Can't Say Love

I stop cussing about the dog long enough to touch my wife. She's laid out in full sleep mode, her head buried in her favorite pillow. She looks dead. Her left arm has fallen away from her shroud. It crosses Paco's dividing line and is resting on my pillow.

I've come back from a funny movie and am inspired. I go to movies not so much to watch them, but to sit in a dark place and think. I love it when a movie truly pulls me away and plunks me some place where I can only hear the echoes my laughter...or the giggling children of terror. I think that could be why I yearn to watch scary movies (but can't handle them) is because fear is such an easy emotion to come by. It fills me up and none of the day's business has any room to linger. Tonight's movie, The World's End, was just funny and poignant enough to keep me from running myself weary on the mental treadmill of the same old same old (repeat.)

Something resonated from the film. The main character is a guy who once was somebody (or thought he was,) but has since fallen behind as he dwells in the past. The Glory Days that Bruce Springsteen sings about that I thought I'd never have to crane my neck to see. During the movie I wondered if I was that guy in my group of friends. I could be. I wondered if they thought of me that way. Actually, if I think of myself that way then it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

Sarah has a motion sensor in her sleep. I walk in the room and it clicks on. She asks, "what's up babe?" because clearly she senses my weight. The weight of the sighing chick--you know the girl who's always sighing so you'll ask her what's wrong? Oh god, I just realized that's me. Sweet shit, I just sighed thinking about it.

I tell her that nothing's up. And she knows my head is doing the mouse wheel. I won't be sleeping. She says something about getting to bed. I've been sick. So has she, and Quin has pink eye. Tomorrow is Monday. I can feel how tired I'm going to be.

I can't say love at this point because I don't feel I'm in the right space. I'll say it when everything is better and I'm certain Sarah can not only hear it, but also experience it, too. Did I really just think that?

Too late. I rest my head on her outstretched arm and lay my left hand on the tendon between me and her awesome pregnancy boobs. Thank you, Evolution, for one more incentive to stick around and protect my offspring. I'm thinking about how males really aren't all that difficult to please as I admire the supple connectivity of muscle between her body and her arm. Her arm so very intact to the whole. Or, I guess, part of the whole. She is whole, I realize, and I'm a hundred miles of Nebraska scattered. She is so real.

This is a sunflower in our garden. I speak in metaphors.

She asks me to get some sleep and I tell her I'll wait a little longer so I can get the kids up to pee. I like to think of myself as the "piss whisperer" because for about a year now I get the kids up just before midnight to avoid any accidents. They never even wake up really, and I get to hold them like they're babies again. I have no problem telling them that I love them. It never seems like a bad time for them to hear it. And I make that connection as I leave the bedroom. Sarah smiles, lifting a wave that rises from my pillow and lands on our dog.

I offer some parting words about how great our kids are. I feel a little douchey for so often regaling her about how good the children are, but am pretty sure that's a benefit to being with someone: you get to share all kinds of douchey things in a safe harbor from karma and consequences of hubris.

Relationships offer more benefits, of course. I remind myself to one day say them out loud. But tonight I'm hoping my ineffective communication will be enough.