Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Wish Her

Emotionally speaking, it had been a long, arduous summer preceded by a long, arduous winter. Career moves and lack of moves, temporary changes in scenery, stagnant education and writing progress, and even the multiple flea infestations from their multiple animals. Worse, both of their professions kept them apart most weekdays. He, a struggling artist whose business acumen didn't make him feel better; rather, it reminded him of more lucrative and less undesirable prospects. She, a rising star in both the art and corporate worlds whose lack of perceived stability didn't excite her; rather, it reminded her of a childhood lost.

To put it simply, everything was draining.

Weekends, however, were a different story. Sure, they'd both bring their trials and tribulations to the dinner table, which often was merely an order out of steak or pizza eaten nonchalantly on a torn couch in front of the television, but the perks were worth it. He could smell her, and she could imagine her very own Bruce Lee or John Lennon in person. She rarely wore perfume, but the natural scent of her skin combined with the arousing scent of whatever soap she used never failed to turn him on. He rarely exercised or exhibited any musicality, but his fairly frequent diversions into pretending to do a karate chop or compose a song for her never failed to make her smile, and perhaps laugh.

He missed her smile. It was the very first thing that drew him to her. It lit up a room like a fucking bonfire... or an atomic bomb. He wished she was there to share it with him. He wished a lot of things.

He wished she was there to watch their favorite television programs, usually some hell-bent drama centered on off-kilter male authority figures who showed little regard for the authority of others, but were damn good at their jobs. He wished she was there, and his increasingly full DVR drive reminded him of his longing almost constantly.

He wished she was there to cuddle and coddle their pets, a menagerie of misbehaving dogs and ridiculously apathetic cats who never ceased to amaze or befuddle either one of them. He wished she was there so he could show her the new and interesting ways their lazy cat, Sagremor, found to use his master's body as a pillow.

But most of all, he wished she was there so he could touch her, hold her, and push her away half-jokingly when she complained he wasn't rubbing her shoulders the way she wanted him to. He wished...

He just wished she was here.

1 comment:

  1. I feel like something is, well, missing here. Between the paragraph that begins "weekends" and the one following it, did she leave? Die? Or does he just miss her in the "we are drifting apart sense"?

    Posted by Joe on October 28, 2008 - Tuesday - 5:23 PM

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