Post by Steve on Jan 25, 2008 0:10:41 GMT -5
“Let’s take our plates to the porch, you should smell the flowers.” He was still holding his arm around her waist knowing he had to let go in order for them to move, but struggling to do so. “Outside then?” Harry knew he had to let go and did and was amazed at how embracing her always felt wonderful and through their aging she only became more magnetic. She walked out ahead of him, Harry served himself a helping and watched as she gently lifted a silver flower; dipping her face to greet it.
“They’re...” “Moonflowers, dear” Harry interrupted as he stepped onto the porch. “The stems and thorns...a rosebush” she was staring, touching, smelling the flowers in awe. The colours weren’t characteristic of either plant though there were traits of rose and moonflowers.
“Carl is a genius. Give him the idea and he’ll make it tangible.” Harry was crouched down beside the bush and his wife, scratching his chin lightly. “All i did was tell him the colours, the types of flowers and some small details, and then let him do his business.” He was shaking his head inspecting a leaf. At the mention of Carl her lips flattened, clamped down on her smile until it was just a closed mouth; her eyes shut quickly.
“So you heard about Amie.” He wasn’t looking forward to this anymore. A few hours ago it seemed like a nectar he could save on his lips and scent his words with, this gossip, news, was something he could share with Emily; though the coincidence of it happening on their anniversary made it taboo, sacrilegious. “Do you remember Dave?” He was horrendous when it came to recalling someone’s name, and every one was always quick to quiz him on this handicap. “The deputy that just moved here from Clearwater.” Her kind face was patient as he flung photographs around in his mind. “YES!” Harry exclaimed excitedly, finding the snapshot of the man. “He’s the one who came in wanting an egg and taylor sandwich.” That was about a month ago. Some scrawny kid with dark sun-glasses. He kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, and when Harry had informed him of a deli not too far away, the man dropped his hat and revealed the crown of his head bald and dusty from the inside of his hat. Harry had apologized for just being a coffee shop and the man left. That was the only time Harry had in order to remember the man’s name and face.
After realizing the man Harry slipped into a calm stillness and Emily knew he was having one of his memories, and sat smelling the flowers; pushing grapes around on her plate curious about her own appetite. A piece of melon slid in between her teeth lacking the satisfaction that she thought it would bring. “Yes; well him.” she pushed a wing of silver hair behind her ear. “He didn’t stop in the shop today, did he?” Emily was looking out into the yard. “No, but he isn’t a regular.” Harry glanced up at the sky and sighed a little, enough to settle the fact that they would not have a picnic, but tiny, to hide his discontent from his wife. “They had a fight this morning, Amie and Joe...” “Ah, yeah, Sharon said that. Something she over heard at the diner.” Harry threw in the middle of her sentence. “Well, apparently the argument was over Dave. Joe found that the two of them were sneaking around together. You can’t do those things in a small town.” Emily paused for a second. “Dave went with her to the hospital.” Harry raised a little to sit on the bench beside her. He thought about the cowardice, or the fear, that people have in admitting that their marriage was faulty; about the way divorce sounds to one still in love, voiced by the beloved. He shook it off as a shiver and decided to say one last thing to further the progress, and hasten the end, of the conversation. “Joe didn’t find out until lunch.” There was a silence that fell from the night and rose from the soil, played in the soft notes of a breeze through grass and leaves.
“He isn’t the best guy, but that’s even too much for some one like him to have to go through.” She seemed concerned about emotions rather than the head trauma victim, still in a hospital bed. “What bothers you Emily?” “They’re so young. Already they have nearly lost that and now they even lost love.” She wasn’t crying but she was sniffling as she said it. Harry thought about it for awhile, drawing circles on the back of her hand with his index finger, but came to no strong conclusion. Only the same outcome: That’s what life can bring.
The moon was out, hung lonely in the field, no stars to shine beside it. The flowers had fully awakened and one in particular stood out to Harry. The flower naturally looked like a trumpet but this one, this single flower had such a deep silver colour that it looked like an aged and wise trumpet; only the best notation passed through its body. He figured it was the chill in the air, the mood swaddling them both; it was only because of this that the trumpet had to be tarnished. Somehow he knew a smooth clean horn wouldn’t be able to blow the tune he was thinking. “The young girl with the silly t-shirts came in today.” It was a cheerful enough conversation to slip into along the linguistic-voyage destined for happiness. “I know she imagined me as the Baker in the Three Men in a Tub tale. It’s all because of that apron i just HAVE to wear.” “You do not! You look CUTE.” Emily smiled and kissed him on the cheek. She noticed the warmth of his blood passing through his face and chuckled: “Only an old man like you could worry about such a thing Harry” and she took his hand into hers. “Well...” he paused and thought a second; “working, taking the train to school and cramming your head everyday might lead to some delusions. Especially if you throw life on top of that.” Harry snickered a fool-type laugh at his rationalization and held Emily’s hand as he rose to lean against the railing. “Can i give you your present now?” She looked towards the garage as she spoke. Emily stood and without giving Harry the chance to answer grabbed his hands to lead the way.
“Well; i guess i’ll say yes!” He was laughing as he straightened out his legs. “And i suppose we’re headed to the garage.”
The garage was a mediocre structure that sheltered old appliances that had seized or became dysfunctional in some way over the years. It was organized; Harry had a repairman who would come out and see if any of the parts could be of use, and this usually kept Harry in line as to cleaning and making sure everything was proper. Some of the machines were old, far beyond old, and they served more as an anchor, the beginning of a timeline, than any use for the repairman. Others were more recent. It didn’t matter now though, Harry hadn’t seen the gentleman in nearly a year, and not being friends but being routine, Harry thought the worst about the man. A year and the garage was still up-kept and stocked; in case the man ever came back. Emily stepped aside to allow Harry to walk inside first. He entered and immediately tripped over something on the floor, sending the object clattering against an old oven. The room was clean and the foreign object made it certain that Emily had been inside rearranging his stock. “Sorry.” Squeaked Emily; half in excitement and the other from a breeze that had raised her skirt a little way.
Harry made it to the center of the room where a light bulb hung from the ceiling...He clicked the light on and while his eyes adjusted to the new brightness was tapped in the face by the swaying metal chain he had released. His eyes scanned the room for something that he didn’t recognize as being part of his usual, and slowly increasing, inventory. The entire garage had been observed and he was returning his attention to where Emily stood when he say the two bicycle standing in front of her; both rested against their kick-stands. “You kicked your water bottle over behind that stove. I’m not quite sure how it managed to get on the ground.” She was pointing to the left rear corner of the room. “Does this mean i’ll have company on my rides?” He was smiling, watching the shine from the handle bars as he circled closer. “It means more visits at work too!” His first instinct was to dash and hug his wife but the lure of a new bicycle was too much and he sat lightly on the cushioned seat. He remembered the last time he had gotten a “brand new” bike and came back to the one in front of him without any memory of ever had. The grips smelled like rubber and the metal frames still had its glossy-oil coating that the manufacturers spray, giving the bike a GLEAM as they sat in store windows.
He kissed her on a yellow patch of grass near the doorway; they wrapped their arms around each other’s waist standing in a long and glorious embrace. Harry reached out a hand to the garage wall and flicked out the lights (with a switch only capable of turning the light “off”).
As they made their way, slowly, still embraced, Harry pulled his watch from his pocket and saw it was after midnight. He smiled and placed a kiss on Emily’s cheekbone, satisfied with the end result of the day. He quickly thought about Joe and Sharon; Mrs. Smitz for an instant in her garden; Carl and his abstract horticulture; Emily swaggering alongside of him; then brought his attention to a dilemma he would face again. Harry stepped onto the porch following Emily and watched her step through the door; he had come to a strong conclusion that there is love, but still did not know whether to clear everything off of his tables at the end of each night.
“They’re...” “Moonflowers, dear” Harry interrupted as he stepped onto the porch. “The stems and thorns...a rosebush” she was staring, touching, smelling the flowers in awe. The colours weren’t characteristic of either plant though there were traits of rose and moonflowers.
“Carl is a genius. Give him the idea and he’ll make it tangible.” Harry was crouched down beside the bush and his wife, scratching his chin lightly. “All i did was tell him the colours, the types of flowers and some small details, and then let him do his business.” He was shaking his head inspecting a leaf. At the mention of Carl her lips flattened, clamped down on her smile until it was just a closed mouth; her eyes shut quickly.
“So you heard about Amie.” He wasn’t looking forward to this anymore. A few hours ago it seemed like a nectar he could save on his lips and scent his words with, this gossip, news, was something he could share with Emily; though the coincidence of it happening on their anniversary made it taboo, sacrilegious. “Do you remember Dave?” He was horrendous when it came to recalling someone’s name, and every one was always quick to quiz him on this handicap. “The deputy that just moved here from Clearwater.” Her kind face was patient as he flung photographs around in his mind. “YES!” Harry exclaimed excitedly, finding the snapshot of the man. “He’s the one who came in wanting an egg and taylor sandwich.” That was about a month ago. Some scrawny kid with dark sun-glasses. He kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, and when Harry had informed him of a deli not too far away, the man dropped his hat and revealed the crown of his head bald and dusty from the inside of his hat. Harry had apologized for just being a coffee shop and the man left. That was the only time Harry had in order to remember the man’s name and face.
After realizing the man Harry slipped into a calm stillness and Emily knew he was having one of his memories, and sat smelling the flowers; pushing grapes around on her plate curious about her own appetite. A piece of melon slid in between her teeth lacking the satisfaction that she thought it would bring. “Yes; well him.” she pushed a wing of silver hair behind her ear. “He didn’t stop in the shop today, did he?” Emily was looking out into the yard. “No, but he isn’t a regular.” Harry glanced up at the sky and sighed a little, enough to settle the fact that they would not have a picnic, but tiny, to hide his discontent from his wife. “They had a fight this morning, Amie and Joe...” “Ah, yeah, Sharon said that. Something she over heard at the diner.” Harry threw in the middle of her sentence. “Well, apparently the argument was over Dave. Joe found that the two of them were sneaking around together. You can’t do those things in a small town.” Emily paused for a second. “Dave went with her to the hospital.” Harry raised a little to sit on the bench beside her. He thought about the cowardice, or the fear, that people have in admitting that their marriage was faulty; about the way divorce sounds to one still in love, voiced by the beloved. He shook it off as a shiver and decided to say one last thing to further the progress, and hasten the end, of the conversation. “Joe didn’t find out until lunch.” There was a silence that fell from the night and rose from the soil, played in the soft notes of a breeze through grass and leaves.
“He isn’t the best guy, but that’s even too much for some one like him to have to go through.” She seemed concerned about emotions rather than the head trauma victim, still in a hospital bed. “What bothers you Emily?” “They’re so young. Already they have nearly lost that and now they even lost love.” She wasn’t crying but she was sniffling as she said it. Harry thought about it for awhile, drawing circles on the back of her hand with his index finger, but came to no strong conclusion. Only the same outcome: That’s what life can bring.
The moon was out, hung lonely in the field, no stars to shine beside it. The flowers had fully awakened and one in particular stood out to Harry. The flower naturally looked like a trumpet but this one, this single flower had such a deep silver colour that it looked like an aged and wise trumpet; only the best notation passed through its body. He figured it was the chill in the air, the mood swaddling them both; it was only because of this that the trumpet had to be tarnished. Somehow he knew a smooth clean horn wouldn’t be able to blow the tune he was thinking. “The young girl with the silly t-shirts came in today.” It was a cheerful enough conversation to slip into along the linguistic-voyage destined for happiness. “I know she imagined me as the Baker in the Three Men in a Tub tale. It’s all because of that apron i just HAVE to wear.” “You do not! You look CUTE.” Emily smiled and kissed him on the cheek. She noticed the warmth of his blood passing through his face and chuckled: “Only an old man like you could worry about such a thing Harry” and she took his hand into hers. “Well...” he paused and thought a second; “working, taking the train to school and cramming your head everyday might lead to some delusions. Especially if you throw life on top of that.” Harry snickered a fool-type laugh at his rationalization and held Emily’s hand as he rose to lean against the railing. “Can i give you your present now?” She looked towards the garage as she spoke. Emily stood and without giving Harry the chance to answer grabbed his hands to lead the way.
“Well; i guess i’ll say yes!” He was laughing as he straightened out his legs. “And i suppose we’re headed to the garage.”
The garage was a mediocre structure that sheltered old appliances that had seized or became dysfunctional in some way over the years. It was organized; Harry had a repairman who would come out and see if any of the parts could be of use, and this usually kept Harry in line as to cleaning and making sure everything was proper. Some of the machines were old, far beyond old, and they served more as an anchor, the beginning of a timeline, than any use for the repairman. Others were more recent. It didn’t matter now though, Harry hadn’t seen the gentleman in nearly a year, and not being friends but being routine, Harry thought the worst about the man. A year and the garage was still up-kept and stocked; in case the man ever came back. Emily stepped aside to allow Harry to walk inside first. He entered and immediately tripped over something on the floor, sending the object clattering against an old oven. The room was clean and the foreign object made it certain that Emily had been inside rearranging his stock. “Sorry.” Squeaked Emily; half in excitement and the other from a breeze that had raised her skirt a little way.
Harry made it to the center of the room where a light bulb hung from the ceiling...He clicked the light on and while his eyes adjusted to the new brightness was tapped in the face by the swaying metal chain he had released. His eyes scanned the room for something that he didn’t recognize as being part of his usual, and slowly increasing, inventory. The entire garage had been observed and he was returning his attention to where Emily stood when he say the two bicycle standing in front of her; both rested against their kick-stands. “You kicked your water bottle over behind that stove. I’m not quite sure how it managed to get on the ground.” She was pointing to the left rear corner of the room. “Does this mean i’ll have company on my rides?” He was smiling, watching the shine from the handle bars as he circled closer. “It means more visits at work too!” His first instinct was to dash and hug his wife but the lure of a new bicycle was too much and he sat lightly on the cushioned seat. He remembered the last time he had gotten a “brand new” bike and came back to the one in front of him without any memory of ever had. The grips smelled like rubber and the metal frames still had its glossy-oil coating that the manufacturers spray, giving the bike a GLEAM as they sat in store windows.
He kissed her on a yellow patch of grass near the doorway; they wrapped their arms around each other’s waist standing in a long and glorious embrace. Harry reached out a hand to the garage wall and flicked out the lights (with a switch only capable of turning the light “off”).
As they made their way, slowly, still embraced, Harry pulled his watch from his pocket and saw it was after midnight. He smiled and placed a kiss on Emily’s cheekbone, satisfied with the end result of the day. He quickly thought about Joe and Sharon; Mrs. Smitz for an instant in her garden; Carl and his abstract horticulture; Emily swaggering alongside of him; then brought his attention to a dilemma he would face again. Harry stepped onto the porch following Emily and watched her step through the door; he had come to a strong conclusion that there is love, but still did not know whether to clear everything off of his tables at the end of each night.