DATE: 8/01/2004 01:10:00 PM
The Door to the Bedroom
The door to the bedroom has a clear sight line from the desk chair at the computer in the living room in this apartment. Today, when two pillows from the bed suddenly whumphed onto the floor in there after Steve had disappeared for a while, continuing to type suddenly became difficult.
It fell to me, you see, in a way that is impossible to question, to creep into the bedroom like a cat stalking prey. It was my role to pad barefoot in there, to see Steve just putting the finishing tugs on the sheet on our queen-size bed, sigh at the smooth, unblemished purple, sharp at the corners of the square mattress, and leap, my calves clearing the edge, my hips falling, my arms landing, my hands leaving their impressions in the soft surface, throwing wrinkles into that perfect sheet like a rock rippling a pond.
Steve stood back, still holding the third of the pillows in one hand, his face a battleground between anger and amusement. There was a tense moment while emotional scales tilted into balance.
And then, leaning down to kiss me, he said with a soft smile, "Our relationship. In a nutshell."