We're curled up in bed, a little bit drunk, a warm breeze coming in through the windows. We've thrown the covers off since no one wants too many covers on them in the heat, and the sheets have just been brought in from the line outside, smelling of pears, trapped bees, and sunshine in the folds.

Mr. Y is letting me stand on his feet again, and I brace my feet like a ballerina and spin imaginary pirouettes on the flat of his strong feet. We're not being sexual, not toying with each other, just each of us reading our books in bed, companionable silence, enjoying the evening.

The day had been outstanding-I had gone into London for work, thinking (and dreading) that I would be spending today in Bristol with my colleagues. We had been booked into a hotel for last night, and the plan was today to spend the day attending an IT demonstration, which frankly makes my eyes roll into the back of my head just thinking about. The strange this is-I didn't want to go. Once upon a time I loved a night (or week, or fortnight) away from home. But now, I find going away for business...well...intrusive, frankly. I would rather be at home with my bed, my man, and my bathroom.

Halfway through the meeting, it was revealed that the team building we had planned for the night had falled through, so in Bristol we we each to our own. I texted Mr. Y and asked if he wanted to join me for an evening of shagging, wine, and dinner at a hotel. After some thinking about it, he decided he did want to come, and so put aside his plans for self-gratification for the evening and it was set.

Then in the afternoon, the whole Bristol event was cancelled. Change of plans (in fact, change of work scope, and now I have lots of work to do that actually sounds pretty interesting) and I let Mr. Y know that I would be coming home tonight after all. And after Mr. Y agreeing to go join me in Bristol, after more work from my manager who indicated he liked the work I was doing, after a productive day...I felt fantastic.

I was in a great mood. I went and bought Mr. Y a few items of clothing for our trip to Venice next weekend (and, of course, bought myself a few things, too. I can only be so restrained, after all). I picked up a bottle of bubbly. I went home in a fantastic mood and with love pouring out of my pores on my face. He met me at the train station, all smiles. We spent the evening in the sun (new pic on the sidebar is from last night, in fact) and had an enormous curry for dinner.

Mr. Y flips off his reading light and turns over to me. I have my own reading light, we both do-two halogen lights attached to the side of the headboard-but I hate direct light on my books, I don't like light to bake and snake the words I read, to throw heat and reflection into the binding. So I never use it, I only take the driftwood rays from his.

Me: You turned your light off.

Him: You have your own torch. Use it.

Me: There's no torch here. There's no fire in this bed.

Him: Hmmm....not a good sign.

Me: I meant that it's not called a torch.

Him: Oh, that's right. It's called a pocket lamp.

Me: (laughing) I dunno, I've never had a lamp in my pocket. Think you're thinking of the Swedish for torch.

Him: Oh, that's right. Ficklampa. Sorry-you have your own "flashlight".

Me: That's right. That's the correct term. But here we would just call it a reading light. A flashlight's portable.

Him: Why do you call it a flashlight? There are no flashing lights.

Me: Why do you call it a torch? There's no fire involved.

Him: Once upon a time there was, originally people lit sticks with....what....say it with me here-fire.

Me: Oh yeah? Well once flashlights flashed!

Him: How?

Ooooh...he had me here. I was just being big about it. Better go for the outrageous, throw him off the scent.

Me: Once light was gotten by capturing fairies. You know. Put them in the jar, shake it to piss them off, and voila! Let there be light!

Him: Ri-iiiiight. Do we need to have our electricity talk again?

Oh God. Once, while enjoying an evening away, Mr. Y and I got a bit drunk on too much vino tinto and we laughed it up in bed (after engaging in Extreme Shagging, a new sport coming to ESPN any day now). Mr. Y attempted to explain the differences and benefits of English electricity versus American electricity. I fell asleep somewhere around the words "110 volts".

The next morning, he asked me what the benefits were of the American electrical system. Now, being a bit of a Monica character, I love a good quiz, but I only like them if I was actually conscious for the lesson. I racked my brain. What could he have said? What could he have said?

The best I came up with was: When you step on the plug in the middle of the night, the American plug hurts less.

Yeah...Although it was a clever answer, it was not the correct one.

Me: Are you tired?

Him: Actually, I am tired. Maybe I have the flu you had on Sunday and Monday.

Me: It's the encephalitic lethargica. I just know it.

Him: More like encephalitic erectica. That's probably the problem.

Mr. Y spins his hand in the air, which is my cue for "turn around". I turn around, sliding my bottom into the neat curve of his crotch. My back slides against the warm hard heat of his chest and one of his arms lays over my side, and below my breast. I continue to stand on his feet, and he kisses the side of my face.

We curl up like that and sleep every night, and when we don't do it, somehow the sleep isn't right, the evening isn't normal. Even when one of us is sick, it's better if we touch in some way-he holds my upper arm, or we lay back to back, touching. The feel of his skin on mine seems critical to me being able to slide into oblivion, the world isn't right if it's not like that.

He begins to slide into sleep, and I feel the ache of him behind me. I grab hold of his wrist and kiss the fleshy-side of the hand, and he squeezes me back in return. The night wind comes into the room, over the geraniums exploding in the window box outside, over the two of us curled up naked in the middle of the bed, and through the house, lacing it with the honey-scented village air. And there's nowhere else on earth that I would rather be.

And I think...

Every single tear I cried.
Every horrible moment of my angst.
Every time I thought I had hit the wall and lost in the lottery of life.
Every second I wondered about if I should pursue the passion in my life or stick with what I had.
For this man, for what we have...

...absolutely every single bit of it was worth it.

-H.

PS-this is the other man in my life that I miss. I know he's happier where he is, but sometimes my heart squeezes when I think about him, and I just have to breathe shallow breaths until it goes away.

Sometimes, love and loss hurt more than they should be allowed to.

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Posted by: Everydaystranger at 08:51 AM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
Post contains 1303 words, total size 7 kb.

1 You know what, you are on an amazing roll. Your writing is just getting better and better.

Posted by: Simon at August 05, 2004 10:00 AM (GWTmv)

2 gorgeous photos of you- you have never looked happier m'dear!

Posted by: stinkerbell at August 05, 2004 10:09 AM (m18uI)

3 That was a beautiful dog, Helen. Once again, I find myself agreeing with Simon. Better and better. Mostly, though, I'm glad you've found such exquisite happiness.

Posted by: RP at August 05, 2004 12:21 PM (LlPKh)

4 Love the new pic!!

Posted by: Easy at August 05, 2004 01:49 PM (6uVmJ)

5 Beautiful dog. You guys look nice together. (I also thought you looked quite beautiful in that picture with Kim, the one where you had the long hair.)

Posted by: the girl at August 05, 2004 02:59 PM (s67Kt)

6 You are so lovely...you shine.

Posted by: Tiffani at August 05, 2004 03:16 PM (xpNFK)

7 I agree with the others: lovely pictures, all of them. Thank god though that I don't have much to do with swedish torches/flashlights/whateveryoucallthem. I could never bring myself to pronounce the swedish word with a straight face: a "Ficklampe" would be a "fuck lamp" or "fucking lamp" in German...

Posted by: Gudy at August 05, 2004 04:38 PM (iEDad)

8 You made me cry. Take it back! (ps--next time the flashlight thing comes up, tell him it's cos you have to turn it on to use it--flash--and off when you're done--flash-- and that's why.)

Posted by: Ms. Pants at August 05, 2004 04:49 PM (mftJr)

9 I love reading about how much you're enjoying life right now. All is right with the world, little flame.

Posted by: Paul at August 05, 2004 05:03 PM (xdj7o)

10 Dear Mr. Y, I've been silently peeking into Helen's world for some time now. I hope you realize what you hold in your hand and you treasure every single second that you have. Please continue to love her as she loves you. I can't pretend to know either of you. I'm only the person outside the window, pressing my nose to the glass to get a better view. What Helen chooses to show us isn't always pretty. It's not always sane. But it's real and it's amazing and you're a lucky man to be in her world. I get the feeling that you know that, though. So, Mr. Y... I'm a complete stranger to you and I'm a stranger to Helen, but I thank you from the very bottom of my heart for whatever it is that you're doing for her. Right or wrong, it's working. She's the book and you're the binding that holds it all together for her.

Posted by: Lindsay at August 05, 2004 05:03 PM (srIAp)

11 Aww... what a great looking dog! What happened? I had to give up two of my dogs during my divorce... I know what you are talking about when you say that your heart squeezes and you have to take short breaths... I do the same thing. But they are happier where they are - and in much better homes than I could give them right now.

Posted by: Snidget at August 05, 2004 05:23 PM (lLS3Y)

12 Why is it everything you write makes me both laugh and cry? You're so special, Helen. And, yes. Collies have a way of making lasting impressions on our hearts...

Posted by: pam at August 05, 2004 05:38 PM (l6NIn)

13 Lindsay-thank you. That was beautiful. Snidget-X Partner Unit's mother-in-law, a retired woman with an enormous heart and a place in the country took him. My dog-Ed-is enormously happy, and I'm glad for him. Still miss him, though. Terribly. Sorry about your dogs, too, babe.

Posted by: Helen at August 06, 2004 09:26 AM (StHmy)

14 Every word of this was so perfect to my life right now. Thank you for this post!

Posted by: Elizabeth at August 06, 2004 06:45 PM (KqlEq)

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