Nothing Special
One of the strangest (and scariest) things about sharing a life together is how easy it becomes to forget to connect with each other. Life is busy. Workdays are long. Evenings are short, and so are tempers (well, at least mine is). And in our miniscule apartment, we've practically mastered the art of tuning one another out, a skill that's both necessary and frightening.
During the past several weeks, spiceboy has been catering various events with his fabulous cousin, and I've been busy with work and battling a terrible cold. Evenings, I've been coming home from work and crashing with hardly a word. Weekends, spiceboy has been working fourteen hour days. So we haven't had a lot of quality time together.
Today, though, we found ourselves at home, no work for spiceboy, no cold for me, and the day stretching out before us. This afternoon, we took a stroll over to Central Park, and sat at Bethesda Fountain, where the people watching is good. We shared a Scooter Crunch and leaned our shoulders together while Betty flirted with three Italian women sitting next to us. They asked her name, and when I told them, they fussed over her, rubbing her ears and her haunches and saying, "Ciao, Betty!" After they left we held hands and kissed in the bright sunlight. Music seemed to be coming from every corner of the park and lifting up into the air, drums and guitars and singing, and in that rush of music and sunlight and movement, I could feel the blah of the last few weeks melting away, and I buried my face in spiceboy's neck and breathed in his smell, soapy and warm and familiar.
Then spiceboy looked up at the sky, where dark clouds were gathering. "Uh-oh," he said. It grew darker as we walked between Fifth and Madison. Between Third and Second, it started raining even harder, and as we waited for the light to change at Second, it began to pour. We scooted out onto the avenue, and when it was free of traffic, we ran for it.
The air was warm and the raindrops were huge and and we yelled and laughed and raced one another down the slick sidewalks, past the stinky Beach, past the smiling doorman and the old ladies with their large umbrellas, until we arrived on our own doorstep, soaked and thrilled and out of breath.
It was nothing special, but it was everything.
During the past several weeks, spiceboy has been catering various events with his fabulous cousin, and I've been busy with work and battling a terrible cold. Evenings, I've been coming home from work and crashing with hardly a word. Weekends, spiceboy has been working fourteen hour days. So we haven't had a lot of quality time together.
Today, though, we found ourselves at home, no work for spiceboy, no cold for me, and the day stretching out before us. This afternoon, we took a stroll over to Central Park, and sat at Bethesda Fountain, where the people watching is good. We shared a Scooter Crunch and leaned our shoulders together while Betty flirted with three Italian women sitting next to us. They asked her name, and when I told them, they fussed over her, rubbing her ears and her haunches and saying, "Ciao, Betty!" After they left we held hands and kissed in the bright sunlight. Music seemed to be coming from every corner of the park and lifting up into the air, drums and guitars and singing, and in that rush of music and sunlight and movement, I could feel the blah of the last few weeks melting away, and I buried my face in spiceboy's neck and breathed in his smell, soapy and warm and familiar.
Then spiceboy looked up at the sky, where dark clouds were gathering. "Uh-oh," he said. It grew darker as we walked between Fifth and Madison. Between Third and Second, it started raining even harder, and as we waited for the light to change at Second, it began to pour. We scooted out onto the avenue, and when it was free of traffic, we ran for it.
The air was warm and the raindrops were huge and and we yelled and laughed and raced one another down the slick sidewalks, past the stinky Beach, past the smiling doorman and the old ladies with their large umbrellas, until we arrived on our own doorstep, soaked and thrilled and out of breath.
It was nothing special, but it was everything.
posted by east side girl at 10:15 PM
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