I've always believed that there should be space in togetherness. Space, which is quickly quickened and shortened by the ability of a person to reach out across thousands of miles and touch and caress you without even knowing that they are doing so. A gap helps show you the emotional equivalent of what kind of house you live in-a chintz-covered sofa one or a put your feet on the coffee table one? I know who you are...I know who we are....so who am I when you're not around?

I spent some time with me in the evenings. Just with me. And once upon a time I hated the sight of myself, I hated the earthy stretch of my skin and the RAM and ROM whirring of my memory, I wanted to find new and inventive ways of torturing the corporeal and the inner. But after my time alone, I now have started to think that I am content inside of the cleanly swept floors of my mind. I can set myself up with a book and a rocking chair and not spend time full of self-loathing...I can just breathe.

Isn't it amazing? After 30 years, it takes being with someone to teach me how to be with myself. And that's a gift that keeps on giving.

I did all the things I had planned. Watch chick flicks? Check! Get drunk on white wine while (fantasizing) watching Colin Firth? Check! Dance on the coffee table in my tank top and boxer shorts? Check!

This is not to say that I didn't miss Mr. Y terribly and eagerly await his return, because I absolutely did. I think-if anything-his being away has shown me just who we are as a couple. It helped me figure out who I was. And it reillustrated how he felt about me-while he was away Mr. Y sent me a number of text messages, nearly all of them including how much he loved and missed me.

All that, and he vows he is not good talking about his feelings.

He came home on Saturday night, and I was one million miles of excitement. I had prepared a gourmet meal-mini stilton and spinach souffles as appetizers and green and white lasagne as a main course. I had bought champagne-pink champagne, just to up the sicky factor-and some a nice bottle of red to have with dinner. Unable to hold still with anticipation, I had cleaned the house to the nth degree and checked his flight status on the web constantly. I was so eager to see him and so anxious to hold him that I was like a little girl wondering when the tooth fairy would finally show up.

And he came home.

And he didn't disappoint me.

He was feeling a bit sad, but better I think for being back. He had been in Sweden packing his belongings from his former house, and I know myself how hard and how depressing it is to disentangle oneself from a life that you no longer life. I look at our hardwood floors, our wide windows and thick walls of the house. Is this home for you? I ask, with a whisper and hitch of hope in my voice, and it is only then that I realize how important to me that he thinks and feels it is.

He smiles at me. "Yes. I'm home now."

And just like that, our family is born.

We sit on the couch, the candles lit, and talk. Then we don't talk, but instead keep our hands on each other and watch The Dish (we're both big fans of The Castle. The Dish was good, just not as good.)

At some point my thighs start going higher and higher on his leg, and I smile secretively when it makes him tremble and garners a reaction in his trousers. We smiles and takes my hand. "Shall we go upstairs and interfere with each other?" he asks, and grinning we head upstairs.

I follow him up our narrow staircase, and I think...This relationship is so stable, so incredibly good. I have never in my life felt more grown-up and yet more wild about someone. All those years, all those heartbreaks. Maybe it was all just practice, and since I had such a crap batting average, I have had to spend more time in the Minors before being drafted up, to the real stadium, with real seats and real lights.

Once in bed we spend some time investigating each others' bodies, touching and tracing to see if anything changed while we were apart. I knew every curve and every shadow of him. We felt and touched and did it all, and it was exactly as I knew and missed it.

I lay on top of him once done. "Rotate." he said, our cue for sleeping positions, and I turn over on my left with him spooning me from behind, his knees behind mine, our bodies still warm.

"Do you love me?" I ask.
"I love you." he replies.
"Do you have the hearts and ponies for me?" I ask, referring to our code word for passion ("passion" is a little too soap opera, even for us).
"I do."
"How much do you love me?" I ask.
He sighs, thinking. "My love for you is like the Yangtze River."
"What...Chinese?" I ask.
"No. What's the long one? Oh yes. The Nile. My love for you is like the Nile."
I grin. "Tell me."
"The Nile is fed by three rivers. The White Nile, is like my love for you, so pure and clean. The Blue Nile, is like my love for you, so loyal and so true."
I smile.
"And the Nile's shallow, rancid out-pourings are like your ass-"
I shriek and try to tickle him. "You blew it!" I exclaim, giggling.

I'm so glad to have him home.

-H.

PS-We have decided on a name change. No longer will my beloved boyfriend, my partner and lover, be called Mr. Y.

Everyone? Meet Angus.
Angus? This is Everyone.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:42 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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