Appreciation of Butterflies – Six

Now, honey, it has gotten really, really late.  Honestly, the night slipped away from me so fast, I almost went to bed without writing you.

Remember the nights when I used to call you after I got settled into the hotel? At the time, I wouldn’t have admitted it helped me as much as it helped you – but it did.  I never got the hang of feeling at home in those rooms.  I knew people who’d bring splits of champagne, figure out how to make brownies in the microwave and spread out across the beds and tables, like the place belonged to them. But for me, it was your voice – not comforting, not reassuring but like a grounding wire, taking me down to solid bone.

Sitting on the edge of the edge of the bed, watching the clock while we talked – I’d let you ask me again if you could call me on my cell phone from your landline.  “Yep, honey – it doesn’t matter.  It’s just like a regular phone.”  I know just how you felt – I’m equally mystified by all the layers of alleged connection that intervene between talking to someone anymore.

I’d close my eyes, exhausted from driving, from insecurity, from figuring out how to eat nothing I really wanted, and listen to your aches of the day.  Maybe sometimes I’d have dinner with Deb or someone else fun, and we’d have a little story to tell you.  But alot of times, I was practically asleep when we were talking.  Did you know?  Of course you knew.  I couldn’t fool you about that.  You’ve been tucking me in since day one.

This picture will be 9 years old tomorrow.  I don’t think I’ve ever re-posted an image before, but everything is here.  Our mutual prayer that we could somehow accomplish practical magic.  My conviction that leftovers of the past could be re-shaped into a mystery that would allow me to understand you.  A clearer voice now, still a grounding wire.  Taking me down to solid bone.

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