My girls are playing at their Daddy’s feet. Giggling. Rolling around on the floor. He has no socks on and I see our youngest daughter starting intently at one of his feet.
“Daddy!” she exclaims. “You have hair on your feet!” They start giggling all over again until you can’t resist and have to scoop them up and smother them in kisses.
I watch this awhile. Forgetting that you’ll be sailing tomorrow. That I might not see you for months. That’s the life of a fisherman’s wife. You are the sea captain.
I rise from my feet and go to you, hand on shoulder, asking if you would like some tea.
“Yes, please, if you don’t mind,” you say tilting your face up to me for a kiss.
I lean over and in and you plant it firmly on my lips.
“To secure your words,” you say.
We are shoring up. That is the message. I hear it now. So I say it now to you. You smile.
I realize that it’s about time to get the children to bed. While I ready them, I pray for it to be your last voyage.
Water begins to drip down from the ceiling. I go upstairs to investigate but find no source. As I am leaving the bedroom I notice a green fish where the paint has chipped on the door frame. It reminds me how the doorheads have been falling off throughout the house.
This is a good dream. I make up my mind right now about that.
I hear your footsteps on the stairs. You and the children.
“Up the stairs, went the bears,” I hear you saying.
What did the bear find when he went over the mountain, anyway?
The other side of the mountain.
What was then seen in part, now shall be seen in full.
Oh, is that what that means. That thing about fear. When you realize that it was always you the entire time.
Confront yourself. Then love your enemy.
Just some thoughts that come while I wait for you to reach the top.
Strange to see you come up these stairs now when the sirens took you away some time ago. Down these stairs and away.
Should I play a sad song? I used to do that when I felt sad. So I could feel seen in my sadness somehow.
But right now I realize that I’m not actually sad. I am not sure what I am. I could have a good story here. One that would probably sell a lot of copies. But I’m not in it for that. That’s not the story I want.
What story do you want then?
I want the one I started with.
I hear the kettle whistling and run to shut it off before it wakes the children. I make your tea and then sit next to you on the couch. You’ve put your wool socks back on your feet. There is a hole in the left one and your big toe pokes out. I can’t even tell you how much joy this sight brings me. Such joy that I could cry. Perhaps I will. Perhaps there is a song to describe this feeling. I snuggle closer to you, your warmth, and allow it to come to me.