Ok people, I'm going to get real here, for a moment.
(If you are anyone not wanting a biology lesson, skip this blog entry, or at least the first part!)
I just now started my period.
Yes, yes, exactly. Keith is about seventy two hours away.
At least the four large zits that were on my face have now cleared up.
And...there's no more that can be said about that. Moving on...
Keith has been stuck in a certain leg of the journey for more than a day now, at an airport. Now, the word airport conjures up certain images for me and so I was imagining Keith uncomfortably lying slumped down in one of those plastic chairs, all attached in rows, with the upholstery cracked in places. I saw the low grade, blue rug stretched out, down the wide, endless stretch of the terminal, and I saw the wide glass windows and through them, planes slowly taxing back and forth and those strangely shaped little trucks coming and going, hoses unravelled, baggage caravans trundling off busily.
So, I asked him, "Have you been sleeping in the lobby?"
I was not prepared for the outburst of genuine, belly shaking, joyful laughter that suddenly poured out of him. I had to wait a long time for the laughter to stop.
"You little cutie," he said tenderly. "Naw, hon, there's no lobby. We slept outside on the concrete; it was damn cold. Today they gave us a tent."
The other day Keith and I were talking about our trip together to Indiana last summer.
"Remember that one night we slept together on the couch at your mom's place?" I asked warmly. "We were squashed together and I couldn't sleep, so I got up and slept in the recliner. You woke in the night and couldn't find me, and called for me. You told me that in the morning, when you woke up; you were so sad and adorable."
"I don't remember that," he said immediately, but I could hear how the corners of his mouth were twitching up. "But I do remember sleeping in the bed of the truck one night."
It had been a rainy night, we had scooped up a couple of quilts his best friend had left for us. With these bundled in our arms, we had ducked through the falling rain, dodging mud puddles in the dirt driveway, to the barn where the HD was parked.
We didn't want to sleep on the open living room floor, in the small house filled with curious toddlers; we wanted our own space and the HD had become like a second home during the month long trip. We had purchased an air mattress and it fit the bed of the truck perfectly.
The smell of the rain and of grass filled the night, along with the warm notes of engine oil and hay. The rain made a quiet, steady music on the roof of the barn and fell in long, glistening strands of twisting water from the open barn doors. The porch light caught in the rain and gave every thing a golden glow.
We made love under the quilts; sunk deeply into the mattress, with the sound of the rain all around us. It took me a long time to fall asleep afterward, I kept rolling into Keith because his body weight caused such an incline. He, of course, has the soldier's talent of being able to fall asleep anywhere. Eventually, I fell asleep plastered against him, hearing the first, tentative bird calls as dawn approached.
(When we talk about the story of making love on the truck bed, in the barn, Keith often throws in this: "You wanted a country boy, hon. Well, you got one!")
Yes, yes I did, and I love him.
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