Coming up close
So I’m happy. How about you?
I know. It doesn’t make much sense to me either. By all accounts, I should be miserable. But that got old. The flesh is still sore and tender, but the bruises are fading now. I’m moving on. It feels pretty spectacular.
He ignores me. It’s far better than following me through the house, shouting all the ways I’ve disappointed him. When I stopped reacting, he stopped itching for a fight. (Sometimes, I’m a slow learner.)
It’s funny, in an odd sort of way. My almost chronic complaint used to be that I couldn’t hold his attention. When I finally got it, I didn’t want it anymore. I didn’t realize that being on his radar meant being lamb-basted for every tenuous step.
Someone asked me today if I was a trophy wife. I wish. It’d be a whole lot better than what I am now, which is essentially a slave. Do you know that I haven’t been to the movies since 1998? I’m not kidding. The last time he took me out to a restaurant was in 2001. You cannot make these things up.
Late this afternoon, two fawns were grazing in a field on the side of the highway. Their white spots were just beginning to fade. In 37 years here, I’ve never seen that. Not once.
But these days, I’m not about taking sides. I’m aiming to build a team. Something with strength and character. Something durable for a fucking change.
And if this new boy is all that he seems, I am moving way too slow. Need to remedy that. Yeah, I heard the thunder. Shut up already.
• • •
There’s just no substitute for this tune, in this post, on this night. So be different than the rest: Follow through and play it.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtOgwFzhlyw]
After all, during the thousand nights in our tiny apartment in the city, it was not into my ear that you whispered but into my heart. I still hear you smile in the dark. Your name still clings to my lips. The memory of your hands still warms my curves.