A Life With You

by Roy Miller

  Dedication

  To Matthew, for helping pull me out of a hole when I couldn't do it on my own. For being honest when it hurt, and for changing his life for the better, while in turn inspiring me to do the same. Ex Malo Bonum.

  To MB, for helping me reopen my heart and assuring me it was okay to let it out. For hugging me twice when we first met, and for not hiding her worst from me. This book never would have been started if it wasn't for her.

  To my family, Josh, Kat, Jasper, Raeanne and the rest of my support group, for continuously pushing me to keep writing and validating what I had done along the way.

  Foreword

  The inspiration for these came from all over. Memories, stories I was told by others, things I've dreamed about. I found I was remembering things that had happened when I was a kid and then reversing the roles, putting myself as the adult and wondering how I would be feeling and what I would have done at that time. Now that I am an adult, I compare what I thought then to what I do now, and the resulting differences are a sort of graph charting how I've grown. Honestly though, not all of them are happy. As humans we get depressed and sick and have times where we don't really know how to function, and I tried to include some of those times as well. They may not be the prettiest, but it's a part of who we are and important that we learn how to deal with each other in our worst of times.

  One thing that will always ring true is people are always trying to get out of their current situation, whether it's taking a vacation or moving to a new town or finding a new job. This collection is meant to focus on the most important parts of our lives, the small ones in between the big plans. When you're on the couch watching television or reading a book, and the light bounces off your partner's glasses just right to make their eyes sparkle and you're reminded of what attracted you to them in the first place. The world is so big and with increasing technology allowing us to see corners we couldn't before without travelling, I feel like we're getting to be less content with our own corner, and I hope that by jogging some memories we can all get back to focusing on what we have instead of obsessing over what we don't. Or at least making plans together to satiate our need for adventure.

  Appreciate each other.

  One

  It's late October and the nights are getting colder. But it doesn't bother you, since you get to rotate your collection of hoodies and wear a new one each day. Today is the dark brown one with knots at the ends of the drawstrings. Charlie Brown is on TV at a low volume. It's The Great Pumpkin special, and you smile at the same points you always have while you pull cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I head into the living room, turn the dial for the lights down a bit and set up a nest of blankets and pillows on the couch. That couch was the first thing we bought together as a couple, and I wonder if somehow, when the furniture that couples buy together deteriorates, the wear-and-tear of the fabric is a reflection of the relationship. If that was the case, we wouldn't have to buy furniture ever again. You finish frosting your creations and bring one out with you, casually scraping some of the sticky topping off of your thumb with your teeth. We lean into each other and watch the pastels of the autumn sky fade into stars, my fingers absent-mindedly playing with your hair.

  Two

  Spring. The rainy weather has had you down for a couple of days, so when it finally clears up I pack a picnic on your day off. I put on the blue shirt you always tell me you like, then get the car ready before waking you up with the surprise. You say you still aren't up for it and roll over, your breath slowing instantly as you fall back asleep. Disheartened, I leave the room without saying anything and unpack the picnic basket, placing the containers of fresh watermelon and strawberries into the refrigerator. With nothing else to do but let you rest, I lie on the couch and watch a movie. A few hours later you stalk from the bedroom to the bathroom, stopping momentarily on the way back to apologize to me for not being yourself lately. Your words are soft and your eyes are gray. I get up and follow you back to our bed where I rub your back and kiss your shoulders until you fall asleep again, letting my fingertips tell you that it's okay, and I'll be here when you get back.

  Three

  It's the middle of the night and the temperature is still slightly over one hundred degrees. Your skin glistens with humidity despite sitting still in front of the fan. There's a breeze coming in through the window, and even though it's mostly warm air we leave it open just to keep the room from going stagnant. When the heat gets to be too much, we hop in the car and head to the twenty four hour grocery store to pick up your favorite ice cream. One thing we have in common is shopping late at night while the isles are empty, save for the insomniacs and the lovesick like us. We head for the checkout lane, a pint of Ben & Jerry's in each of your hands. The cashier moves slowly and avoids eye contact, and I vaguely remember someone from middle school that had a similar scar on their chin. There's a non-verbal agreement to take the long way home so we can stay in the air-conditioned car for a little bit longer, your hand on my knee and my hand on yours.

  Four

  I come home early from work on a day you have off, so we decide to go for a walk and get frozen yogurt. On the way, a group of kids on skateboards push past us and one of them runs into you, nearly knocking you over. I yell at the kid to stop but he looks back in fear and pushes harder, and before I can run after him you grab my wrist. His friends laugh and ride away, but a lazy smile on your face shows that you're not mad. You remind me of what I was like as a teenager and slowly the annoyance at the kids' disregard melts away. We get our yogurt and sit on a bench near the water, watching a family of three fly kites in the park. I wonder silently that had you really known me as a teenager, if you would still be sitting next to me.

  Five

  We haven't spent much time together since last weekend because we've both been busy with work, and been so tired afterward. Quick dinners of sandwiches and whatever else was handy and wouldn't make a mess. In the morning I mention we only have two more days before we can spend quality time lounging around in our underwear, and you kiss me on the cheek before getting dressed. Later that day, I have flowers sent to you at work. The card reads, “There's a squirt gun and instructions on the kitchen counter when you get home. Cheating will bring serious consequences. Good luck. Love, Me.” You smile while your coworkers look on and begin working out your strategy. It's not Friday yet, but battle waits for no one and defending control of the remote is of the utmost importance.

  Six

  Football season. My favorite team is playing on prime time, so I set up in the living room with my jersey on, ready to watch. You sit at the other end of the couch with a blanket and a book. I occasionally yell out, either out of frustration or joy, and you can't help but smirk without looking up from your current literary conquest. I look over in between plays and see you chewing lightly on a fingernail, your glasses inching slowly to the end of your nose. For a minute, I completely forget the game is even on and focus on you. The way your shoulders rise and fall with each breath. The slight gape of your mouth. I lean over to your side of the couch and kiss you on the cheek, breaking you out of your trance and catching your eye just long enough for a wink. My team goes three and out, but the smile doesn't leave my face.

  Seven

  It's our five year anniversary. It falls on a Wednesday, which means we're both working that day and the day after. Smack in the middle of the work week, we're both busy and the kitchen is running low on supplies. I try to get the day off so I can plan something special for you, but things don't go my way. Instead, I decide to run out on my lunch break and grab the ingredients to make homemade pizza. Light sauce and extra cheese. I scoop everything up, drop it off and make it back to work with minutes to spare. A quick check of my phone before I go in sho
ws a new text message from you. ‘Hope you're having a good day babe, can't wait to see you later.' At the end of my shift I punch out immediately and race home, trying to beat you to the kitchen so I can get everything started before you come in. As I'm putting the finishing touches on the raw product, you stumble through the door with bags in both arms. I put the pizza in the oven and shut the door, then hurry over and help you get the bags on the counter. The first thing I notice is flour, and by the way your laugh rings in my chest I don't even have to look to know the bags contain the ingredients for homemade pizza.

  Eight

  Saturday morning. The sun hasn't risen yet and won't for a few more hours. You wake up after tossing and turning since eleven the night before, having only slept in twenty minute intervals. Your body is overheated and you throw the covers off, stretching your arms above your head to take a deep breath. Moonlight streams through the window and illuminates the white bedspread, and you roll into my back and put your arm around me. I readjust and ask you if you're okay, and you say you aren't feeling well and want to take a cool shower, but you don't want to go alone. I know how much you hate walking through the house in the dark by yourself. I yawn and stretch, getting up slowly and grabbing a book off of my night stand. We walk to the bathroom together and you get your shower ready, and I sit on the floor with my back against the tub, reading while I wait for you.

  Nine

  Your favorite show is coming on, and you want something sweet to eat while you watch. We don't have anything in the house so I elect to head to the store and grab you something. It's chilly, but not enough to warrant a jacket. Wind blows leaves in cyclones over the street. Not being sure what you're in the mood for, I grab a fresh blueberry muffin, plain chocolate and sweet and salty trail mix. The clerk is a tall, skinny teenager named Kale. After reading his name tag I wonder if his parents were health conscious, or if they just thought the name sounded nice. When I arrive back home your show has already started so I silently sit the bag on the couch next to you, careful not to obstruct your view, then head to take a shower, brushing my fingertips across your shoulder as I go.

  Ten

  4th of July weekend. We pack up the car and decide to go to a quiet beach spot about forty minutes from home. It's a rocky beach, one that isn't really suitable for a lot of people to lounge on, so there isn't usually many people there. You can see the fireworks from the pier easily without the hassles of a crowd. Twenty minutes into the trip we stop at a convenience store before getting on the highway and on the way out, the car won't start, sputtering a little before refusing to turn over at all. We call AAA and sit on the sidewalk in front of the store with our drinks, waiting for them to show. A man named Charlie runs a quick test and says it's a dead battery, and offers to give us a tow to a local repair shop down the street. A half hour and ninety five dollars later, we're back on the road to our first attempt at a new tradition.

  Eleven

  Halloween night. The sun starts disappearing behind the across the street neighbor's house, so I flick the porch light on and you grab the bowl of candy and sit it on the ledge by the door. We're dressed up like an elderly couple, you with a white wig and me with tan dress pants and velcro shoes. I spotted my hair with white spray for a salt and pepper look, and you told me I looked handsome. It made me hopeful that we would be just as much in love in twenty years as we were in that moment. The doorbell rings with our first customers of the night; a witch, the red Power Ranger and a baby dressed as a pumpkin, riding comfortably in a front-saddled harness on his father. The older children smile brightly and yell ‘trick or treat!” with their arms held out in wait for a sugary morsel of dental destruction. You let them pick out their own pieces and they barely spit out their thank-yous before they're in hot pursuit of the next porch. I wrap my arms around your waist and we watch them skip across the yard, the brother and sister holding hands in a blissful moment of sibling ceasefire.

  Twelve

  The first snow. You wake up before me and look out the bathroom window, seeing fresh sheets of white blanket the yard and the fence that separates our slice of the American dream from the neighbors. It's cold enough that your hot shower's steam slightly freezes to the glass when the water is turned off. I wake up while you're drying off and go into the kitchen to start coffee. Light beams pierce through the rope holes in the blinds, dotting the counter with pearls of early morning sun. I put water in the coffee pot and turn it on, but it shorts out and shuts off, the red brewing indicator fading slowly. You come into the kitchen, lazily toweling your hair and I tell you I need to go pick coffee up from somewhere, and ask you if you want anything special for breakfast while I'm out.

  Thirteen

  There's a new comedy coming out that you want to see, so after work I surprise you by stopping by your work to pick you up. I bring a single red rose and a caramel truffle, and you unwrap the sweet after a quick kiss. You ask me what the occasion is, and I tell you we're going to get something to eat and then see the movie you were talking about. We drive down the main strip and you expect that we're going to your favorite place, but instead I pull through the drive-thru at the sandwich shop and then park us in the pet shop parking lot next door, facing the busy street. I know you like to people watch. We eat and watch cars go by as the daylight fades into pastels, and when we're finished we head for the movie theater. Inside, we forego any snacks and find a spot in the very back, waiting til the lights dim to lean into each other. Half way through the movie we end up making out like teenagers and miss the ending. It wasn't important, anyway.

  Fourteen

  It's two weeks before your birthday. I haven't told you yet, but we just closed on our first home together, the bid confirmation coming to me while I'm at work. I decide I want to surprise you and take a trip to the hardware store to check out color swatches, finding one as close to your favorite color as I can. For those two weeks, I stop by the house during lunch and for a bit after work, trying to get our bedroom painted without you knowing. When your birthday finally comes, we both have the day off, so I get you in the car with promises of slurpees and after grabbing them, we swing by the house just to ‘take a look.' We walk up to the front door together, where I pull the key out of my pocket and place it into your hand with a simple “happy birthday, babe.” You drop your slurpee out of excitement and run inside, immediately scanning all the rooms for possibilities. I follow you silently through the halls and into our bedroom, to find you with your hands covering your mouth and your eyes glistening with tears. The color of the walls is the same color your nails were the first time we held hands, watching young love bud at the county fair.

  Fifteen

  New Year's Eve. You come home and tell me that some of your coworkers invited you to a party at their house. Food, drinks and dancing until the ball drops. Neither of us are usually one for parties, but in an effort to support you in your workplace advancement I agree to go. The night comes and I wait in the living room, spinning the car keys around my index finger while you put the finishing touches on your outfit. I hear the bathroom door open and stand up, only to be feel weak in the knees when greeted by you in your thigh-cut plum dress. You wink at me and waste no time heading to the car. At the party we walk through together and you introduce me to your colleagues, but it doesn't take long before we're standing by ourselves near the drink table. You ask me if I want to slip away and I follow, finding out shortly you've smuggled some wine under your coat. We walk to the end of the dock behind the host's house and toe at the frozen water while we drink, fingers interlaced in your lap.

  Sixteen

  On our anniversary you find out half way through your work day that you have to cover someone's shift that called out last minute, so you call me and tell me you'll be late. I hear the wear in your voice and tell you it's okay, then call the restaurant to cancel our reservations. Later when you finally make it home, exhausted and starving, you come in to find homemade macaroni and cheese with garlic bread set out on the table.
You smile, remembering the first time I ever cooked for you and made the same meal. I burned the garlic bread because we got sidetracked looking through my cassette tape collection. I take your coat while you sit down at the table, and you tell me about your unexpected shift over dinner. I clean up quick and you head into our bedroom to get ready to shower, but when you walk in you notice candles have been lit and the bed is all made. I come in behind you and place my hands on your hips, and we sway together to the rhythm of our heartbeats. You turn around and tell me the garlic bread was better this time.

  Seventeen

  We make plans the night before to get up early and spend the day by the lake. Pack a lunch, bring a blanket and some books and find a tree to relax under for a while. Everything looks good so we load up the car and make the ten minute drive, singing along to the radio together with my hand on your knee. We get to the lake and set up our spot underneath a large willow tree. You get about two chapters into your book when droplets blur the words on the page, and within a minute the sky opens up and drenches everything. Most of the families grab their belongings and scurry to their cars, but we just look at each other and laugh. The way your makeup runs reminds me of how my mom looked the first time we tried, and failed, to get away from her ex boyfriend. You put the books in the picnic basket and then stand over me with your hand out. I take it and you pull me up, with a little bit of help of course, and I bring you in close, clinging to you like our shirts cling to our skin as the rain continues to fall around us.