|
« continued from previous page
|
Windchimes Wait For No Breeze
|
We began with ambition, babies, weekend retreats, awws and coos. His song, my song (Woman-Lennon), our song (Your Song-Elton John). There were late nights, some fights, and lots of kisses to make-up till the wee hours in the night. A fresh start.
Then we moved to school, lessons, chunks of time spent apart, some family holidays.
"Stop fighting kids!" And then, "I said stop fighting," and then, "Not tonight, I'm tired." And then, "Oh all right let's just hug."
Television changed pace with our lives. From Barney to Amanda, The Wonder Years and finally Friends. College, graduation, good-byes, starched shirts, stiff smiles, tight-lips, the Nightly News. Lights out.
In between the weekly washing day, daily news stories just fell to the way side and got lost in yesteryear. In a blink Love, love me do, a la the Beatles was lost like the children's socks. Forty winks. Words. Much shorter. More effective.
"Eggs?"
"Fine."
"No Jam?"
"No Time."
"Toast?"
"O.k."
"A glass of juice?"
"What?"
"Juice?"
"God stop being a nag!"
Our nightly ritual of intimacy a long forgotten ghost of the past, had been carelessly tossed away like a worn out shawl. Comfortable but not exciting. Fallen shawl, fallen face, falling leaves, a fall from grace. The sparkle of togetherness pierced by knowing priorities.
So there it was, lengthy apologies, lots of flowers, a single bed, a cramped apartment. Then more late nights, a bigger house, a new job, more money.
No excuses, no apologies, no need, no time for breakfast, no time to yell, no call and finally no questions.
"How many times must I tell you there is no one."
The rustle of the morning paper twisting the value of a relationship. The paper's value worth more than the newsprint. Our marriage certificate adorns our new home's library walls.
One fine day, elbows deep in papier mache, making Mother Mary's, "Praying Hands" in plaster of Paris for our daughter's art class I find it.
The cartoon section of the newspaper still glued to my arm, I come across the famous give-a-way, "lipstick stain on his white collar." Cliché? Perhaps. Trite? Never. Just true. Searing? Positively. I drop the scissors as quickly as I justify what's happened. Happening.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Ask our Experts :
Expert Advice, Personality, Immigration (US), Tarot, Hot Couture, Body Care, Matrimonial Laws, Sexual Health, Life, etc, Man vs Woman, Fitness. |
|
 |
|
Copyright © 2012 Shaaditimes.com - A relationship and wedding portal by Shaadi.com. - All Rights Reserved. Terms and Conditions
|
