The Place of Real

Opening a door just now for an orange cat who wanted out, I breathed the night. Loamy air from first-wet leaves and dry veins of grass. It’s in my hair; I walked through sunshine today, after and before the rain. Laura called and wooed me out of house, away from winsome screen. She and I met, or rather didn’t meet, at Owosso Bridge. We missed each other, both of us solar-fueled, endorphin-giddy, unable to wait and so following pathways to the other, only we didn’t comprehend right the worlds on opposite sides of the river from our own. We’re learning.

After she and I met up to walk some more in each world, clouds darkened and covered our energy. So a hug, a last glance into Laura’s brown eyes, a westward walk home, humming “Kiss De Girl” from Little Mermaid.

Tim came in while chicken stroganoff finished on the stove, his jaw tense. Our children’s banter drew razory comments. I saw, not gracefully, but truly, his whole crapped-out day behind the barbing. Remembered how I reacted earlier, hungry and walk-worn, to imagining no frozen chicken remained before I found it on the freezer’s bottom shelf. I freaked; Tim jabs.

During the TV show House, I landed beside Timothy on the sofa, able to cuddle because he’d abandoned for an hour his anime video, one of those I can’t stand watching in its English-dubbed artifice. (Speed Racer memories die hard.) Tim’s shirt, like mine, exudes essence of weather-change--he was out in more of it than I, all day, straining. His warm arm held me firmly in its crook, except it relaxed when he dozed during commercials.

I’d dream we meet at the door tomorrow evening maritally matched for perfection. Each syllable rounding from our lips would embrace, not slice. Dinner would find our stomachs before growls of want. We’d giggle about our frictionless day, where people waited properly avoiding wasted effort.

But what a stupid dubbed anime movie that would make.

The orange cat returns via pet-door and says, “Helllo?” (Rrr-Uhh?)

I type before winsome screen; Tim on the sofa sleeps.

Comments

shannon said…
Wow! you can write!

I felt like I was dancing through this entry.
Deanna said…
Thanks, thanks, more thanks.