TheBanyanTree: Domestic Tranquility

[Monique]

Traffic is slow on the way home from Seattle, a storm has knocked out
areas altogether, and some lights aren't working. Intersections are a
maze of cars circumnavigating and dashing forward in the hopes that no
one else is going. It's rush hour, and it's bad enough under normal
conditions.
 
I've been dealing with a client who still does not understand the
concept of taxes - employee taxes, business taxes, and while I lament
the existence of such as much as anyone, there's nothing to be done
about them but pay them, unless one can eliminate the source. 
 
I get home at last, the apartment is dark and empty. Dog has not
returned home from her sabbatical. I put a load of laundry in, now that
my dryer and my fuse box have both been fixed to my satisfaction (which
is to say, they work), and I clean my kitchen floor. I check my email,
and I start doing some dishes while pondering the dinner dilemma. 
 
Then A. gets home. He hasn't eaten all day, and he heads for the kitchen
after we greet each other enthusiastically. He pulls out the honey
butter he made yesterday, and the bread, and we decide I can make rice
for last night's leftovers of honey mustard chicken. He finds a twice
baked potato in the fridge that I made a while back that he didn't know
about. With the rice started, I tell him I'm going to take a bath. It's
a good day to soak in hot water.
 
While I'm in the bath I hear noises in the kitchen. Cooking noises. He
ends up making dinner more often than not, even when I attempt to start
it. I float calmly in my hot water and know that there will be food when
I'm done. 
 
When I finish my bath I make the bed with the sheets I've just washed,
and then I go out to the kitchen. "How was your bath?" he asks me, and I
tell him it was great. In addition to the leftover chicken with peppers
and rice, he's also made macaroni and cheese, from the box but with
extra cheese and honey butter and something else . . . . he has me taste
it, and it's really good, I think he should always make my macaroni and
cheese. 
 
We sit down with our food and he puts in the movie he's brought over,
Frailty. We dine casually, sitting on the couch, since my kitchen table
is currently a repository of business junk. We eat. We watch the movie.
We eat cookies, and we lay together on the couch and watch the rest of
the movie. 
 
It's very peaceful. 
 
He has no sudden mood swings. In the time I've known him, I've seen no
mood swings at all, no tempestuous behavior, no despair, no sadness. He
is a happy person, and he has a wide circle of friends that he likes to
hang out with. He's young enough to still drink with the guys, his frat
boy days not that long ago, but I don't mind that at all - it's not
constant, it's always planned. The other day he said something about
getting it out of his system. He's a happy drunk, and he makes me laugh.
I know problem drinkers, and he isn't one - he's young is all. He is
extremely reliable - when he says he will be somewhere he will be there.
When I ask him to meet me somewhere, he will do so, unless he has other
plans, in which case he'll tell me right away. He meets his obligations.

 
His attitude toward me does not change, but is unwavering. We talked the
other day, very slightly, about what to do about us. He asked what we
should do. I asked him what he wanted to do.
 
"I want to make you happy," he said.
 
I am happy.
 
After the movie we flip some channels. We come across some ludicrous
news stories. We're liberal, we're easily amused. We watch the Iron
Chef. We love the Iron Chef, we love the Food Network. We love baseball
too, though we're becoming discouraged by the Mariners. We love hockey
too. I always did like baseball, even if I didn't watch it, but I've
found that I like hockey too - A. was a goalie for 8 years. Enthusiasm
is contagious. He tickles me, he grabs my feet and tickles them, I
tickle him back. It's a source of constant amusement for us. 
 
We decide we're tired, and we go to bed. We turn off the lights - I
don't remember if he turns them off or if I do. We turn on our water
feature in the bedroom that has the cool lights and hums all night -
this time I plug it in. We climb into bed, he reaches for me and holds
me tight, we say goodnight, and we fall asleep like that, like we always
do when he's here, wrapped together. 
 
We move around during the night, we shift, we move, but we always stay
close. And in the morning, I wake up with his arms around me still.
 
It's stable and peaceful and sane and I'm happy and he's happy. 
 
It can't possibly last.
 
 
Monique