in his mind.