first words of spring
--she makes me smile--
- "so how was the gig?"
- "brilliant, trippy... and the singer was as beautiful as ever!
"after the gig, for the first time, i found myself standing opposite her, looking into her eyes... i couldn't remember if i was supposed to speak with the familiarity of the friendship that we have forged in my dreams, or if i should present myself as a stranger.
"i froze up... 'eh!', i said... then, 'uh!'...then, do you know what happened?"
- "tell me..."
- "i saw a friend, a familiar face and quickly took the opportunity to ask him if my feet were still on the ground!
"she thinks i'm wierd now, doesn't she?"
- "probably, but have you heard her music, it'll most likely work in your favour!"
that evening, even before arriving at the gig, i knew that i would be able to meet her... i had gone over the conversation in my head:
- "hello, great gig! i've been wanting to come and see your band play for ages now, but i spend so much time on tour..."
no, "... but i just keep missing your shows..."
that's not right either, "... but my dog ate my homework (that'll do!)"
- "ah..." (even in my dreams there are awkward silences!)
- "its great now that the evenings are longer and we can sit out late..."
... ok, so even in my head i couldn't get convincingly passed "hello", but when i finally found myself looking into her eyes, i hardly even got that far - i was lost! i was so afraid of coming off as a wierd fan, that i just came across as wierd!
- "they went off for dinner and i went to curl up and dissappear in a dark corner somewhere. i felt like a teenager! ... do you want another beer?"
- "ah, go on!"
- "la meme chose, merci... how do you manage to act normally and not feel self-consious when staring a dream straight in the face? when that dream is tangible, uncontrollable, interactive?"
- "you close the eye that knows it's a dream and listen!"
"i'll probably never be able to share words with her again."
"... but he's nearly two already and seems to understand most of what we say."
"some children just take a bit longer than others. when he finally opens his mouth, he'll probably recite shakespere! would you like some more potatoes?"
*the childs head shoots back and forth as though following the conversation*
*man burns his hand on the pot*
"fuck - fuck - fuck - fuck" the child parrots!
after adding the boiling water, she put the teapot on the cooker to brew up a strong pot, just the way he likes it. he crumpled out the newspaper, briefly interrupting her ritual. they had been married for fifty-seven years, she'll be seventy-eight next month and has made his tea almost every morning of their married life.
she rememberd how, on the first morning of spring, when they had barely been married a year, he took her on the breakfast table... much like this morning, the spring sun beamed in through the open window and lit her figure through the flimsy nightdress. much like this morning, the birds were singing in the garden as she waited for the kettle to whistle. that morning, however, almost fifty-six years ago to the day, he threw her, almost violently, up on the table, ripped her nightdress off and climbed on top of her. the cups shattering as they hit the floor around them but, caught in the throes of passion, they didn't realise... it was so unexpected and so animalistic...
after that morning and for the first years of their marraige, they often made love like that..."
"nice morning, dear"
"what was that?"
"nice morning", he repeated.
"oh... yes... it is!"
... she wished she could know now what made him feel that then and get it back... its true that they had aged into a beautiful serene comfort that she treasured greatly, but she missed that passion!
she turned to look at him and after a moment, whispered, "we're old now, aren't we, darling?"