The rain is falling, and we’ve made the choice to stay in bed all day. Alex and I move the bed so it’s under the window, which we open wide and listen as spring pours down outside. I sleep and Alex wakes me, running his fingers up and down my spine, using pressures from light as a feather, to firm and rough.  I devour him. I kiss his freckled shoulders and his neck, suck a little red spot into it and trace it with my tongue.

Alex calls work. "I won’t be coming in today," he says, "I have a sore throat." His boss is upset but Alex doesn’t care. "Let him fire me," he says, "it’s a lousy job anyway."

I laugh because he’s so like that, so laid back. "Don’t worry," he says to me. "I can get another job if I have to."

We get hungry and I walk to the kitchen in the buff. The refrigerator is empty with the exception of a quart of milk, condiments, a soured bottle of wine and a container of caramel dip which sounds like an enticing nosh. There is one green apple in the fruit bowl that is still crisp so I pull a knife from the drawer and take it to the bedroom, removing the skin in a spiral. The peel is unbroken and perfect.

"You’re so talented," Alex says as I slice the apple and scoop caramel dip onto it, teasing him with it before I put it in his mouth. I like to watch him reach up toward my hand and try to bite it. I nibble on his bottom lip softly then feed him the apple. "Yummy," he says.

"Just like you," I say, and feed him another slice and another kiss.

He plays Bob Marley on an old record player. The sound of his voice on vinyl is raw and pristine, "Don’t Worry about a thing, cause every little thing, is gonna be all right."

"Let’s get married," Alex says.

I smile an unimaginable, real smile and say, "Of course, it feels so right." We make love again and laugh and listen to the falling rain.

The song continues, "Rise up this morning, smile at the rising sun, three little birds, beside my doorstep…."

Marley’s mantra soothes me even deeper, soothes Alex too, and soon we sleep.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

I am convinced that people like to shake me, and find that the sun is up and I never made it to bed. I was dreaming something wonderful that quickly faded. I’m still on the sofa from last night, still in yesterday’s sweat pants. 

Mary Alice is shaking my shoulders. "Wake up mommy, I want breakfast."

"Morning baby," I say, ruffling her little blond mop. "You’re my hungry bird."  I look to the loveseat at my twin sons who sleep, curling around each other and hugging the old white pot known in our house as the barf bucket. They sleep and it’s no wonder.  They were up all night.

Mary Alice slides into the breakfast nook which is like a restaurant booth with a bright yellow Naugahyde finish. She looks at her reflection in the chrome toaster and asks me for pancakes.

I pour the mix into a bowl and catch my own reflection in the microwave which hangs above the oven; my fingers act on their own accord and try to rub the shadows from beneath my eyes, but they remain. They remind me that I was up all night, which reminds me that I’ll be tired at work today.

Mary Alice talks while I pour milk into the mix and stir it with a fork; she watches herself in the toaster while she speaks.

"My friend Austin told me I’m too ugly to play with," she says.

"Austin said that?" I respond, pouring batter onto the griddle.

"Don’t forget Mickey Mouse," she says, and I add ears to the pancake just in time.

Alex Jr. and Andy slide into the booth next to their sister and Andy says, "I’m hungry."

I feed my children and make a pot of coffee in hopes that Alex will wake in time and not be late for work.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

The day is long, but I see all three of my clients and finish in time to stop at home before I pick the kids up from school. Alex walks out of the bedroom sporting a Kool-Aid smile, which on a grown man looks rather clown-like, but original. I only have a few minutes and instead of discussing why he’s home today, I kiss him on the mouth. The stain on his lips still tastes like fruit-punch and reminds me to take the hamburger out of the freezer for dinner.

"How was your day?" he asks me. I’m tired and don’t feel like hounding him so I smile and say, "Fine."

"Why don’t you let me pick up the little birds from school," he says, brushing my hair from my eyes, "relax for a few minutes."

I smile at him and when he leaves, I drift to sleep.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

I sleep deeply and dream. When I wake up I realize that something is missing. I remember children, a blond named Mary Alice and twin boys who vomited.

I remember something about Kool-Aid and Mickey Mouse.

Alex is caressing my shoulders but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve misplaced something I loved; a new puppy, a fleeting obsession, something which comforted me; a thing which I adored. I look at Alex who is awake, staring out the window still nude, inhaling fresh air; succumbing to the scent of the storm still falling outside the window. Bob Marley repeats again on the old record player and Alex sings right along.

_____________________________

Biographical Profile on Mary Anne McCollister

MaryAnne McCollister lives in a house on a hill where she counts her blessings daily. Her literary fiction can be seen at various online venues and in print at places such as Ink Pot. Her story, Needlework, received Honorable Mention in the Literary Potpourri Creative Non Fiction Contest.

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