Their Love

He loved her like others loved the rain although he wished she stopped literally showering him with water unexpectedly.

She loved playfully chasing after him in a field of spring flowers up until her allergies caught up with her or until he handed over the allergy medication.

He loved watching her eat despite her protestations that it was creepy and weird especially when he insisted on recording it for exactly those reasons.

She loved invading his space on the couch utilizing the most modern warfare techniques and strategies that she could reasonably afford given their tight budget.

He loved standing in long lines with her because of her unique way of making all lines paradoxically appear circular.

She loved that he never gave up until he actually turned molehills into mountains.

He loved the period of peaceful serenity each morning just after she woke up and just before she started screaming at him for putting lipstick and blush on the dog again.

She loved making him lunch for all of the wrong reasons.

He loved taking her on long romantic walks to his favourite spots while she argued that his definition of romantic needed a complete overhaul.

She loved helping nurse him back to health when he was sick, but she refused to have him sit on her lap while sucking from the bottle.

He loved spending weekend afternoons watching paint dry, while she absolutely adored painting him.

She loved packing up all of her belongings, leaving abruptly and waiting down by the train station that he built for her in the backyard as she needed a place to play make believe with all of her dollies.

He loved her way with words in all of its nonsensical, raving and quite worrisome detail.

She loved smashing his sand castles and then intimidatingly standing over him celebrating the fact that her castles were now clearly bigger.

He loved her smile and her laugh and, to a somewhat lesser degree, her unrelenting and quite brutally sarcastic satirical love letters.

She loved his carefree and whimsical approach to life except in those moments when he was operating heavy duty machinery.

He loved sitting next to her at the table both because it was her, but also because it was just a really fine table which displayed expert craftsmanship.

She loved when he first referred to her as his peach, though as time went on, it became more and more concerning especially considering the crazed smile on his face whenever he said it.

He loved walking a mile in her shoes equally because of the perspective it gained him as well as the comfort that custom-made insoles provided.

She loved his bear hugs which were now thankfully given using 50% less bear.

originally published in The Bitchin' Kitsch 

A Crazed Look of Indifference

He would read beautiful lyrical poems of love to her as she lay in the hammock in the backyard until she finally drifted off to sleep at which time he'd resume writing hate-filled tirades to the editor of the local newspaper. 

She bought him a great new dress shirt that she thought not only matched his eyes but also had such a dizzying and epilepsy-inducing set of patterns that it rendered any coincidental eye-matching mostly moot.

He threw her a frisbee on the beach that was meant to not only give her a chance to show off her transcendent athleticism for all present but also to cryptically remind her that it was time to reapply sun screen. 

She had been finishing his sentences for the past few weeks and he was growing tired of it so he started randomly changing the tempo and cadence of his speech to throw her off and distract her.

He awoke with strands of her long, tantalizing hair in his mouth and he was immediately consumed with thoughts of digestive concerns.

She cheered continuously at all of his tennis matches with a fervor and passion that both inspired and disturbed him on many levels.

He was enjoying getting up early on weekend mornings and making her elaborate breakfasts, which she appreciated, but his confounding choice to only serve purposely under-cooked eggs even after she took time out of her busy day to give him step-by-step help was annoying to stay the least.

She surprised him at work with a big hug and kiss that was greatly appreciated considering what a stressful week it had been and he melted into her arms once his heart rate returned back to normal which took an understandably long period of time considering the blood-curdling screams and streams of fake blood that accompanied her surprise.

He bought her a massive ball of red yarn so that she could knit herself some leg warmers and also to demonstrate to her that he could no longer tell when she was being facetious.

She held his hand tightly while walking down the street at night mostly to feel protected but also as a rudimentary means for testing his calcium intake.

He found himself gazing at her back instead of focusing on the term papers he was supposed to be marking and he longed to caress her slender back as well as wishing that he could be shrunk down to a size where sliding on it was also an option.

She moved her pawn and announced "checkmate" with a finality that befitted the dramatic seriousness of the moment and also came across as both demeaning and empathetic at the same time which is a really challenging combination of which she hoped he was at least slightly in awe of.

He was spending far too long on his hair this morning and was at risk for being late to work until she appeared in the bathroom doorway with a crazed look of indifference on her face while brandishing their electric hair trimmer which helped him immediately focus a great deal and make his morning class on time.

She was applying a bandage with the delicate care she was known for to a cut on his elbow, when she was overwhelmed with a strong, sudden desire to cover a life-sized clay statue of him with bandages and then submit it to the art gallery as part of her show on the decay of classic sensibilities. 

He stared at the near-empty refrigerator much like a small, adorable puppy would stare at an empty bowl and very much like the small, adorable puppy that he so wanted for his birthday and she kept saying no for no reason aside from gesturing towards the near-empty refrigerator that just did not make any sense to him at all.

She was enjoying helping him complete a crossword puzzle trying to strike a balance between loving valuable assistance and condescending intellectual dominance at the same time as not forgetting the roast in the oven.

He was proud of himself for remembering to wash the floor as she'd repeatedly asked and he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she first came home from an exhausting day at work and right before she inexplicably decides that now is a perfect time for actual mudslinging.

She blows lightly at his forehead and enjoys watching his remaining baby hairs dance rhythmically and chuckles to herself over what she could accomplish if she had a significantly greater lung capacity as was often her dream growing up.

He was generously helping her into her ski boots all the while trying not to look too alarmed at the irony as he was the only one who was going skiing today and because she was usually the one who looked alarmed and he didn't want to take that from her.

She was joyfully skipping through the open field of long grass and wild flowers while he playfully chased after her attempting to avoid any of the myriad of objects that he was highly allergic too that she always insensitively accused him of being far too sensitive about. 

They fed each other spoons full of homemade soup because they finally both agreed that actions do in fact speak a whole lot louder than words.

Mother and Son

He loves his mother.

He had an image from his childhood in his head of her chasing him up and over hills in the park near their house. In his mind, he can almost hear her laughing with fall leaves colourfully highlighting the world around him. They run together, tossing and tumbling as if they were leaves themselves. He was 8 and felt so warm inside.

She loves her son.

He calls her on the phone in the evening. He would call more often, but he is so busy. At least he sounds very content. She misses him so much. He reassures her that all is okay, that he'll be home soon, that he is happy. She wants to tell him about her fears, her concerns, her health, but she says nothing. Each word he speaks is like a drop of water, hydrating her as she wanders aimlessly through the desert. Goodbyes are said, he promises to call again soon and she holds the phone to her heart looking around the house that had once felt so alive and was now a shell of its former self.

He loves his mother.

Her life had not been easy. The youngest of five daughters, raised by a gruff and preoccupied father and a loving, yet strict mother during the depression. They were poor and always hungry and her childhood was devoid of fun. She fell in love at a young age and never looked back. She had always wanted a child and when he arrived she literally felt as if she was flying.

She loves her son.

They were at the pharmacy. She was buying some medicine for him. He was sick. She remembers the panic she felt, the racing of her heart, the dampness of her sweat, the furrowing of her brow, the coldness of his hand. She tried to summon up the strength to fight off the feelings of doom - "he needs me to be strong". And she was. And he got better, but she often remembered being in the pharmacy late at night, in moments of weakness, just wishing and praying it would all be okay.

He loves his mother.

She had spent years cleaning hotel rooms and never complained once. Early mornings, late evenings, missed holidays, she worked so that he could have everything he would ever desire. She would come home from another long day looked utterly exhausted wanting nothing but to soak her feet and lay her head down, yet she always found the energy to be there for him.

She loves her son.

He was tall, lean, athletic. He had a way with words and an ease about him that drew in others. He would sit around the table, at holiday time, surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins and be able to keep the company engrossed in his mix of uniquely, bewildering stories. While the family enjoyed the traditional homemade sausages that he had spent the afternoon preparing, she would watch him with awe and amazement in what a wonderful man he had become.

He loves his mother.

Somewhere a song is playing - he can't quite remember it's name. She is in the kitchen making something, anything - the aroma captures him while he works on his homework at the table. He smiles and enters the kitchen to hug his mother as if the only thing that could make it all okay was this single hug. She sang a few words of the song and he felt a tear drop on his hair as they stood there together, being warmed by the oven; a perfect moment in time.

She loves her son.

He looked back and waved. She tried to smile, but was overwhelmed by the moment. The bus was leaving and taking her baby far away. She wished he was young again; her adorable son bouncing off to kindergarten, that he still needed his mommy as only a little boy could. The sounds of the bus leaving the station saddened her and she bit her lip to keep from crying. He waved once more and turned around to find a seat as the bus headed down the long, straight road away from this place. She stood there feeling so utterly alone.

He loves his mother.

The proudest moment of her life, she told him, was when he graduated from university. She had succeeded as a mother. His adolescence had been dotted with bumps and bruises - she felt each of them as if she were a boxer in the ring. She dreamed of a future graduation, even when that dream became fuzzy and distorted at times, and never let go. He knew how much it mattered to her and he had always wanted to give her this moment. It drove him forward.

She loves her son.

The water is running in the video. A bath is being drawn. Her image enters the screen caring a crying, naked baby. It is him. He is but one year old. He hates baths. She gently caresses his arms and legs, soothing him. He loves the soapy bubbles and he giggles and splashes hesitantly at first and then more and more playfully once used to the bath. Shampoo stings his eyes and he cries and grows red. There is loving laughter in the background.

They love each other.

From the first moment she laid eyes on him, her life changed. Much of his first moments of life were spent in her arms. He always felt so cared for, so adored, so blessed. She held his hand, tied his shoes, packed his lunch. And yet, she needed him as much as he needed her. He gave her life; made her laugh as no one else ever could and gave her a purpose that no man or job or anything else ever did. She was always there for him; he had such a deep respect for her -  a previously meek and mild, single mother in a big city dominated by men who grew into the toughest person he knew. Their lives were forever intertwined, like two individual pieces of wicker in a woven basket, twirling around and around each other, supporting and making each other stronger - it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Mother loves; son loves.

Love.

A Love in Colours: Pink

The dress was an amazingly stunning shade of pink and it sashayed and swirled around the dance floor. The music blared and couples around the club were virtually yelling to be heard, but the two of them danced, passionately in silence, undistracted by all around them, focussed only on each other, so much in love and nearly engulfed in a seemingly-magical and mesmerizing pink fabric that was practically glowing. 

She was sitting at her desk in her office and was watching the pouring rain through her window. The water was falling with such force that some would have referred to it as 'angry', while she prefered 'misunderstood' as she was certain that no one had bothered to listen to the rain's point-of-view. The constant drumming of the rain reminded her of the constant drumming of her sister while growing up and, perplexingly of how she would stand outside of her window at night, often in the rain, waving and smiling. She missed her sister aside from all of the incessant waving and smiling - it was nice at first, but it got old especially when they got older. As she sat there her mind drifted to him. Always to him, and occasionally to the tree in his front yard. How she loved that tree. Her mind settled on a single image from their vacation that summer and she smiled when the picture of his sandy, muscular body running with reckless abandon on the beach came into her head. She appreciated his recklessness so much more when it only appeared in her head while staring outside at the rain and less so when he was driving them to the movies. Tonight was the night they were to meet her parents for the first time and she was oddly calm and was sort of disappointed as she had been looking forward to being nervous. Having dinner with her own parents made her nervous at the best of times, but his presence relaxed her so much that she often became fairly concerned while cooking. She knew her parents would love him, and that made her happy, but she only hoped they didn't love him unconditionally as she believed that everything should have conditions. The rain continued to fall, and she tried to get some real work done as no amount of pretend work would feel satisfactory in the long term. She used to spend hours and hours pretending to work as a child which made her parents a little worried both because she wasn't just playing like an average child, but also because the work she was pretending to do, was being done fairly haphazardly. The work day was over and she saved her files and put her computer to sleep, only this time without the pillow and blanket as it was starting to draw her some unwanted attention from others as well as making her increasingly sheepish and apologetic around her printer and fax machine.

He was in the middle of yet another boring meeting and had a passing thought about why meetings were usually so boring, but then he partially remembered what his aunt always said in one of her less lucid moments "sometimes I just like being quiet". It was a true statement but it didn't make sense at the time and wasn't really that helpful right now either. He started a new list with the first item being starting to remember more appropriate quotes and the second being fully listening to his aunt when she  was "on". When the meeting wrapped up, he went to the washroom to apply some warm, soapy water to his face and the upper part of his neck all the while making a mental note to apply at least the same level of hygiene to the rest of his neck later on, He enjoyed the face-wash at little bit too much and actually let out a small squeal of joy which was thankfully heard by no one, but even if it had been they were used to his cute animal noises made periodically throughout the day. He was meeting her parents tonight and was supremely confident in his ability to impress them without having to resort to deception and trickery, although he was fully prepared to go there too if he met with any initial resistance. He had viewed a lot of photos of her mom and dad and had mentally given them entertaining and quite animated voices that always made him laugh uproariously and he just hoped that they were somewhat close to their actual voices. He couldn't decide what clothes to wear and had narrowed it down to a choice of either his vertically-striped suit or a pair of casual jeans and a unique and hip graphic t-shirt. The suit made him appear older and slightly taller but also was probably a better fit for a visit to the bank which he was fairly certain wouldn't come up that evening unless they all mutually decided on going to the bank after desert. And the casual and hip outfit, although comfortable, was maybe too relaxed-looking which may have his hosts wondering "Why is he already so comfortable here? Maybe we should apply some more pressure?" He hated having to choose clothes to fit occasions and he blamed his mother for that aversion as he couldn't come up with anyone else to blame at all on such short notice. He promised himself that he would look further into it and after plenty of research, type up a comprehensively exhaustive list of everyone else who may have played a part in his inability to match his outfits with his activities. As he left work, he ran to the car excited to see her.

A Love in Colours: Orange

The sky was brilliant and the sunset cast an iridescent orange glow upon the ocean. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, some kids were joyfully swimming, and they lay on their beach blanket enamoured with the stunning orange hue in each other's eyes as they squeezed every minute out of another amazing day. 

He awoke after a long sleep, sat up and looked around his room and was fighting the urge to fall back asleep. He had made a name for himself for fighting urges of all shapes and sizes as well as being quite adept at falling back asleep regardless of the time or location. Today was a busy day, he knew that, and he had a mental checklist a mile long with the length being mostly an approximation as well as the description of a list as the items were arranged more randomly. The one thing he was certain of was that he had to see her again and hold her hand and, if things went according to plan, to throw caution to the wind and hold her other hand. In his spare time he threw a variety of other items, often compostable ones, to the wind much to his landlord's dismay but that was okay as his landlord was dismayed most of the time and he always cleaned up after himself - it was just his way of letting off steam that didn't involve punching, kicking or other socially-acceptable means of violence because they are part of an organized sport. He longed to hold both of her hands for a period of time no less than 15 minutes and no greater than 4 hours as he was certain that things would come up where the hand holding would become quite cumbersome. Yes, his day was busy and he needed to get to work, but he also needed to be in her presence and he knew she felt the same way.

She hit the snooze button. Hard. It was just the way she was with buttons. There could be no way that it was time to wake up she thought, but there it was again, her alarm. She lay there and attempted to look at the ceiling but it was just too dark and the light switch was so far away. In a perfect world the light switch would be closer, but she knew how silly it was to dream about things that could never come true in her wildest dreams - she also chided herself for having really really lame wild dreams. His face was on her mind as was his legs. Oddly she had no memory of the rest of his body at the moment, but she was still half asleep so she guessed it made sense to only be able to picture half of his body. As she rose from her bed she had to reassure herself that he did have more than just a face and some legs, but of course he did - there is no way she'd be seen out in public with someone lacking a torso. She knew he was busy and that he couldn't just call in sick, but she hoped he was thinking of her and also her potted plant as he had sworn that he would for reasons she misheard as she was washing the dishes. Maybe he'd call or maybe he'd drop by or maybe she'd have to risk seeming desperate and pick up her own phone - one way or another she had to be with him.