The idea for this brief tale came to me this morning, watching my wife deal with a nasty cold. Later, she was feeling better and we went to a movie. The fragment of the Rumi poem was quoted in the movie. It seemed perfect for the story. When we got home, I went to the computer and banged it out.
It's quite different from most of my submissions but I hope at least a few people with enjoy it.
Thanks to LarryInSeattle for editing. My fingers have never been able to keep up with my brain. Without his help, I doubt most readers would be able to put up with the typos and silly errors.
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He had been sitting there for so long he no longer noticed the chaos surrounding him. Very few people realize how noisy hospitals are. Telephones ring. Call lights chirp. Families talk or yell or wail. Alarms sound. The sick, if they were sick enough, didn't care. Family and friends focused on the sick or, like him, had become inured of the chaos. His focus was always the woman lying in the bed.
The nurses paid him no heed. He would shift his legs, this way or that, to give them room to roll her from one side to the other, to do whatever it was they did to the tube that connected her lungs to the ventilator. Twice a day, someone would bend and stretch her arms, her legs. They bathed her with a tenderness that, even after all this time, caused his eyes to well. Then, they would leave them alone.
He forgot to be hungry or thirsty. She had not spoken, not in all the time he had been there, sitting and waiting, beside her bed. He would recite the bits of poetry he knew she liked and that his mind managed to retain. He would walk to the door, determined to go find a book, a magazine, something to read to her but he couldn't bring himself to cross the threshold of her room. What if she woke and he wasn't there to greet her? What if she lapsed back into her deep sleep before he had a chance to talk with her? Or, at the least, to smile into her open eyes?
When they were alone he would lean over the bed, hold her hand, and tell her his favorite memories.
Remember that night in the Tetons?
They had huddled together in a much too thin sleeping bag, giggling at the idea they'd be found frozen to death in each other arms.
Remember your hatchback? And how dark and creepy that small road was, the one we pulled off on because we couldn't bear another minute of not being able to touch each other?
Even their still young, still lithe, bodies had trouble contorting to fit in the back of her small car. After, they had been afraid that like every couple who had sex in the dark woods in movies, they'd be hacked to bits as they scrambled to get back into the front seat and make their escape. Back on the road there were more giggles. They had shared many giggles together.
Not all the memories were happy. The seemingly endless number of times they sat side by side on the edge of the tub, heads touching, waiting for the second pink line to appear; it never did.
Remember that time, sweetheart, in Central Park?
It had been a warm early spring day. They weren't married yet. They had been in town for interviews. Young. Beautiful day. Beautiful woman. They had wandered off the paved path, up a hill and into a copse of trees crowned with bright, new, spring leaves. The last of the fall leaves rustled under their feet. She knelt, unbuttoned his jeans, and pulled out his cock. He loved the way her mouth felt on his cock; he always had and always would. A small mutt of a dog wandered in and sat watching, appearing to be fascinated by what she was doing. A voice had called out. The dog jerked its head toward the voice, its ears perking up. The vision of a stranger walking under the trees, looking for a dog but seeing her with his dick in her mouth drew a deep groan from his chest. Close on the heels of his groan, he'd cum. She jerked away in surprise, not expecting him to cum so soon. There was cum in her hair and on her blouse and she had not been pleased. It wasn't that he came in her mouth; it was her blouse she was irritated over. The dog had sprinted away. He kissed her and apologized and made it up to her by slipping her very tight jeans down and wedging enough of his face between her thighs to reach her clit with his tongue. By the time she'd let go of his hair and he'd stood up to kiss her, his hands on her bare ass, all had been forgiven.
Remember that silly little dog and how I accidently came on your shirt? Jesus, that was fun.
He shook his head smiling.
I can't believe you said yes. I was young and dumb but how I could have thought my idea was 'romantic' is beyond reasoning.
They had been apart for most of the summer. She'd been in Boston, working as an intern at the firm that would in a few months become her first job. She'd driven to Boston, a mistake. She didn't need the car and parking it was a bitch, an expensive bitch. He'd flown in to drive back with her. He'd been so nervous. It had put her on edge. As desperate as he'd been to get her in bed, he first wanted to wash his face and brush his teeth. Plus, he needed a minute of privacy. He stood by the bed and undressed her, his lips hardly moving from hers. She sat on the side of the bed and began to undress him. After pulling his boxers down, she looked up puzzled. It took her a moment but when she looked up he saw that she'd understood. He dropped to his knees, suddenly embarrassed.
