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Show ALL Forums  > Creative/Writing  > Short Attention Span Lifestyle Pt.2      Home login  
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 phule
Joined: 4/8/2004
Msg: 1
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Short Attention Span Lifestyle Pt.2Page 1 of 1    
"Drink it."

It was late afternoon, and I was home early. Not that it was wholly unusual for me to be early, mind you. I would normally take my time, nursing the old van down all those winding roads to this little hideaway of a home in the woods. It could move out of it's own way easily enough, what with the V8 in that dog-house. I just couldn't afford the gas to be tromping on the pedal. I couldn't afford the gas driving cautiously. Thirty-four years was a long time to expect a vehicle to stay on the road with little to no upkeep. Those two cylinders burning oil didn't help either. I know my gas mileage is in the toilet.

"Drink it while it's hot" she said, through what sounded like pursed lips.

She put a tall and steaming mug of something red in front of me when I sat at the kitchen table. I always use those mugs for Coca Cola. She knows this. I'm not the kind of guy who always expects the same thing at the same time every day, but this was as unexpected as a failed hard drive; a tad shocking and curious with a dash of disappointment. I'm a computer repair man, so failing hard drives aren't a big thing. Just unexpected. Why would I be disappointed at an odd concoction waiting for me to consume it? I couldn't put my finger on that just yet.

Where were the dogs?

It had a heady scent, laced with spices I couldn't readily identify. I trusted her with my life, but was I not trusting her with my taste buds? Something familiar niggled at me, again unidentified. Where was all this mystery coming from? The wind coming through the screen door kept her hair moving as she stood looking out the slider, staring at nothing in particular, her back to me. The curves of her tantalizing and yet commonplace, so that I longed to explore and felt comfortable with just her presence at the same time. And there was this mug, smelling like I ought to know just what is in it. And there was the duality of all these disparate events all going on at the same time. Duality and mystery; a pair, with pairs within.

"It won't taste right if you let it chill." she sighed.

I've never been one for hot drinks. Ok, well I do enjoy hot chocolate, and there was a tea phase I went through, where I always double brewed China Black and Early Gray together. other than that though, I wasn't all that big on hot drinks. Then the thought from before came racing back into my brain.

"Hon, where..." she cut me off with the smallest of shrugs.

"Your brother took them to the pond for a swim. No distractions."

The breeze brought her perfume to me and mingled with the brew below my nose. I thought of Ginger, the cat who lived on the porch. I'd say that it was our cat, since we brought him here, but once he hit that porch as a kitten, he came in only to eat and rub legs, and would complain loudly if we didn't let him out when he wanted to go. Typical cat, in his unusual individualistic nature. I couldn't see the cat, so why did I think of Ginger?

I decided that I would trust her, and I took up the mug with both hands, letting the heat soak into me. I took a nose full of everything rising from it, and poured a brave mouthful onto my tongue. There was flavor and fizz! There was bite, and blossoms. I rolled it about, rinsing my teeth like I was using mouthwash before I swallowed and felt it bite even more on the way down. I almost knew what I was drinking. It was on the tip of my tongue.

"You don't have to say you like it" she teased me with an idle finger tracing the line of her breast, before falling gently back to her side.

Damn, but she knew how to get into my head. She was intoxicating, and every day was a joy. She was...

GINGER BEER! My thoughts raced again, and I suddenly remembered leaving that page from the issue of Wired Magazine where they gave instructions on how to make Ginger Beer. I didn't remember pulling it from my pocket, and as I scanned the visual memory of my work bench in the bedroom I knew it wasn't there among the tools and peripheral cards. She must have found it doing the laundry, decided to make it, and experimented. Everything fell into place. The taste was there. It was just hot instead of cold. She must have gone crazy with rose hips on this one, to get that red color over the expected gold. I greedily swallowed more, filling my mouth and ignoring the desire to savor, over the desire to be a glutton with the stuff. It was delicious, sweet and full of bite. She must have added cayenne pepper or something similar, because ginger didn't bite like that alone.

She giggled, hearing me swallow repeatedly. "I knew you'd like it."

The giggle stopped me. I put the glass down, and reached out towards her. She was more than five feet away, but she still shivered as if she could feel where I would have touched. Of course she cheated, for I could see the glint of her eye over her shoulder. But this was a game with no rules. We all have them.

"You knew the moment you found the page, that I wanted to make it."

"I know." she was smiling.

"You took something away from me, and knew I wouldn't mind."

"I know." her voice dropped closer to a whisper, huskier and dark.

"Babe, you know I..."

"Ssshh. I know." she turned, a hand held between us. "I know words mean nothing."

I taught her that. She came from a family where everything was 'Please' and 'Thank you', but where emptiness reigned over all. Outside of our home, she lived in a world where people spoke without saying anything; where people used words to maim and bore and set boundaries, but still had no substance. But after she met me, she learned something new. Words were not what she thought they were. I taught her how to see clearly that most people would say 'Thank you' without any gratitude whatsoever. If one added sarcasm, words would reverse their meanings... destroying any sentiment. This was why she stopped me from saying 'I love you". Not because she didn't want to hear it, nor because she would believe it to be false, but she was thanking me for teaching her how much I loved her. She was thanking me without thanking me, and she was loving me without wasting breath.

I wanted to taste her then, in every part of me. The homemade Ginger Brew before me was watered down compared to her, while the after taste of it still lingered and reminded me of how good a job her imagination had done with the simple instructions. That imagination was what attracted me to her in the first place. That, and those hips. Ah,,, that's why she went crazy with the rose hips. Clever girl. I rose from the table and closed the gap between us, pulling her back close to my chest. SHe tilted her head back and I filled my nose with the scent of her hair. I heard barking approaching the house.

"Damn!"

"Now, now. They are just in time." she giggled again.

"I thought you didn't want any distractions?" my words carried the pout clearly.

"For the Ginger Beer. You have to wait until tonight for *that*." she thrust her rump backwards into me.

Yes, she knew I loved her, and I would remind her in word and in deed all the time. Our exchange was everything the universe could possibly concoct to tell two individuals that this was a union of one, time suspended even as the seconds ticked by. I knew she loved me, in the beating of her pulse I could just feel through her clothes. There was no assumption. There was her breathing, her rocking against me, the breeze and the dogs approaching from the break in the treeline.

And my brother, who I knew she had not given any of this ambrosia to. I nudged her with my chin.

"Yes, I'll hide it from him." she moved away from me, to the stove and the steaming pot on top of it.

She really knew how to get in my head alright. I wouldn't have it any other way.
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