Another "short" story by yours truly.
I hope you enjoy. Comments, and critiques are encouraged and appreciated.
-Brandolyn
Buttons and Ice cream
I hate buttons.
I haven’t always hated buttons, but recently they seem to be
out to get me. On a good day they are tricky to slip through a button hole, and
they always make removing clothing an arduous task; instead of simply pulling a
shirt over my head, I must first undo the buttons at the neck and wrist, or
otherwise turn the shirt inside out and pull with all my strength until eventually
the sleeves pop over my wrists. What a pain. And when I’m having a bad day, they seem to know it and decide to avoid the ever elusive button hole.
I hate buttons. However, I think as I look across the room
at Chris as he dresses for work, I do love how buttons pull the shirt tight
across his chest. I smirk, and add that small detail to the sketch I’m working
on.
“What?” He asks me looking up after tucking in his deep navy
shirt. He sounds bored, but he looks slightly intrigued.
“Nothing.” I smile my cutest, most innocent smile and focus
my attention back to the sketch pad on my lap. He ignores me and goes back to
getting ready. My sketch is nearly finished. It’s Chris, in his uniform,
looking every bit as handsome as the day I first met him. Back then he was a
junior Officer; he didn’t have the stripes that adorn his sleeves today.
“Wow.” Chris had crossed the room and is looking over my
shoulder at the charcoal sketch I made of him. I laughed.
“Well, it may not look quite right but imagine it with some
colour and a little less shaky.” I
may hate buttons, but I love charcoal, it’s one of the only remaining mediums I
use: chalk, conté and charcoal. Charcoal moves and blends easily, so it’s easy
to hide any mistakes, and lately I’ve been making a lot. It wasn’t perfect, but
I liked it well enough.
“It looks amazing.” He
smiles at me. “You are as talented as ever.” He says beaming.
“Don’t make fun.” I shut my sketch book as a shudder runs
down my spine, down my leg and through my left foot. I wince uncontrollably.
Chris reaches down and very gently puts one finger under my chin to raise it
up. He brings his mouth down to mine and caresses me softly.
Most couples kiss,
but Chris and I, we caress. It sounds cheesy, and maybe it is, but we do and I
love it.
When I was growing up I went on a few dates and had a few
stolen kisses, but nothing ever made me want more, so I never got time to
practice kissing. Chris has told me on several occasions, I am the first girl
he ever truly kissed, so he didn’t know what he was doing either. I’ve never
known if we just got lucky, or if we’re doing it wrong because we didn’t know
what to expect when our lips first touched, but either way, we never simply kiss.
Our first caress was long awaited by both of us, it just sort
of happened, like a reflex and ever since, when we kiss it’s sweet, tender, prolonged
and deliberate. That’s not to say that it’s unseemly, but it is so true that we
keep them to ourselves; the rest of the world can have their kisses, and we
will keep our caresses to each other.
This caress makes me weak in the knees and I am glad that I’m
still sitting down. He holds me close as
we break apart, whispering softly,
“Sorry I won’t be here tonight, but I’ll see you in the
morning.”
“Wait,” I call and pull him close again. He had missed one
of his shirt buttons and I fix it for him. Fortunately, today it doesn’t take me too
long. He thanks me and leaves.
Whenever Chris’ gone, either for work or out with the guys, I
usually become extremely productive. I work from home, so a nice quiet house is
perfect. Tonight however, my work was going to wait. Every time I look at it I
feel a needle sharp pain right behind my right eye. Work can wait till morning. I
should just go to bed, but I have a book that I am dying to finish.
I recline in my favourite chair for a while reading, but
that numbing pain I’ve been trying to avoid all day creeps up on me in the
silence. Before I can fixate too long on my pain, I get a text.
If you’re sleeping, sleep well. If you can’t sleep, take a bath.
-C
Maybe a bath will help.
Chris designed the bathroom specifically for me. He built it
right next to my office and he painted it a relaxing pale blue, with white
trim, lights that dim and a Jacuzzi tub for really hard days. The bath helps a
lot; the pain in my head and behind my eyes was nearly gone, and the prickling
in my spine disappeared, but the heat has made my feet and hands sluggish. I nearly
fall out of the bath as my feet drag clumsily out of the tub.
Immediately my
tension returns.
Relax.
It isn’t just my work, the pain or nearly falling out of the
tub that was making me tense. That was annoying, but I deal with this every
day; it just gets worse whenever Chris works nights, adding worries about him to the jungle of stuff I have to deal with.
I had always dreamed of becoming a Police Officer. I have
the fitness, the focus, the drive, but as my Doctor has pointed out several
times; I cannot pass the physical. Multiple Sclerosis hasn’t stopped me from
doing anything before, but when my symptoms get worse in stressful situations,
it’s hard to keep a high stress job. I came to terms with Chris' job a long time ago. I'm really proud of him, but it doesn't keep me from worrying.
I open Chris’ closet and pull out a deep blue, long sleeved
sweatshirt from his time at the Police Academy and put it on; it smells like
him, like pine and peppermint. I picked the one shirt he owns that doesn’t
have buttons and slip the shirt on easily. I look in the mirror out of habit
and sigh.
Fitness-wise my health has never been better, I’m lean and muscular; not that I can see any
definition under Chris’ sweater, but I can see it in my bare legs; strong
calves from my hours on the tread mill. Fitness is important; Chris has to stay
fit for his job and I stay fit to challenge him, besides, my Doctors are always
telling me that fitness staves off
illness.
“Liar.” I accuse the mirror. I don’t know if fitness keeps
illness away, but if you’re fit, at least you still look great when you get
sick.
I close my eyes and shake out my limbs trying to relax my body starting
with my neck and shoulders, then my back and hips. I wiggle my toes, at least,
I think I do. I open my eyes and check the mirror. Yep, they’re moving. I sigh
relieved. I haven’t been able to feel
them in years; nothing more than a constant numbness.
I tip toe down the hall, careful not to trip over myself, to
the kitchen and make myself a pot of tea; Cinnamon Apple Spice is my favourite.
Chris prefers Earl Grey, but I like my warm cup of tea to
smell of Christmas.
My favourite mug is sitting on the counter; a green mug with
the drawing of an owl wearing a bow tie with the caption “Dr. Whooo”, that
Chris got me for my birthday. It’s my favourite, so we’ve agreed to keep it on
the counter so that I don’t risk dropping it from the cupboard- I broke a mug
and two plates last week.
The problem with my situation is that I can be
perfectly fine one moment, then the next moment a jolt of pain; like a really
bad internal shock will make me twitch uncontrollably. Sometimes I’m glad we don’t have kids, what if I suddenly
twitched and dropped the baby? Or held
on too tight trying not to drop it? I sigh again and focus on my tea. It’s
steeped a bit too much for my liking, but it’ll be fine.
Habitually I open the freezer. We’ve already eaten, Chris
made us Fillet Mignon with potatoes and asparagus, but I wanted something sweet
to go with my tea. I had made homemade popsicles out of lemon water and
popsicle sticks. Inside the freezer, on the middle row was a half pint of my
favourite ice cream, with a note attached.
Some days it’s O.K to cheat.
XOXO
If I wasn’t so excited to be having ice cream when I’m
supposed to be on a dairy-free diet, I would have burst into tears.
I grab the
half pint of Cappuccino ice cream, one spoon, my tea and hurry into Chris’ study.
I quickly make a small fire and pull on the big quilt we made out of his old
sports jerseys and snuggle up on the big couch. Chris' study is the only room in
the house with a fire place, it’s also one of the few rooms that doesn’t have a
television; making it our favourite room.
When he’s working, or sorting bills I
like to come in here and read, just to be in the same room. I used to come in
and read before Chris put in any extra furniture; a desk, a desk chair and a
lamp, that was it; I would sit on the floor. He brought in bookshelves for me, but the big couch was mostly for him,
so he could lay down with me while I read aloud to him.
The fire’s comforting, but the later it gets into the night, the less I can
fight how much everything hurts, no amount of tea or ice cream, or sappy movies
can distract me anymore. I close my eyes, curl up on the couch and cry as my
body twitches painfully out of my control. I pray that everything still works
the same when I wake up; because I never know what to expect when I open my
eyes in the morning.
When I wake up Chris is holding me tight. We’re still on the
couch in his office, covered by the jersey quilt. There’s golden early morning
sunlight peeking through the shades. It's morning, and he's home.
I realize he’s somehow under me. He must
have picked me up while I was sleeping. He has one hand wrapped around my
middle, while the other strokes my hair gently. I bury my face into his
shoulder, before I realize he’s talking to me. His voice is soothing.
“Relax.” “I’m home.” “Relax.” He repeats softly over and
over. Every time my body twitches I feel his hands hold me tighter, like if he
can hold me still, it won’t hurt so much.
“How was work?” I ask sleepily. I hear a rumble in his
throat that signals indifference.
“It was nothing compared to your night.” His hand is still
drifting slowly from the top of my head down my spine. For the first time since I came into his office during the
night my body lay perfectly still. The skin on my neck prickles happily at his
touch and I conform to his body comfortably. We lay still for a while.
“I’m sorry I left you to go through tonight alone.” Chris whispers
to the back of my head. I turn around and prop myself up on his chest. I look
at him thoughtfully remembering all the ways Chris was with me last night; he
designed my relaxing bathroom, he sent the text message, I wore his sweater, he
left me ice cream with the note, I snuggled in his quilt on the couch in his
office … the list went on and on.
“You didn’t.” I say proudly, before I lean down and caress
him. He holds me tight again and we settle into the couch for a long over-due
nap.
I fall asleep happily knowing that when I wake up, if
nothing else works properly, but I can still kiss Chris like that, and be
kissed by him the same, then I will be happy.
