The alarm clock in his head went off at 4:45 am, as it did every morning. His common law wife didn’t hear the same alarm. So he laid there in the quiet of the new, and was thoughtful of her as she lay there in the warm contentment of sleep next to him. He watched her for a long moment, and then turned his head and body and attempted to carefully slide his legs out from under the covers, but it wasn’t to be. The dog had his body sprawled across his feet, and hers, it seemed at first to be a hopeless, tangled affair. The dog raised his young head and that gave him enough relief to quickly, gently untangle his legs from beneath the warm weight. In a fluid move he was able to find the cold, hardwood floor. His common law wife stirred. He paused a beat in consideration of her as his eyes adjusted to the available light, and the vertical. He loves her. The dog laid his head back down. Next was getting to the bedroom door. He didn’t dare turn on the light. The 4 or 5 steps to the door visited creaks and moans from the floor of the old place they’d called home for a while now. He could do nothing about that, save for being as quiet as he could. It took only a second or two, maybe three to make the journey and find the doorknob. He held the metallic cold in his left hand, and with his right, cushioned the door to avoid waking his understanding, better half. “Be careful” she said through the dark without raising her head or shifting her body. It surprised him, he didn’t think his fidgeting awoke her, but he was wrong. “I will” he said as he made his way through the doorway, and carefully, quietly shut the door behind him. He headed straight to the bathroom, turned on the bathroom light, and then turned to look towards the living room to see if the clothing he’d laid out the night before, and his fishin’ gear were where he’d left them. The bathroom light afforded him what he needed to see. They were still there, he could see that, though his clothing was rumpled and covered with dog hair. His tackle box was just exactly as he’d left it. He let that stuff be for an instant, and went into the light of the bathroom and did what folks do first thing in the morning in a bathroom. Next up…coffee. He turned on the kitchen light and made his way to where the drip coffee maker lived. On the glass decanter was a yellow Post-It note. On it the words “It’s ready, just turn it on!” were written. Evidently she did it the night before, after he’d gone to bed. “Damn, woman…” he said in a whisper and with a smile. He turned on the coffee pot, and the familiar language of drip coffee maker gurgle visited. He grabbed his favorite coffee cup, and turned on the hot water side of the kitchen sink faucet. He filled his favorite cup with hot water, to warm it so it wouldn’t cool the coffee down too quickly. He hates cold coffee. Then… He made his way to the pile of clothes in the living room he’d left out the night before, as he waited for the coffee to become coffee. He brushed the dog hair off his clothing and began to put on the layers he figured he needed to keep him warm at the river. He slipped on his favorite Danner boots, but didn’t lace them. He made his way to the front window. He peeled back the curtain to see what the weather was like outside. The driveway was back with wet. He looked to the streetlight, but saw no rain or fog in silhouette. Back to the kitchen, the coffee should be ready by now he figured. It was. He poured out the now luke warm water from his favorite cup, and re-filled it with hot, mornin’ Joe from the decanter. Damn it smelled good. Black, no cream, no sugar. Next he opened the refrigerator to put together a lunch for the day. He saw a brown bag, clearly full of something, and on it was another yellow Post-It note. Only thing written on this Post-It note was a happy face. He felt the warm happy reserved for those who feel loved, and that had just had their first taste of hot, morning coffee… He was ahead of schedule, this morning, due in large part to “her”. He took his hot black coffee into the living room, and sat down to lace up his Danner’s. He sat in the quiet for a long moment and thought of her. How grateful he was to have her in his life. Boots finally laced up, he made his way back to the kitchen, found the yellow Post-It Note pad, and scribbled a note of his own. “Thanks for being in my world” he wrote. He left it on the counter, and made his way out the front door.
Posted on: Sun, 07 Dec 2014 07:23:12 +0000
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