My Parent's Reconciliation Vacation (excerpt from Proverbial Woman), Part XVII

“Yes, please. Read it to me.”

“Alright. Lately I’ve been trying to read as much as I can on the subject of marriage. But this one…this one in particular really grabbed me. Are you ready? Here it goes:

‘A woman is like an ocean, vastly un-interpreted. Yet, beautiful and graceful in her versatility of strength; She can be joyously explored, as well as completely indulged; Without a moment’s notice she can swell amidst the turbulence of her emotions, only to subside in a peaceful bliss under the serenity of life itself.

She can embrace the calmness of an early morning sun, rising amidst the uncertainty of stirring winds. And yet greet the lingering silence of nature, with her boundaries fully extend; She is a bearer of life, which comes from her soul. Blessing this earth in a nurturing gesture, in ways we dare to implore…’

“So, what do you think?’” he asked, as he looked up in anticipation of a response.

“I think it is beautifully written. Who wrote it?”

“A guy named Grey Sparrow. They say he is quite talented. I think he is overrated.”

“Well. Just the same, I think he has potential for greatness if all his work is like that. I can relate to what he is saying.” she added

“Oh, really,” he quipped.

“Yes. Really.” she replied, with a brief stare in her eyes.

“Okay. If you say so…” he answered, as he folded and placed it back into his wallet.

“It should be called, ‘A Woman’s Perspective’… If you ask me,” she chided, as she rose to her feet, adjusting the towel. “That is a perceptive thing a man can say about a woman. It was well thought out. ” She added, as she turned and proceeded to lie down on the bed, exposing her back.

“Can you oil my back, please?” she asked. “You say sweet things also.”

“Sure…” he answered as he reached over and grabbed one of the bottles, gazing down at the long, sleek curvature of her back. After a few seconds of pouring some sparingly into his hand and rubbing them together, he proceeded to touch her.

“I have a confession to make,” he whispered as he began at the small of her back. “Remember the times when I used to arrive home from work and I would come through the side entrance of the kitchen. There were many times I stood in that doorway and let several minutes pass by before I said something.

I used to take pleasure in doing that. Especially on those evenings when we would be heading out on our weekly dinner date. Each time I would catch you sitting over at the main island perched upon one of the barstools with those beautiful legs of yours crossed.

There were times when you would be sitting with one shoe dangling from your toes. Most of the time you would be working a crossword puzzle. God... you looked so gorgeous, especially with your hair hanging over your face, and your glasses mid-way on your nose. My God, you have no idea how beautiful you looked sitting there on that stool.

Sometimes you would even have your music playing. I used to think you were getting yourself in the mood for a romantic evening. Except, there was one time you were just sitting there. No music. No crossword puzzle. And you were in near darkness, with the exception of the dimmed down lights that hung over the burners.

And you were crying while staring down at your wedding ring on your finger. Then, it was at that moment. At that precise time… what I saw. What I suddenly felt… was one of the worst pains that a married man could ever feel. It was at that moment, for the first time I felt our marriage was in trouble. Right then I felt the loss of what once connected us.

Just watching you sit there, I thought to myself, ‘Where did I go wrong? Where did all our dreams escape to?’ Was it wrong of me to expect so much out of you without first asking how you felt? I don’t know… maybe I should’ve touched you more often in passing or when we were close by one another.

Maybe I should have been a little more concern with how things were going with you. Or should’ve acknowledged your presence more often when you would walk into a room. Maybe I should’ve call you more throughout the day?’”

“Tim…Stop! Please stop!” she injected, persistently.

“No! Listen to me… Put yourself in my shoes,” he added, in a hysterical tone.

“How would you feel?