Friday, July 23, 2010

#11: now you're free falling.

It's not your abs or your calves or how your voice sounds when you whisper her name or how soft the tips of your fingertips are when you brush them like watercolor brushes against her bare lower back at 4 AM after she wakes up from a nightmare that she comments about.

She doesn't call you "babe" because of the goosebumps that you both instigate and individually kiss back down or the way your eyes lock into hers like gears on a bicycle chain or because your hand always finds the right place on her corduroy cheek when you kiss her goodnight.

"I love the way you smell when you're asleep," she says. "It's like a strawberry got drunk on good whiskey and baked me a birthday cake." She buries her nose in the crink of your neck like you were a down comforter and takes a deep draw through her nose. "You smell like home," she says as she plunks a peck five inches below your ear. A muted sigh escapes with her exhalation and dances down your spine.

"Is it only when I'm asleep?"

"Yeah," she says, "because when you're awake, you only breathe through your nose. But when you're asleep, it all comes together."

For some reason, you find yourselves on opposite sides of the bed tonight. Something's strange about it, but it's a nice strange. It feels different but wholly familiar, like you're eating the results of someone else following your own recipe for your family's favorite meal. You're the little spoon and she's wrapped exhausted arms around your chest like you were tandem skydiving into the early morning.

Part of you hope that the chute gets pulled and the two of you float to the center of a Nebraskan cornfield.

The rest of you hopes that you'll just hit the ground together.

1 comment:

Meg said...

Yes. That seems the only appropriate word response to this.