Friday, November 25, 2005

Far away... Love Letter to my husband

Mrs. P-S-H again...

I am in Iowa now, thousands of miles from him.

I am listening to something funny -- ABBA's "Fernando" -- on my MP3 in the quiet night in my parents' house. It sounds different when they sing it inside your ears... like they are caressing the inside of your mind with the electric music and female harmonies. It is intimate in a way that nothing else is.

He called me this afternoon. It was the end of his evening, after 10, leaving the pubs early, but still qualifying for a drunk dial. His voice was soft, warm, like the insides of the sheets on a Sunday morning. The afternoon light was just dying in the Midwest, but I feel the night-ness of London, the grim silence of the Bakerloo line passengers ... how it isn't really silent when you have a few pints in you... the buzz is audible inside your ears all the way to Warwick Avenue Station.

I could hear him scavenging in the refrigerator as we talked.

Me: Didn't you eat anything after work?

Him: Loud clunking, sliding glass jars over shelves. Door slam. Hey! he shuffled the words over his thickened lips. What country do you think I live in? There's no eating. I had pizza at lunchtime.

I can count the pints in the sound of his voice. He is giggly, ravenous, and slightly lecherous, in his schoolboy way. Not very drunk. No more than four pints, an easy night out after work with his blokes, the ones who are married-with-children and can't hit it quite as hard as they used to.

I got away from London for a couple weeks, to celebrate my American holiday with my family. Funny thing, I realized: I left my family behind in London.

He's back there, in that little flat, carving out some kind of place in this new -- what is the word? Job? Hobby? Fad? Not really right. What is poker for my husband and our little family? Maybe just a phase, or maybe a destination.

When I met him, he talked about wanting to fly. He'd always wanted to get his pilot's license. He was working a job that made him crazy ... falling out of an old life he wasn't sure yet how to shed. We met on purpose and discovered -- like the sweetnest nut inside the hardest shell -- we were both the type who looked up at the sky and saw a place we could reach. We always had before, so why would now be different, if we did it together?

Maybe I didn't need to encourage him to start the flying lessons. But when it started, I saw the measure of my love. I saw what this man could do, when he wanted to really do something. He took a book or two, and a headset and a guy named Dan, and soon, very soon, he was up there. Pretty soon, I was up there, too, with him.

I wondered if maybe I had found and landed the man who was Jack from the fairy tale "Jack and the Beanstalk." Who else could take a few beans and find golden eggs in the sky? And I wondered how anyone else could have ever let him get away.

How does he do it? I can't answer that. We hardly ever take the same kind of transportation to get anywhere. Our speeds our different. You can hear that in the sound of our voices. Our tools are shaped differently. But we both like to read. We try to keep our minds are open.

He and I read a book by Rinker Buck called Flight of Passage. I bought it for him at the obsequious Barnes and Noble one hot, humid afternoon before we were married. I still owned my own house then; he had that apartment in the suburbs. This book, it doesn't tell our story, but tells the universal one: success is pressing through one leg of the journey at a time, with the help of all the good, kind people you meet along the way.

It's late in Iowa, almost late enough that soon I could call him and wish him an early good morning, but I won't. Unless I am there, he'll always sleep late on Saturdays. As for me, I wake up early everyday, with or without him. Just to miss him, or to move closer against him.

4 Comments:

Blogger Grinder said...

OK - new rule - you MUST havethe work "Poker" somewhere in the blog.

Thanks Mrs P-S-H.

do you get much snow over there??

6:41 AM  
Blogger Aledan said...

Nice, he is a lucky man.

7:33 AM  
Blogger e-e baby said...

Hey Grinder... thanks for the input. It isn't snowing now but it does snow here... good excuse for those who find themselves in front of a computer all winter.

Our first post offered the hint that this blog wasn't meant to be all stats and deconstructing poker hands. You are welcome to make rules for your own blog. As for here, if you like some of what you are reading, great... just scan through the rest and let it be what it is. Thanks. (-;

Elizabeth

11:41 AM  
Blogger Ignatious said...

bonus points for usage of the song "Fernando" - keep up the great blogging.

9:34 PM  

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