He is having his ACL repaired.
This means he will be home with us for a whole week.
I am skeptical of this set-up.
We got married because we wanted to be with each other.
Because magnets set up by God sucked us into each other and we could not push back.
I guess you could call this "wanting." In a way it seemed impossible to do anything else.
He crawled into bed hours after I'd fallen asleep and whispered,
"Come 'eer. snuggle. This is your last chance for 2 weeks."
I groaned,
"Ugh...you're so cold, and I'm so warm....I'm sleeping...."
He chuckled and I could hear his smile.
"Come on Kappos."
I roll over and kick my right leg onto his thigh. My head finds its groove in his shoulder pit.
I breath him deep in through my nostrils. I exhale all my air.
We have gone to marriage counseling twice.
I'm sure we will go again.
Our first counselor called us a hand in a glove. His strength fits my weakness.
I hold space for shapes he cannot see.
Andrew has taught me how to be consistent, how to respect other people's time and work.
He has taught me the power of doing the same thing over and over day after day.
He has taught me there are no right or wrong feelings, just feelings.
I've learned how to put myself into shoes I would never want to wear.
My definition of myself has spread into a whole woman, not the flighty, over-romantic girl I was when we met.
I am thick. The veins of life run under my eyes.
I no longer see how things are supposed to be, I see them as they are.
On Saturday I drove my Grandma to Uintah. It's about an hour drive.
This means I had a whole hour to myself on the way home.
Rare time alone, and I got to listen to my own music.
As Amy Lee sang, I could see her whole mouth splayed open.
Her voice roars up her throat and out completely in an ultimate purge. She leaves nothing behind. All of her air is exhaled.
I remembered passion. Salt Lake City is full of people overcome with passion right now.
People burning and aching for a phone call or a painting or a partner or a ticket to somewhere else.
It sits in their gut and consumes them at stop lights, at the movies, while they fold laundry.
I don't ache for anything.
Not now. Not usually. Hardly ever.
To some, I suppose this is sad.
For me, it is just new.
I had my time. I chased passion for 10 years. I know exactly what it tastes like.
So when I hear Amy sing, I can still smell it, and it makes my stomach rumble.
But then I remember. I am not hungry. The creases under my eyes fold into the same smile they have been making for 33 years and I am sated.
I had the urge to keep on driving so the aroma would stay with me.
Instead my hands and feet drove me home.
I found Andrew at the kitchen sink. He was prepping his ice machine for the upcoming surgery.
I lasso arms around his broad shoulders. My fingertips could hardly reach and I was on my tiptoes.
I smiled into him holding back nothing. I am young. He couldn't help but melt into a grin.
I know this face. It's his - "I wish you'd let me get back to work, but I adore you." - face.
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