Post by Phoenix on Aug 2, 2020 18:31:50 GMT -5
North by Sleeping at Last
BlooRey DVD and Fawn
we will call this place our home
the dirt in which our roots may grow.
though the storms will push and pull
we will call this place our home.
the dirt in which our roots may grow.
though the storms will push and pull
we will call this place our home.
Darkness fell early across the small, humble house, but the passage of time remained unnoticed by the occupants within. Flames danced in the fireplace, illuminating the empty room with a warm glow and casting flickering shadows on bare walls. Silhouetted by the fire, a figure knelt before a cardboard box, digging tirelessly through its contents while his companion sat crossed legged against a crate a little ways away, watching him with a fond smile playing across her lips. She didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but she knew that he wouldn’t stop until he found it. He was funny that way – easy-going in nearly every aspect of his life except for those few facets that were truly important to him, where he became so resolute that changing his mind was like asking mountains to move – but it was one of the things she loved about him.
That, and his heart of gold. God, she loved him so much.
Just as she was about to offer to help him, he let out a quiet sound of success and turned to her with a wide grin on his face. In his hands was a picture, which he held out to her, and upon taking it, she recognized the scene immediately. A personal favorite, it was a candid of them shortly after they had started dating, where they were both laughing at a lame joke he had told – or perhaps more accurately, she was laughing at the joke, and he was laughing at how funny she found it. The memory made her smile as she looked up at him, firelight flickering in pale green eyes.
“I thought we were decorating tomorrow.” A statement with the suggestion of a question at the end as she glanced around the empty room and half-unpacked boxes. Today had been for moving all of their possessions from the truck to the house. Tomorrow, when their arms were sore from carrying furniture and their lives in cardboard containers, they would finish unpacking and start making their little house feel like home.
He took the picture back and stood, placing it carefully on the mantelpiece. “We are,” He said, returning to sit on the floor across from her. “But I thought we deserved to sleep at home tonight, and every home has pictures in them.” Blue eyes thoughtfully returned to the image now barely visible in the shadows. “And now this place is ours.”
She made a quiet sound of agreement and let the thoughtful silence settle between them for a moment. “Well if that’s the case, then I think a little celebration is in order.” Minutes later saw them both cross-legged on the on the floor, and between them sat an overturned milk crate on which rested a small candle and a cheap bottle of wine. While he had been rummaging through boxes, she had found their nicest wine glasses before sitting back to watch him, and they raised them together now.
“To us.”
“To us.”
They drank, savoring their wine as if it had been the most expensive – rather than the cheapest – bottle on the shelf. She couldn’t help smiling at him. She was sore. She was tired. But she wouldn’t change a thing.
“So I was thinking,” He broke the companionable silence with the phrase and mischievous smile that spelled trouble.
She sipped her wine, raising an eyebrow at him. “A dangerous pastime.”
“Yes, well.” He shrugged, pausing for a moment before carrying on, “Needs must. I was thinking unpacking is a lot of work. If we kept these boxes up just like this, they would make great barricades for when the kids inevitably start running around the house. Less work for us if we don’t have to chase them.”
Feigning amazement at an impressive idea, she looked around the room and nodded sagely. “I see.” She hid her grin behind her glass as she swirled its contents. “And is that what we’ll tell everyone when they ask why it’s been years and we still haven’t finished unpacking?”
“Of course not.” He pretended to cast a critical eye across the mess around them. “We’ll tell them it’s the new aesthetic. Organized chaos. It’s all the rage now, didn’t you know?”
Laughter burst out of her, and she shook her head at him fondly. “I’m sure we’ll appreciate the aesthetic when one of us breaks our neck tripping over them trying to reach the bathroom in the middle of the night.”
Suddenly his blue eyes grew more serious. For a moment, she was afraid that she had ruined the light atmosphere they had created. Firelight flickered on his wine glass as he set it carefully on their poor man’s table, and the light danced across his pale arm as he held out his hand toward her. “You know I’d never let that happen, love,” He said quietly as she delicately took his hand. “I’ll always be there to catch you when you fall.”
“I know.” Setting down her own glass, she let him tug her gently to her feet. Arms wrapped around her shoulders, a hand settling in her hair as she returned the embrace, pulling him close and holding him tight. Pale green eyes closed as she basked in his comforting warmth and familiar smell. Her heart felt like it would burst. She wanted to hold on to him and never let him go.
They may have been surrounded by bare walls that could use a fresh coat of paint. Their life might have been stashed in the crates and cardboard boxes that lay scattered around the room or stacked in corners. Their house may have been nearly empty, their table a milk crate, and their dinner a bottle of wine, but standing there, held in his arms, she was home.
we'll tell our stories on these walls.
every year, measure how tall.
and just like a work of art
we'll tell our stories on these walls.
every year, measure how tall.
and just like a work of art
we'll tell our stories on these walls.
Years passed in leaps and bounds, and though the boxes had been unpacked and stored away, organized chaos nevertheless became the aesthetic of their home. Bare walls were populated with pictures and decorations that usually changed with the season, though there had been that one occasion when they had been too busy and Christmas had stretched into March. Proper furniture quickly appeared and the milk crate table was retired to the back of the closet. At one point, there had been talk of a dog, but soon enough that had been eclipsed by talk of a family. And so the empty water dish had been swapped for a crib as the spare room transformed into a nursery.
He had always been a dog person, but the moment he had heard that tiny heartbeat in the cozy hospital room, he knew that he would have traded a thousand dogs for his little girl. His wife, his dear heart, had glowed – he would never forget her face and the wonder and the pure, powerful love that he had felt as they both listened to the heartbeat that they had made. The remaining months seemed to simultaneously crawl and fly by until they were suddenly rushing to the hospital and she was on the bed and there was a loud cry that split the air. As he watched his wife cradle their child, a beautiful baby girl, he knew without a doubt that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for either of them. Their family had grown, and today, they had brought the newest addition home, healthy and whole with ten little fingers and ten tiny toes.
It had been a long day and exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, but though he lay there with the woman of his dreams sleeping soundly in his arms, the same peaceful slumber evaded him. There was a baby swaddled in the bassinet by the bed, a helpless little creature who relied entirely on them for everything. He felt totally out of his depth, utterly terrified of messing something up. She, of course, had come to that realization hours before he had, but now as he stared at the ceiling, he found that the same reassurances he had given her could not quiet his own mind enough for sleep. Perhaps her rest was not as peaceful as much as it was exhausted. The past few days had been long, far longer for her than for him.
Blue eyes traveled restlessly around the little room that they had made their own, lingering for a moment on the candid photo of their laughing faces that now sat on their dresser, illuminated by the moonlight that spilled in through the drapes. He couldn’t help but smile. Never would any image do justice to the way her smile lit up the room and set his heart aflutter, but he loved that picture all the same. Bringing his free arm up, he drew her closer to him, stroking her hair for a moment before resting his hand gently across her shoulder. For a moment, he just watched her sleep, his heart swelling with a warmth that was amplified tenfold by the late hour. She looked so peaceful, untroubled for once by the worries of the world, and he found himself wishing dearly that this moment could last, that he could take all of her burdens and shoulder them so that she could stay this serene forever.
God, he loved her so much. Everything about her was beautiful – but especially her soul – and every day he thanked whoever was up there for letting him be lucky enough to find her.
But, of course, with a newborn in the house, the peace never lasted for long. Flinching at the sharp cry, he carefully began to extricate himself from their tangled limbs, and not quite on the cusp of wakefulness, she murmured a quiet complaint at the motion and the sound of their daughter crying. Her hand fell across his chest in half-conscious protest. Gently, he set it aside but not before giving it a tender kiss.
“Sleep, my love. I’ll be right back.”
Bare feet padded quietly across carpeted floor as he made his way to the bassinet. In a practiced motion that had become increasingly familiar over the past few days, he gathered his daughter in his arms, holding her safe and secure as he rocked her slowly back and forth. No wet diaper – hungry, then. As he whispered sweet nothings to soothe the child, he made his way downstairs, closing the door to their room behind him with care. Let his wife sleep while she could.
Efficiently preparing a bottle with one hand while cradling a crying baby in the other should have been an Olympic sport, and when he finally took the bottle from the microwave and began feeding his daughter, it was with a sigh of relief. Silence, and the quiet suckling of a happy baby. She had her mother’s eyes, and they stared up at him, wide and beautiful, as she drank. For the second time in as many hours, he felt like he would burst with love. His heart had never stood a chance; already this tiny little creature had become one of the two most important people in his life, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. Pale green eyes blinked up at him sleepily. She was so small, so helpless.
And the world was so cruel to innocent lives.
But his sweet daughter, who had fallen asleep part way through finishing her bottle, knew only her parents’ love and none of the pain that came with living. He would give anything to keep it that way. A surge of protectiveness, startling in its strength. As he set the container to the side and gently rubbed her back until he heard a drowsy little burp, he found himself wishing that she could stay this small forever. If she never grew up, then he could protect her from the hardships of the world. He could keep her safe and make sure her eyes never lost their shine and she never had any reason to frown.
However, the passage of time was relentless. Already it had stolen his prime, and soon, he knew, it would steal even more. Time took and took, and it so rarely gave. His little one was no exception. She would grow and grow and find friends and happiness and love. She would count down the days to her next birthday and the one after that and then to her sixteenth and twenty-first. And, against his best efforts, she would inevitably learn of pain and loss and heartbreak. He held her tight as he climbed the stairs and quietly nudged open the door to their room. Yes, he would do his best to put off those harsh lessons of life, yet he knew they would come all the same.
But not tonight. Tonight was for treasured moments and counting blessings and a quiet but fierce love. And for simple pleasures, like sleepy smiles and a warm bottle.
let the years we're here be kind, be kind.
let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.
settle our bones like wood over time, over time.
give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.
let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.
settle our bones like wood over time, over time.
give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.