Five Minute Friday - Story

This wonderful space. This joyful Friday writing community. I look forward to this each week ... not losing my days in pining, but becoming more giddy in anticipation of the fun to be found in the Thursday night Twitter Party - where hearts meld, women pray, laughter echoes in virtual rooms, and friendships are birthed and nourished because of shared faith and a passion for words. These are the Five Minute Fridays. The prompt goes up from Lisa Jo at midnight on the East coast. We write. We post. We read. We share. We encourage.

This Week: Story

Go

and this is what i say to him
every time
when i am tired,
or bored,
or sick,
or just in need of some kind of comfort
that only he knows how to give –
i say
tell me a story about when we first met.

sometimes he laughs.
sometimes he rolls his eyes.
sometimes he says – no, but you know all the stories.

and my grown up self falls away and
i have to tease and say,
tell me.
please.

and then he’ll start in that voice
that could record movie trailers
or make commercials –
the kind that would sell snow in antarctica
or rice in china
or whatever kind of odd analogy they used to come up with –
that kind of voice.

he’ll talk about standing on the second floor looking down on me while i was typing
about seeing me in the lunch room
same thing all the time – chicken, rice, and peas
(heaven help us, we still eat the same thing now)
seeing the books I was reading and thinking
yeah, I read those too
bet I’d like her.

he’ll talk about first dates in the park
walking in shoulder-high dahlias
egg salad done just right;
fried chicken;
first kisses.

he runs his hands over my hair and remembers
a little bit later
when things got scary and complicated –
a treacherous drive in the midst of
january ice
when i was blue
and not breathing.
feeling terrified and helpless
trying to figure out what came next
as they descended on me with
tubes, needles, tape –
results that change a life.

but he remembers that i got to keep life
so we have a life
and he calls it a miracle
every day since then.

i don’t know if every day has felt like a miracle
except when he reminds me
in the retelling.

and there are others.
and it is our history.
it is our story.

and now she likes to hear them too,
this little bit of hyphenated us.
she likes the stories too –
the ones that include her –
and says,

daddy,
tell me a story about
when you first met me.

Stop

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