I awake from my 3rd dream only to see 2 eyes gazing at me intently.
Oh no! What was he looking at? Was he noticing my unruly nighttime hair? Was I drooling? Was I babbling in my slumber? Was he a victim of my flatulence?
Oh shit! Did I snore? Maybe I kicked him? Did I steal the covers? Maybe something I said during the day offended him and left him restless in his sleep?
Did I weep from my haunting nightmares? Did I sweat and lose my womanly dainty air of predisposed perfection?
Did crust form in my eye? Should I have slept in make-up to hide all my imperfections?
Did I laugh and give away my hopes and dreams for the future? Did I scream and allude to my fears? Have I lost my allure?
What is he looking at?!
He quickly apologizes for startling me. He says he wishes he knew what I dreamt about so he could make them come true. He says he likes my messy hair and all my other unfiltered accessories. He holds my hand and thanks me for being in his life. Then he kicks his smelly socks off, puts on the t-shirt with the hole in the armpit, the boxers with the bleach stain, and curls up next to me. He closes his eyes…
…when he opens them again, they meet mine.
Oh shit! What is she looking at?
I got home and dinner was ready at the table. The kids were seated nicely. The placemats were set so that the tablecloth wouldn’t get dirty. The house was clean but messy…you know…lived in. The love hit you at the door along with the smell of biscuits. There was yelling but not the “nails on the chalkboard” type. When dinner was done I didn’t have to load the dishwasher. No blaring flat screen to misuse the little time we had to spend with one another. We had quality conversation. We looked in each other’s eyes. We connected with one another. He took care of everything.
By the time I came out of my work clothes, my shower was running. There were lavender scented candles in the room. The kids were in bed. Their bedtime stories already read. The profits he made for the day were displayed on the laptop. Our household “to do list” had a few more items checked off of it. He rinsed the day off of me. Covered my skin in a rich lather of mango and cinnamon scented body wash. I patted my skin dry and moisturized in coconut oil.
The sheets were newly cleaned and had the slight scent of peppermint linen spray. He held me like he had been waiting to be close to me all his life.
He told me every nook and cranny of his day. He vowed we’d never argue again. We chuckled at how silly it sounded. We engulfed ourselves in one another. We planned a new family vacation. We discussed politics and our plans for the future. He didn’t mind that it was time to get my hair done or that my toenails needed to be painted. He didn’t mind anything at all. He was so content with being able to make me happy.
It took sometime to get here…
.. this place that could now exist outside of my imagination.
By: Shaun M N
You enter the small room. There’s a phone on the wall to call the bar and grill if you need some more “liquid courage. ” The room is dimly lit. There is a large screen, seating and binders on the table with thousands of song choices. What song are you looking for?
My two go to choices are always:
Hotel California by The Eagles
” Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said “We are all just prisoners here, of our own device”
And in the master’s chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can’t kill the beast”
And 911 by Wyclef Jean feat Mary J
[Mary J. Blige]
Sometimes I feel like I’m a prisoner
I think I’m trapped here for a while
(but I’m always right here with you girl)
And every breath I fight to take
Is as hard as these four walls I wanna break
I told the cops you wasn’t here tonight
Messin’ around with me is gonna get you life
Oh yeah, yeah
But everytime I look into your eyes
Then it’s worth the sacrifice”
I sing those songs at the top of my lungs including all the riffs and ad libs! I sing them and I’m reminded of my first Karaoke machine (a gift from Santa.) I would record songs straight from the radio on blank tapes. If you weren’t careful you would record the commercials by accident. So I would stand attentively next to the karaoke machine and hit stop just before the disk jockey would announce the song that just played.
My dad used to blast Hotel California from the basement. I couldn’t appreciate the lyrics when I was younger. As an adult I recognize how truly creative they really are. They tell a great story. You envision a place so beautiful becoming a prison, a place you can’t escape from. The contrast is the fact that in between the lyrical stanzas are beautiful instrumental solos playing so freely. You can hear the liberation. I envied the talent and had to just be complacent in my air playing on my electric hairbrush.
Someone wise once defined love this way: “Love is insanity.” Music often encapsulates that sentiment. So many songs. So much expression. So many emotions. So many other undefined anomalies. So many antithetical ideas placed carefully on the music staff. What’s your song? What plays on the “old school at noon” that makes you throw your hand in the air? What are you vigorously looking for in those binders? Share with me in the comments.