Monday, November 12, 2012

Just Write: Tiny Glimpses

"It's funny," I tell him, as we wave goodbye to our little ones and my mom, "it's been seven years, but I'm pretty sure the only itch I have is to run off with you for the weekend and find sunshine along the way."

"So where are we going anyway?" he asks.

I shrug my shoulders, stare into wide-open blue prairie skies.

"I don't care," I say. "Wherever I'm with you."

He looks at me for longer than a quick second, smiles a wide grin, grabs my hand and drives west.

****

We are wandering sidewalks we once knew well enough to navigate by both moonlight and dusk and a few glasses of wine and are amazed by the newness of where these paths are taking us in the place we once called home.

Seven years has morphed a small, quaint campus into an elegant and broad university.

We wonder at the new halls and libraries and centers, constructed of limestone and completed with walk-out balconies.

But, despite the new fancy additions, we meander over to the older side of campus because I'm still completely drawn to the quiet charm and beauty of the music building crawling with vines and alive with a melody I can't quite put my finger on

but can tap my foot in time to.

I catch his gaze, and he smiles.

****


I am waiting in the car while he runs into the pharmacy to get a band aid, and through the open windows of my car I hear a baby cry .... and cry and cry and cry.

A terrible scene unfolds before my eyes, and just as John exits the store, I'm reaching for the door handle about to fly out of my chair and over to the van.

He catches my wild eyes and I spit out, disgusted, the happenings. He quickly moves so as to still me in my seat, and  we find the nearest police. We wait as they check on the child. My heart pounds until the officer comes back, explains the child is fine ...

I nearly choke on my tears as the van and police cars pull away leaving us together in silence.

I catch his gaze, he grabs my hand and he gives me a weak smile.

*****

We are sharing drinks at a friend's bar, trying to relax well into the evening hours, and while he's talking about grown-up things I'm marveling about the glitter on the walls until he stops talking and smiles at me again.

And I finally ask him what his deal is.

And he says

it's just that he's been getting these tiny glimpses

of who I used to be mixed into

the who I've become all day long.

And that he never really knows where I'm going

and thus where we're going

but that he's just glad that during these past seven years

he's been with me

and

we've going all of these places

mundane and extraordinary

expected and never dreamed of

and we've been going at them

together.

7 comments:

  1. Lovely. Just lovely. So glad you had this time together.

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  2. OH, this is so beautiful. I love how you wrote it. I am soo glad that you didn't just do nothing for the baby. Tears my heart out even though I have no idea what happened. Thank you for being another's advocate!

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  3. John and you compliment each other. :) I'm glad you had time to enjoy each other alone. It is important (der... you know that. ha!... I am a dork)

    Anyway. Loved reading this, Hy!

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  4. Few things matter more than this. Keep fighting for this away time ~ you'll never, ever regret it. And it's funny...almost 30 years...and we're the same, yet wonderfully different. I never imagined so many gifts could come through one relationship!

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  5. This is so absolutely beautiful. I love the feeling your words convey. You've got me thinking of my own tiny glimpses...

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  6. i love this! and you. so thankful you had that time to reconnect. it's precious.

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There's nothing better than good conversation ... but not while talking to myself. Will you play a part in this discussion?

AND will you pretty please have your email linked to your account or leave it for me so I can respond?

Thanks for taking the time to make these thoughts into conversation.

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