Milestone

After just ending a phone call to my mother, wishing her and my father a happy 42nd wedding anniversary, I had asked her how they had managed 42 years? She had simply replied, “you work hard, and you make sure you laugh a lot”. With deep honesty, I hope I hit that milestone, but, this had got me thinking.

Do we work hard enough at our relationships? Or do we sometimes find that we simply quit at the first hurdle because we’ve forgotten what pulled us together in the first place?

Temptation is on every corner, on every page, there to shake you awake every morning. It has become part of our everyday life, but we all know that the grass isn’t always that much greener once you cross that bridge. In bad times, I think you have to sit back, look at your partner and remind yourself of the things that you cherish about your relationship. You’ve worked to get to where you are today, is it worth giving up, or are you afraid of a little hard work?
I can’t help but think that the problems we all have in our relationships are made by a lack of honesty, it can only be as complicated as we make it, right? Obviously, not all relationships are meant to work, but can you walk away knowing that you tried? None of us go into a relationship thinking that it isn’t going to work . . . What caused that first ignition of passion? What ties you together?
Yeah, I know it’s easy for me to put a couple of words on a page to try and sum up relationships, I know all relationships are different due to different circumstances . . But, the one thing that ties them all together, they all start the same . . . with two people attracted to each other, willing to push all boundaries to make it work.
I’ve walked away from a relationship without a second thought, and I know that I’ve also been on the receiving end of that too. The older I’ve become, I’ve realised that I could have tried harder.

If you’re in the midst, or you’ve just managed to shake off a nutter, then please ignore all of the above. We’ve all been there, good luck with that.

As I said, I hope I hit that milestone. Sometimes it seems a little doubtful . . . But, that won’t stop me from trying!

Home

Her hair cascaded across the pillow, claiming its place. He tucked her hair behind her ear, like that of a curtain in a theatre, giving full visibility of the beauty behind. She held such strength, even as she slept, it was moments like this that he wanted to wake her up and tell her, tell her that he was happy, content, in love. He knew too well that by the time she was awake, the life they shared would cause him to forget. He knew that wasn’t an excuse, he knew that he should try harder to remember, but he also knew that this wasn’t the first time he had wanted to wake her before he forgot. As she lay naked, he admired her, she had the perfect balance of beauty and sexy, she often misplaced this fact, he never did. She would become coy if she woke and saw he was watching her, curling up under the duvet like a young, shy version of herself, but he could always see the smile in her eyes. As she stirred, she moved, place her head on his chest, entwined their legs, kissed the tattoos that coloured his torso. It didn’t matter where they woke up, where they had been, or where they were meant to be, that moment always felt like home. She is his wife, the mother of his children, his best friend, and forever his confidant. He would walk the earth, burn the sky, just to be home.

Lies for Lust

The twinkling of lights set sparks at the back of his eyes, the restaurant was bright and of bad taste. He waited, alone, full of thought. The evening’s entertainment would arrive shortly, he always liked to be early, to get a drink, to make sure the coast was clear. In many eyes, what he was doing, waiting for, was a bad thing. If the people close to him knew about this part of his life, he shuddered to think of the outcome.
His surroundings became louder as more people piled into the building, it was a Monday night and the place was heaving. On an average Monday night he was sure it would be quieter, enough to hear the chef whistle. It was a week before Christmas, the cheers of Christmas parties surrounding him, drunk middle-aged women with multi coloured party hats from cheap crackers, the office idiot trying his chances with the new receptionist.
Was this a great idea to meet here? He thought to himself, wherever they met, he always panicked to think that someone knew his wife, had seen a picture of him on her desk at work. The more people in the room, the greater the odds he thought.
A crack of laughter pulled him out of thought, he glared at the women across the room, wondered if this was how his wife acted at a Christmas party. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve known someone, you never truly know them, he was walking proof. He had been married for twelve years, he loved his wife, the mother of his children, but she just didn’t quench his sexual thirst any more. She thought he was at a meeting, his usual weekly meeting. The ‘do not disturb’ part of his diary.
Since they had married the sex went downhill, his wife never moved from missionary position, hadn’t performed oral in years. It had become a task rather than a passion. Before children, before their marriage, she fucked like a Motley Crüe groupie, but that was years ago, things had changed. He used to speed home from work, cancel meetings, and rush deadlines, just to get back to her. He used to crave the feeling of her in his palms, the smell of her on his skin, her hair stroking his face as she rode above. The passion that once cocooned them, uncontrollable lust, he’d drop anything to pick her up, physically and mentally.
A sudden pang of sadness over took his thoughts, how their good times had fizzled out, they had lost their way, how they had changed. His mind often argued the case in whether over time they had grown apart, or if they were never meant to grow together in the first place.
He took another mouthful of his beer, staring at the office parties when he wasn’t glancing at his watch. This weekly secret made him feel young again, knowing he’d wake tomorrow full of thought about the next time. He had found a release for his lust, knowing that he’d never feel that way again about his wife. He sometimes wondered, if his wife knew, would she be happy for him because once again he had found the passion they once lost? He knew full well that the knowledge of his cheating would emotionally kill her, he loved her, he couldn’t put her through that, but he couldn’t stop.
“Hey” came a voice next to him
“Oh hey, I didn’t see you come in. Did you want to stay for a drink?” he replied
“Sorry I’m late, traffic’s awful. You look full of thought, you ok?”
“Just thinking of you” he replied smiling, waving to get the waitress over to their table.
He was excited, energy coursing through his body. Staring at his date, knowing he didn’t want to be anywhere else but here. He knew that the passion that lay dormant inside him had returned, he was happy, happy to be her with him.
“What drinks would you like, gentlemen?” said the waitress as she came to the table.

The Next Flight, Maybe?

He watched as all the destinations worked through the board, from right to left. The hustle and bustle surrounding him, everybody in a rush, impatient bodies with bags on tow. People looking to all for directions, everyone confused as the next. The zigzagging of feet and wheels, squeaking from the polished floor. The noise was overwhelming at times, most of the time. He took a seat for a couple of minutes, feeling slightly disorientated, if he took a moment and closed his eyes, maybe it would be silent. Just for a moment. The constant flow of chatter, he always thought would sit hand in hand with an his old untuned television. The noise for the vision. A tannoy blared above which pulled him back to the surface, apparently the check in desk had opened for Alicante. As the tannoy piped up, people stopped, looked to the ceiling, for the answers. People rushed, pulling their belongs behind them, to be first in the queue was all that mattered, the gold at the end of the airport rainbow. He didn’t move, he sat and thought about the sun licking his body, the warm sea tickling the bottom of his feet, his sore feet. He closed his eyes again, he was strolling down a little cobbled street somewhere in Spain, hand in hand with his wife, he loved her. It was a chance to wear one of his Hawaiian short-sleeved shirts, white backing with orange flowers, blue and red exotic birds, it was his favourite but his children were always embarrassed. His flip-flops clapping applause as he strolled the streets, sun hat, prescription sun glasses and a smile. Even his wife was smiling, she only seemed to do this in his daydreams now, she had such a beautiful smile, a happily married smile.
He realised time had passed as the tannoy announced the gate number, his daydream ceased to exist as his eyes opened. Reality flooded in, people had moved on, left him behind, and not just the ones Alicante bound. As he stood, his feet longed for the sea, for the sun to take away his aches and pains. Today there was no Hawaiian shirt, no need for prescription sun glasses. Today it was like every other day, his staff uniform and a high visibility vest. No bag of belongings, but a bin bag full of the unwanted. He set off with his broom in hand, ‘this place won’t clean itself’ he thought.

A Life to Bury

You could smell the whisky on his breath, but you couldn’t see the loathing behind his eyes, the loathing of the job in hand. The only thing that broke the silence for that moment was the rough sound of his hand rubbing four day stubble on his broad chin. The stale smell of cigarettes strangled the collar and sleeves of his shirt, knowing that the feeling of someone watching him will never go, not while he’s here. The wind whistled, pulling at his unkempt hair, cartwheeling leaves falling into the freshly dug hole he stood above. Sweat started to build at his hairline, he was nervous, exhausted, out of shape. She always said he was out of shape, at this moment he felt like she was right. He felt small, insignificant, lost. He didn’t want to be there, he would have done anything to still be in his house, reminiscing alone, the sound of ice cubes against a tumbler, behind a locked door. But he had to do this, he signed up for this years ago but he never really gave it any thought, this day came earlier than ever expected. He’d rather it was someone else standing in his shoes right now, but a promise is a promise. The morning sun on the rise, the beauty of another day distracting his fearful eyes. He was scared, tired and from this day forth, alone. He stood for a moment, placing his body weight on his shovel, the sweat and dirt that covered his face disguised his pale sickly complexion. He knew the black cars would roll up soon, holding his life in a box. His mother used to say “for every tear you cry, will be returned when you die” but his tears were gone, dried up and forgotten just like him. He had anger, he had pain, but he didn’t have the energy. His arms had become heavy, his heart in his throat as he saw the reflection of the sun on the leading car. Today is a day he will always remember, for today was the day this now lonely grave digger had to dig a hole for his own wife. A promise is a promise.

Funny how things turn out

The wind whistled through the marquee to put a little chill on the evenings celebrations, the ladies still sitting at the circular tables, pulling down on their skirts or placing their partner’s suit jackets over their legs for warmth. Not quite ready to call it a night and retire to the house, just in case they miss something. The wind causing the candles on each table to dance and flicker to the rhythm of the band, casting shadows on the marquee ceiling. ‘A live band are always much better than a dj’ he thought to himself. The dance floor was filled with dance moves from different eras, the young robotic upper body movement to the twist from the older generation putting a little wear on the soles of their shoes. Strangely they are two very different dance moves but both seem to be quite fitting for the band that held their attention. He never did like coming to these events, stood at the side he watched her dance in the centre, she seemed to be the centre wave, controlling all the movement around her.
She was good at being the centre of attention, he always did like that about her. She could walk into a situation and make it her own, pull the wool over their eyes and then walk away without a second doubt from the surrounding population. She is amazing, he suddenly missed telling her so. The dance floor slowly started to thin out, the once over excited now choosing to head back to the house for cheese and wine. As she danced she turned and caught his eyes on her, she seemed to stop for a split second, she smiled, one of those adoring smiles. He blushed, felt a pulse under his skin, the hair on his arms stood in unison. She looked around at her surrounding company, looked back in his direction to catch his eye again, she playful stuck her tongue out, smiled and then went back to controlling the dance floor.
Watching her he could still feel her naked skin across the palm of his hands, her warm breath on his neck, her hair tickling his face as she rode above him.
She caught his eye again, signaled for him to come and dance. He felt flustered, he’d join her after finishing his drink he replied. He’d been carrying this drink with him for over an hour already, swirling it around in its glass in hopes it would last a little longer.
‘How bad can one dance be?’ he thought to himself.
His body suddenly ached to be held by her once again, to feel her familiar lips on his neck as they slow dance through till the morning. To out dance all the candles on the tables, to outlive the cheese, wine and warmth from the house, to still be entwined well after the band had packed up and left.
He took the last mouthful of beer from his glass and placed it down on a table, straightening his tie he stepped towards the dance floor to find her. ‘Its only a dance’ he thought to himself.
She appeared in the corner of his eye, her brunette hair cascading down the back of her white dress, the dress she always dreamt of getting married in. She was dancing with her newly announced husband, her familiar lips on his neck.