This time I won't go softlyLast evening Andrew took us to the movies (I dozed off, no idea), then out to a new to us diner in a nearby borough and then we played pinball for a couple of hours before the kids finally wore out and I got them into baths and then to bed quite easily.
(I never wanted to be)
Refuse to simply fade away
(I never wanted to be)
Still holding on 'cause this is
Far from over
I won't say goodnight
My heart's grown colder
Waiting for the sun to rise again
Crawling closer
So save your kiss goodbye
It's far from over
We popped Sunshine into the DVD player and measured out some positively lethal South American spirits and that was it for Bridget. Movies are my celluloid narcolepsy these days and it makes me mad because I love to escape into a movie, just not quite so thoroughly. I drifted off just as Cillian Murphy was staring into the sun.
I woke up in Ben's arms.
He came home sometime during the night and like a giant, clumsy ninja, managed to bypass all the alarms and Andrew in the spare room and the new restless and light-sleeping puppy at the foot of our bed and he sacked right out, falling asleep with his arms around me and his boots and jacket still on. Backpack on the floor. Airplane fuel fumes drifting lightly through the room.
I turned over into his face and kissed him on the forehead and his eyes opened instantly. Okay, so he didn't fall asleep. He asked if I was going to continue to mentally hand myself to the devil every time we have an argument. I nodded and he said to stop it. Then he said he was sorry but the whole not trusting him with really important facts out of misguided kindness or even fear was ridiculous at this point in time and it has to stop. Then he said So there and kissed my forehead.
We both smiled, not taking it for granted that we are together, in the same room again. A gift.
Then I sat up really quickly and surprised him and he sat up and we bumped a head on an elbow and both cringed and then laughed and he asked what happened. I pointed out I just realized he was home. Here. With us.
Where else would I go, little bee?
Anywhere. You could go anywhere.
My heart is here. My kids, my wife.
(I choked up right there and nodded, unable to say anything.)
I'm still mad at you.
You didn't have to come back.
And let the devil have you? I don't think so. Preacher raised us up right.
Oh he did, did he?
He tried, Bridge. And maybe he wasn't as misguided as you think.
Can we not do this right now?
Fine. We'll fit it in later on, after I ravage you in the shower.
Oh, see, now you're on to something.
Not yet, I'm not. Give me a few minutes and I most definitely will be, though.
But we were forced to take a raincheck on the ravaging, thanks to light-sleeping puppy that needed to be walked and children that wanted banana bread for breakfast (warmed, butternauts on the side, though in Henry's case they are butter aliens that resemble lumps of, well, butter) and juice and the phone started ringing and Ben made some comment about it being grand central as usual and then when he smiled I saw that he loves every second of this.
Every second. Even the bitter parts. Which balance out the sweet and make this domestic bliss almost palatable, an acquired taste that he's learning to crave almost as much as I crave the calm now. The peaceful no-drama, everyone lives their lives and makes a better effort to simply get along and we might have half a shot here at normal.
That blissful mediocrity we crave and then can't stand when we have it.
Yeah, I know. But Ben is home and this is good. Off to pick strawberries now. That always separates the real rock stars from the intended-awkward tattooed dads. Or so he tells me.